A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely, lovely reviews! God knows I need the motivation right now. Here comes the next chapter—another special treat.
Enjoy!
Chapter 51: More Knots Untied
Severus closed his eyes and sank deeper into his chair—the chair he had woken up in, only minutes ago. Resting his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands. No, for once, he did not have a literal headache. But he was wound up.
He watched the witch who was curled up against the headboard, sleeping in his room.
Whatever little he remembered of last night frustrated him. He never wanted anyone to see him in the state that Granger had, last night. But even that he could have condoned for the sole reason that she was an aspiring Healer.
But not this. His boots were placed in a corner, beside his luggage; the cloak that was draped over him was now haphazardly thrown on the other chair along with the cushion that was stuffed beneath his head. A filled water goblet and his wand were neatly sitting on the table so that when he got up from his drunken slumber, he had everything in place. Like a bloody house-elf would make sure!
Severus knocked the goblet down. The water spilled and the goblet went tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter.
The noise awoke the witch. Granger sat up groggily. "Sir?"
Severus' furtiveness had been a gift from his early years that was now aiding him as a war spy. Often, he would leave his bed at night, as a child, when his Father returned home. Then standing in the shadows, he had more than often watched his Mother tending to her husband while he slept in an inebriated unconsciousness. His Mother worked all the while ignoring her husband's slurred abuses, she would take his dirty shoes off, clean his saliva-infested chin, cover his half-torn shirted chest with a duvet. Without a word of complain. And Severus watched, fuming but helpless. He watched his Mother's meekness, begrudgingly from a hidden corner. Time and again, he wished to steal his Mother's wand from the Cellar and throw his Father out of their house. But Severus never found Eileen's wand and Tobias Snape never ceased to torment his wife.
If he didn't know better, he would have thought that Granger was taunting him. At least he knew that life was, indeed, taunting him.
Another reason why he should remain distant from Granger. No. Another reason why Granger needed to remain at a distance from him!
And this time, he decided, he would drive the lesson home for her!
"Sir, are you alright?" Granger was advancing towards him.
Severus rose to his feet with a jolt, his chair falling back. Granger stumbled, startled.
"Sir-"
Without thinking beyond the red of rage, Severus grabbed the witch's arms roughly, ignoring how she struggled to hold onto her crutches. "What do you think you are doing here!"
Shocked, Granger's lips parted but no words came out.
"What do you think of yourself, girl!" Severus was hissing in her face. "What is the meaning of this? Did I ever imply that I need your assistance? Who gave you the right to come into my room and-"
"And heal you when you so obviously needed it?" Granger said as a matter-of-fact. Her calmness was enraging Severus further. "Your potion vial was broken and you did not have anymore left. What did you expect me to do? Leave you be?"
"Yes!" Severus hissed. "That's exactly what I expect! Do you think it's your place to tend to me, girl?"
"Is it not?" Granger's eyes challenged him.
Owing to his anger, Severus' hold on her arms worsened. "Despite the delusion you live in, Granger, you are nobody to me!" And even as he said that, he knew not a word was true.
Her gaze that was earlier holding challenge, now harboured hurt. "You don't mean that," she whispered.
"Oh, I do!" Severus snarled. "If you have somehow started clinging to the bleak belief that this preposterous situation is anything that gives you any place in my life, you are sorely mistaken! This bond is nothing but an arrangement, where you are not required to fulfil the term of tending to me!"
Now, confusion marred her face. "Term of...tending to you? What are you..."
"Do not try to act daft, girl, for you're not!" Severus said between gritting teeth. "Healing me, taking my bloody boots off, do you think you're meant to serve me! Is that how you want to waste your intellect? By being servile and adhering to the atrocious terms of this bond! Is this what you would rather spend your life doing? Attending to me when I come home reeking of alcohol and out of my senses! Is that what you want-"
"You don't know what you're talking about!" She cut him off. "That's not why I was here last night."
Blinded by his rage, he pushed Granger against the wall, ignoring her gasp, tightening his hold on her arms as if hism'll grip would finally drive the lesson home. Peering down at her with nothing but his fury, Severus bit out, "For all your superior perspicaciousness, this is what you long to do? What happened to your claims of not being 'a puppet' in my hands! I see how inane your words eventually proved to be-"
"You're hurting me!" She cried, struggling against him.
And as if she had burned him, Severus let her go. Granger stumbled to catch her balance on her crutches, but Severus couldn't bring himself to touch her again. He stepped back, discombobulated with guilt and rage, and suddenly feeling ill at his own loss of control.
His eyes widened in realisation when the fog of rage cleared his mind. Granger was rubbing her arms where he had gripped her, her brows furrowed. Severus cringed at his own self—he had hurt her!
"It was not my intention to hurt you," he muttered, eyeing her warily, yet not able to meet her eyes. He clenched and unclenched his fists in sickening guilt.
"Neither was it mine," she whispered, startling him.
And there they stood, only inches apart but truthfully, at two different ends, holding onto their versions of truth. Both at a loss of words.
Granger looked at the mess of goblet, water and the now fallen armchair. Whatever went through her mind, she did not voice.
She was eventually the one to break the silence. "We have a lot to clear out between us."
Severus ran a hand through his hair. His initial anger had evaporated, yet he wanted nothing more than to be relieved of her company, before he took actions or said words to regret later. "We have little to discuss," he declared and turned his back to her. "You may leave."
"Stop pushing me away," she demanded. "I'm not leaving until we sort this out."
Severus again turned to face her. Her boldness did not shock him anymore, neither did her stubbornness. "Miss Granger, it is better that you-"
"Leave and let this matter hang?" She pursed her lips. "Clearly, there are many misconceptions between us. I don't like this...this distant behaviour of yours."
Severus clenched his jaw, feeling uncomfortable by her openness of emotions which he did not find himself capable of. "That is how I am, Miss Granger. Now if you could-"
"That's not how you are," she said. "That's how you are trying to be. You're trying to be distant since what happened in your Lab that day. You're angry and all I want to do is to clarify certain things. I won't bother you after this, I promise."
Good, he reflected. If she wouldn't bother him again, he would hear her out, and then tell her to leave.
Then what? He would continue living his life in peace as he was used to. But somehow, it was not 'peace' that he would return to, it was 'solitude'. A dreary solitude. A man cannot lie to himself and Severus was no exception. If not to the witch, to himself he could confess that she brought light in his bleak life, that in the past months, despite the prominent threat from the Dark Lord, Severus had found himself smiling more, laughing more... And if she stopped 'bothering him', he would...probably...miss her.
Taking his silence as his consent, Granger spoke. "I should start from what I said in your Lab, about...Lily Potter."
Severus huffed. He did want to listen to Granger's apology, despite his primary reason of anger towards her being her words in regards to Lily.
As if she had heard his thoughts, she began, "I won't apologise. At least not for what I had said."
Severus frowned—whatever did she mean?
"But I think I should say sorry for the way I had said it," she sighed. "I understand that I had been...disrespectful towards a person whom you were so close to. But, Sir, I did not mean to be disrespectful. All I had said was because I don't think you're to be blamed. I think you blame yourself with no fault of yours. And though you have committed mistakes, people change."
"People don't change, Miss Granger," he hissed. "That is your puerile perspective."
"Haven't you changed?" She looked into his eyes. No, her gaze wasn't questioning him. It was, in fact, certain.
Severus looked away and dropped onto the edge of the bed. "There is no point of this discussion."
"For me, there is," she declared. "It's important for me what you think."
"It should not be."
She sighed wearily and he realised it was still very early in the morning to even call it that. Though the room had no window, he could tell it was dark outside.
She came and sat beside him. Severus willed to move away but did not want to.
"Do you really think you're guilty for what Riddle did?" She asked quietly.
"I am guilty, Granger," he stated.
"Do you know, Sir, without you, Harry would have been...dead...in his First year? You have saved his life time and again, and still you're enduring Riddle and his lunatic wrath for Harry, his safety."
"That does not absolve me of my crimes, Granger," he muttered. "And I hardly think I need counselling from you."
"Maybe that's exactly what you need." In the silence of the night, even her whisper intensified to leave behind an echo. "Maybe you've never been told that you have long ago atoned for your faults. So I wish to tell you this, you're not guilty. Not anymore. Once, yes, you were. But you atone for that every single day."
"Granger-"
"And I know, what you've believed for years will not change in a moment. But it will, gradually. And one day," she looked at him with a sad smile on her face, "You will believe that, too."
Desperation danced in her eyes—a desperation, a need to tell him what he could never bring himself to accept. And beyond that desperation, Severus also saw pain—for him. Not inflicted by him, for once, but for him. Had anyone ever looked at him with such faith? What could possibly draw this young, talented, beautiful witch to the likes of him so much? What could draw such innocence and purity to his innate darkness and maliciousness?
And in that moment, Severus was struck with the full realisation—that he had been avoiding for quite some time—that she had become something way more than the girl he was forced to bind himself to, someone he willingly found himself attached to, someone he did not want to distance himself to, despite his logics. Emotions he had long forgotten welled up in him strongly in regards to this witch and suddenly he became cognisant that if his past with Lily had bound him to his guilt years back, Hermione Granger was fiercely struggling to free him today.
"What will you ever gain from me, Granger?" Words left him on their own accord.
To that, her morose smile widened to leave the dolour behind. "A few exclusive potion recipes, a lot of knowledge, and maybe an everlasting friendship."
Despite himself, Severus found himself replicating her smile.
But then, his eyes fell upon his boots and he remembered once again the depth of their situation. His life had never been simple, and neither would it be in regards to this witch.
"This is not what you are meant for," he said, regaining his firmness, emotions once again tied up and stuffed somewhere far. "You are simply squandering your potential. You have a high caliber, Granger, but this bond is tampering with your rationality. You are not to languish your talents on making Charms for my use or serving me in my state of intemperance. Following these terms is merely a compulsion. If it were in my hands, I would have released you of its bound at any cost. But as that is unattainable, you could at least not fall into its trap."
"You know, Sir, honestly, it did not even cross my mind that whatever I'm doing is also one of the terms of the bond," Granger said. "I had forgotten about it altogether."
Severus regarded her with open mistrust. "Then why did you go out of your way to prepare a Charm for my use? And do not tell me that it is not created for me."
"Yes, I've made it for you," she admitted. "You have suffered headaches almost every day, no matter how many potions you take for it. There seems to be no potion that is a permanent cure."
Severus' lips curled downwards. "Thus, you prove my point. The bond is very much tampering with you mentally."
Granger fell silent, as if contemplating a response. Severus looked away from her. He should have confronted her way back. He should not have let her servility blossom.
"There is a difference," she began with quiet calmness, "Between being servile and caring. After knowing me for months, do you really think I'm servile? If I can fight for the rights of the house-elves, I know how to fight for my own. Whatever I do for you is not my subservience. It will never be my subservience."
"Then why?" He demanded. "What else do your actions sum up to?"
"They simply mean that I care," Granger said as a matter-of-fact.
"You do not have to care about me!" Severus himself felt like a petulant child. This discussion was taking them nowhere and he had a strong wish for it to end.
"Don't you care about me?" With her usual straightforwardness, Granger asked. "You brewed potions for me when I was injured. You were the one who thought of giving me Phoenix Tears so I could recuperate. Don't you care?"
"That was my duty as a Potion Master," he argued.
"And sitting by my side when I was in a coma, too, was your duty as a Potions Master?" Granger spoke in a whispering voice.
Severus was startled. Granger was not meant to know that! "Who told you- Of course, the house-elf." He looked away from her and the fondness that sparkled in her expressive eyes. "This discussion is beyond the point. The crux of the matter is that you have been wasting your potential, devoting yourself to me for some incomprehensible reason."
"How so?" She said but not exactly to gain an answer. "In fact, inventing a Healing Charm for you has highlighted a latent talent of mine. I never knew I could make Charms. But I have, and you were my inspiration. The others are, in fact, proud of me."
"And so am I, but-" Severus paused, cursing himself inwardly for the outward display.
But Granger did not miss his words. A soft smile lit her face up, "If you're proud of me, why do you disapprove of what I did?"
Severus fell silent, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was suddenly too weary to continue the argument. Alright, he could, for once, consider the Healing Charm as an achievement on the girl's part. But not what she did last night, he told himself.
"I cannot afford to have this vain discussion with you," he declared. "For you, Granger, this is a game, where you are solely inclined to prove your point against mine."
"Maybe that's because you don't want me to understand what exactly bothers you about this," she said neutrally.
"Everything bothers me!" He snapped. "Your very behaviour bothers me!"
She felt quiet, her face fallen. "Would you rather I leave?"
But 'leave' implied a meaning deeper than the literal. No, he did not want her to leave. He wanted her to stay, but he would never let her stay at the cost of her future.
She still looked at him expectantly, for an answer.
"I am not a good man, Granger," Severus said coldly.
"So you keep saying," she murmured. "But I see you differently."
"You are delusional," he muttered. trying to comprehend where exactly this bizarre conversation had led to.
"You said it's just an arrangement," Granger's whispered words caught his attention. He regarded her with a frown. "Did you mean it?" Emotions danced in her eyes.
Severus looked away, guilty. This was not a mere arrangement to him, though ethically it should have been. But sitting before this witch and lying to her face did not come naturally to him.
"Do you really think so?" The whispered words contained disbelief and disappointment.
Severus could not hear that tone of resignation coming from her. "No," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I went ahead of myself when I said that." But he did not know what it was then. At least, Granger did not ask further.
"If it's not merely an arrangement," she said slowly, "Why do you keep pushing me away?"
"Because associating with me will grant you nothing."
"Let me be the judge of that," she declared.
Looking at the boots again, he spoke, "You do not realise what your actions imply, Granger."
"Then you tell me," she said boldly. "Give me a chance to see this with your perspective."
"I cannot," he said tightly. "I cannot explain you everything."
"Then show me," she said suddenly.
Severus frowned. "What?"
Severus' instant response was going to be an outright refusal and a tirade berating her for even suggesting that he would condone such breach of his privacy.
"I do realise that you're a private man," she said in a low voice. "But it seems that we can't land on the same page if I don't know what you think."
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he all but hissed.
Granger opened her mouth to speak but closed it. She sighed deeply. "Show me as less as you like, but let me at least see where you're coming from."
He snorted. "Where I am coming from is a place, Granger, you cannot even dream of venturing into."
"Maybe that's why I don't understand," she said simply.
Looking at her, he came to understand why she was failing to take him seriously. She did not know what her actions had implied, for she had never seen servility. She hailed from a household where servility played no role. She was confusing it with 'care' whatever that was supposed to be.
Severus debated with himself whether or not to let her know what was lingering at the forefront of his mind. But if that meant saving Granger, he decided to reveal what he had never, to anyone else.
"Where is your wand?" He asked, a little unsure himself.
She seemed to be torn between amazement at his willingness and some amount of fear of finding out what he'd show her. "I have it." She pulled the sleek wood from the sleeve of her night-robe.
Severus took hold of her smaller hand gently and guided the tip of her wand to rest against his right temple. "You know the incantation." He had to fight against his baser instincts to immediately decide against him impulsive decision. Only the knowledge that even he knew far too much about Granger and that she wouldn't judge her and might come to understand him better, kept him from sending her away.
She looked at him for a moment before slightly pulling her hand away. "No. I'm sorry. You don't have to do it if you don't want to..."
But Severus kept the tip of her wand firm on his temple. "I do not think I will ever muster up the will for this again."
"Are you...sure?" Her eyes darted from his to the tip of her wand.
"On the count of three," he ignored her question and bore his eyes into hers. "One. Two. Three."
Caught in bafflement and uncertainty, she finally whispered. "Legilimens."
UUUUUUU
The inside of Severus' mind sucked Hermione's magic and grated a smooth access. But even as she caught the first glimpse of his memories, she could feel the force that was controlling his Occlumency Shields from concealing every inch from her—it was a well-versed reflex for him to hide and bury the deepest of his self—a reflex that seeped to his very personality and made him the secretive, energetic man he was.
If Hermione were to describe this man's mind, she would say it was mostly divided in various shades of grey—ranging from the purest of white to the darkest of black. She could find no trace of another shade—not even the green that depicted his House. His memories were an array of small, glowing globes. The majority laid in grey—those globes exuded either disapproval or disappointment or sardonicism or irritation. The darkest of the globes reeked of intense fury and bleak moroseness, even the thought of touching those globes sent a shiver down Hermione's spine, not unlike what the Dementors did. But when she moved towards the white globes, though less in number, she found herself surrounded by magical light that soothed her greatly. Hermione could even hear a distance piano-like music coming from that section of the globes. She found herself longing to reach upto one and enter one of the few most precious memories of his life.
Although Hermione still had only a vague idea what exactly Severus wanted to establish from this, she knew that he didn't do anything without a reason. She knew better than to pounce upon a globe and cause him to expel her. As highly reserved as he was, finding herself in his very mind in itself proclaimed that he trusted her enough. She would not do anything to damage that still delicate string.
So she waited, but she didn't have to wait too long, for she felt herself being pulled towards the section that ranged somewhere between the darker greys. The memories that he wanted to show her were not pleasant by any means. But that didn't surprise her. Whatever was bothering him about her being caring towards him had rooted from some unpleasantness which still affected him.
As she entered a globe, she couldn't deny feeling the presence of Severus' conscience alongside hers, even though she couldn't see him around.
Where she landed was Spinner's End, his house, but it seemed different in many ways. The most glaring difference was the lack of books in the living room. In fact, there were no shelves to house the books. In their place, bare walls with chipped cement and paint stood. The furniture, too, was different, or was it newer? There was certainly not a trace of Severus' favourite armchair anywhere. But the house was cleaner than she had seen it, like somebody invested into cleaning everyday.
And on the sofa that she had never seen before, laid a man. His eyes closed, mumbling something incoherent in his restless sleep, his mouth salivating in a way that would have repulsed her had she not been indifferent to such, owing to her ambition of becoming a Healer. He looked to be middle-aged, the hair near his ears had already greyed. His cheeks were hollow and covered in days old, untamed stubble.
But what caught her attention was his bruised torso. A torn, filthy shirt barely covered his wounds that seemed to be earned from several punches. Similar bruises were fashioned on his face, and she could see the beginning of a black eye. Though she couldn't smell it, she had an idea that the stranger before her was reeking of strong alcohol.
When she heard someone approaching, Hermione turned to see a woman coming out of the kitchen, holding a Muggle first-aid kit. Her hair was black and long, straight, that fell to her waist. Her skin was sallow on her thin face, and her black eyes—that Hermione would have called beautiful—were devoid of emotions, not unlike the very man's whose memory she was watching.
And just like that, Hermione knew who these people were. Their features were a telltale of their identity.
As the woman passed by Hermione, the budding Healer's eye caught the remaining scars on her face and a few bruises that were now light enough to escape an untrained eyes. Before her, stood Eileen Prince, the woman Hermione had heard of several times now and over whom she had spent sleepless nights ruminating and contemplating.
With a stoic face, for there was too much to reflect, Hermione watched the scene unfold. She watched, unmoving, how the woman tended to the half-unconscious man, cleaning his face, his wounds, medicating the bruises, taking his muddy shoes off. All the while, the man slurred repulsive abuses at his wife. Once in a while, when she tended to an especially painful wound, the man slapped her hand away harshly, sometimes going as far as backhanding her.
Yet, the woman worked mechanically, keeping a straight face, as if his words and actions went beyond her.
Hermione could feel her own ire rising, both in respect to the abusive man and the meek woman who wasn't protesting. When the man became more coherent and kicked the woman away, Hermione forgot for a moment that what she was watching had transpired decades ago, and went ahead to defend the woman. But her hand passed through the figures of the man and woman who were both dead now.
Unable to see more, she turned away from the scene, breathing heavily.
And then she saw him, a small boy, standing hidden near the staircase, peeping into the living room. All she could see was his shape in the shadows, his face mostly hidden in the darkness. But his hair gave him away, black that reached his shoulders, not bearing any hint of potion fumes but soft, almost wavy. There, in his tatty pyjamas, the bottom of which didn't even reach his ankles properly, and barefoot, stood Severus, watching the scene, watching his mother being subjected to the blatant disrespect and torment by his father.
There was a palpable sadness surrounding him, but Hermione could not completely listen to his thoughts for Severus' Occlumency Shields still did not allow that. But she didn't need to listen to anything to know how the child in front of her was feeling.
She took measured steps towards him, as if fearing that he'd pull away on spotting her. Mere steps away from him, Hermione knelt down to be at eye level with the small boy who must not be more than seven or eight. The realisation broke her heart. Though his face was still hidden in the partial darkness, his eyes shone with tears—unshed, still unshed.
Seeing his, Hermione's own moist eyes gave away to the first tear that slipped down her cheek, unknown to her.
She reached a hand towards him to hide from his view the deplorable scene, but her hand only met with thin air. He had witnessed this scene long back and still revisited it in his horror. For a moment, the boy looked directly into her eyes, as if aware of her presence. A sheen of unshielded grief and anger flashed in his eyes. Hermione half-expected for the flash to pass as it so often did with the present-day-Severus' Occlumency Shields. But the small boy was yet to learn the art that would forever keep his emotions hidden from the world.
"Severus..." She whispered as the boy looked away from the scene, his jaw clenched. He stepped away from Hermione's extended hand, and walked up the stairs with the stealth he had now mastered.
Hermione closed her eyes and let her tears flow unrestrained. She cried for the child who had witnessed the scene, and for the man who was still affected by this day all those decades ago. And she cried to realise that her actions had somehow reminded him of such a memory, though she somehow knew that Severus had never truly moved past what was stored in the slew of grey and black globes.
When she finally opened her eyes, it was not to find the half-hidden face of the eight-year-old, but the man she now knew. His face now showed the hardness that his younger self's did not. His emotions were now safely stored away.
A shuddering sob escaped Hermione's lips. She looked away from him, lowering her wand, still caught somewhere in the clutches of that memory.
They sat in silence for Hermione couldn't say for how long. Once in a while, a sob made its way out. But other than that, nothing was said for a long time. The image of that little boy was still filling her mind.
When she finally looked at Severus, he was sitting stoically beside her at the edge of the bed, his gaze set on a nondescript spot on the floor.
Hermione now realised where his words had come from, what he had meant, and how her actions affected him. Inadvertently, she had reminded him of the days that were probably the bleakest part of his childhood.
She knew that once some time passed, he would feel highly discomfited at his decision of showing her the memory. No, she decided, she would clear this out right now! She would not let this be dragged further. Any guilt that she felt on asking him to show her his memories had now dissipated because Severus needed to start sharing some of what he held. Who better than I knew the impact of penting emotions up? The scar on her face tingled on cue.
"Do you compare yourself to him?" She said quietly, wishing he understood the allusion to his father.
He visibly jolted out of his thoughts, the very reaction narrating how disconcerted he was, for he was never caught off-guard.
"Do you?" She asked again.
"That is of little consequence," he said just as quietly, not looking at her. Then rubbing his eyes, he tried to compose himself. "I showed you the memory so that you realise what you do not have to become."
"I am not her," Hermione stated. "I will never be her. You asked me if I would waste myself being servile to you. No, Severus, I will not."
Whether it was the use of his name or her declaration that caused him to finally look at her, Hermione couldn't say.
"One doesn't realise, Granger," he spoke. "Neither did she nor would you."
"If I don't realise it for myself," Hermione said with earnestness, "I know you will let me know."
He didn't reply, but neither did he retort sourly. It gave her the encouragement to continue.
"While I have no doubt in my mind that you cannot be more different from your father," she said, "If we do find ourselves in a similar situation, I will not keep my self-respect aside and tend to you.
"Last night, I was here only because you had returned from a summon. Not because you were drunk. I am not one to silently endure such treatment and I will never."
Then she collected some courage and, hesitantly, placed her hand on his. Severus stiffened and Hermione feared that he'd shrug her away. But his hand remained stoic beneath hers, as if still absorbing the shock. She waited a moment anticipating his reaction, but when he showed no visible response, she continued, "I can't say why she did what she had, I can say for myself—I will never become her. Just like I know you will never become him."
They looked directly into each other's eyes for the first time since watching the memory. His were guarded under his usual Shields, but a glint of perhaps understanding did pass his orbs.
"Please," she said, her voice reduced to a whisper and yet loud enough in that silent room, "What I do—whatever I do—is not what she did. I am not coerced by the bond. I do all this because...I simply care."
UUUUUUU
There weren't many times when Severus was rendered useless to form coherent thoughts or words. But this was one such instance.
In that desolated room, in a house that he loathed, Severus sat beside the witch who was persistent upon proving her point. She had watched a memory that nobody but he himself was privy to. She had seen more of him than anybody ever did. She knew him more than most. His past as a Death Eater, his humiliating childhood, his atrociously wrong decisions of the youth, his unrequited love for Lily—Hermione Granger was privy to nearly every facet of his tumultuous life. And still, she sat beside him, holding his hand. What more could be a proof of the trust that she bestowed upon him?
Sometimes, he found himself overwhelmed realising that she still trusted him, that she still had the capacity to see good in him, that she still considered him to be redeemable.
And now, when she had—with a certain firmness—declared that she was not bowing down to the fate that the bond had subjected her to, Severus, too, could see that his assumptions might have been misdirected. Did he simply let his own impression from his childhood make him delusional? After having seen where his ideas had come from, Granger didn't have the epiphany that he was expecting her to have. He had almost expected her to go into a frenzy about what she had been doing. But she had, in fact, stated how she did not identify with the subservient woman she had just witnessed in his memory.
He looked at her. She was staring at their entwined hands. When had they laced their fingers together? Oh, he had been in a daze, maybe even a little hungover. Her hand was holding his with a strong grip, stronger than he had expected hers to be. While his own was more or less limp against hers. Even that flagrantly open display of sentiments was not fazing him into snatching his hand away. It oddly even felt natural. Since when had a touch felt so natural to him? He must be hungover, and would later flinch at recalling the moment. Yet, right now, he didn't even dare to flex his fingers for the puerile fear that she might come to realise her lapse in judgement and pull away.
Was he simply quite so desperate for contact that he was practically lapping up her consideration for him? But then again, she had an impact on him that none of the women he had sought in his past had ever had. Severus inwardly cringed at comparing Granger with those women he had paid to purchase a few hours of facade of pleasure.
Stunning, now I am in the headspace of a ridiculous adolescent boy.
The more sadist voice in his head whispered how he had felt something alike for one other woman...
"I'm hungry," Granger suddenly said, interrupting his stupor.
"What?" He frowned.
She shrugged.
Looking at her with some disbelief for a moment, Severus found himself lightly snorting in amusement, his free hand rubbing his forehead.
"Of all the things to say..." He muttered, still amused.
"Well, I think we'll always have a lot to say, and we can always talk over breakfast," she smiled.
"We cannot be seen talking over breakfast, Granger," he said, all maudlin thoughts clearing out of the way.
"I don't think anyone will be up this early," she insisted. "It's hardly five."
It was a risk, he knew. But the Weasleys did not rise until after seven. Breakfast, in all honesty, did sound appealing. "Alright," he agreed. "Until you don't apply your culinary skills."
She laughed, "No, I'd like to test yours today."
And just like that, as if they had not just had a deeply glum, revealing conversation, Severus and Hermione fell into step to go to the kitchen. Both of them flexing their fingers, secretly missing the other's touch.
A/N: My absolute favourite chapter! Let me know what you think of it? I hope it wasn't rushed.