Not Merely Passable
The Great Hall was full and noisy on this Saturday morning, when he sat down and was presented with a mug of coffee. He did not need to look up, in order to know who it was that offered him the bitter fluid, since she did so on a regular basis.
"You look like you need it." He raised an eyebrow, still avoiding eye contact, and dedicated himself to drinking the hot beverage. He heard the witch beside him shuffle in her seat. "Long night? Did you get to a point in your research that set new riddles in your path?"
It took him a while to respond, but when he did, he was careful in his choice of words. "One could say that." From the corner of his eye, he could see her taking a sip of her tea. He was sure it was either Yorkshire tea or Earl Grey, those were usually the ones she went for.
"So you don't want to talk about it, got it." Her clipped words drew him to finally look at her. She seemed nervous; her teeth gnawing on her lip, her eyes fixated on the mug in her hands. Something was visibly bothering her, and he got the impression she was fighting with herself.
"We can go over my project later, if you are so keen on intruding, but it's pretty obvious that something else is plaguing you." His words lead to her head snapping up. Their eyes met in silent combat. If he was reading her correctly - and he did trust his skills in reading people - then she was trying to come up with courage. He didn't get to speculate about her motives; her response formed quicker than expected. "I have been haunted by dreams for the last couple of weeks." His brows furrowed. So had he, but his dreams had changed in nature for quite a while. Where nightmares had tortured him, they had been replaced with sweeter and more tempting ones. "Have you thought about taking dreamless sleep potions?" Her theatrical expression of mockery would've been enough of an answer, but she decided to accompany it with words.
"Do you really think I wouldn't be aware of my options? I have taken them far too often since the war and try not to anymore", she paused, "besides, the dreams aren't horrendous, they simply are of a... more delicate nature." The blood rushing to her cheeks made her tanned skin glow even more, making him yearn to touch her. He clenched his jaw, not wanting to let his reaction slip. Despite his mask staying in place, he couldn't forego clearing his throat.
"I see." He wouldn't let her know, that he'd had been followed by dreams of a similar nature. "As far as I know, witches and wizards your age usually seem to welcome such... enticing distractions." His words made her laugh bitterly. "I can't imagine why someone would want to dream about something they want, just to wake up to realize how frustrating it is to live without it." She took a bite of her oatmeal, her treatment of it somewhere between aggression and indifference. Was she eating out of hopelessness? That didn't seem like her. "And I will let you know", she added unexpectedly, "that I highly doubt "people my age" have different feelings about sexual relations than people your age do. I may be crossing a line here, but I dare claim that you aren't an old man uninterested in physical intimacy."
The noise of their surrounding seemed blocked out, once he had taken in what had been said. Hermione Granger - the witch which had not only managed to build a tender friendship to him, but also starred in his dreams as temptress - was thinking about his sexual needs? What utterly ridiculous joke was life playing on him? Should he engage her? Tease her in his usual manner? Would it be more sensible to simply overlook what had been said? Him overlooking it would not keep her from teasing him with similar remarks, once she noticed his reluctance to acknowledge it. "Thinking about my sex life? Who would've thought?" He smirked darkly, seeing her blush intensify. He had to keep himself from letting the growl, which was forming in his throat, leave him. She was truly inviting with her neck visible, the voluminous hair cascading down her back, her sweet small nose, and the eyes which were still deciding if they wanted to look hungry or shy. "You never thought about mine?"
Her soft voice hinted at amusement, but he could filter out the fear of rejection in it, nevertheless. He had to tread carefully, if he didn't intend to fuck up everything spectacularly. The mug he had been holding was placed on the table, the chair he had been sitting on shoved back in order to leave him space to rise. "This is unquestionably not the right environment to continue the conversation." Looking up at him, she had to agree with his assessment. The question was, if she should continue the conversation - that she had so impulsively started after telling herself that her renowned Gryffindor courage was useless, when it came to something she actually desired - at all. She decided she should, considering the fact that she had already stepped into tricky terrain. "Where would you like to continue this conversation instead?"
She was sitting on his couch, waiting for him to come back from checking on his potions, when he reentered the room. The walk to his chambers had been silent and filled with graspable tension; the usually warming space now anxiety inducing. She heard him approaching, but he didn't sit down beside her on the couch, rather opting for standing near the fireplace. Contrary to her expectations, he didn't take long to initiate the conversation. It seemed like he had thought long enough about the words he intended to say. "Would you like me to think about your sexual life?" The witch blinked, uncertain how to respond. Her former Professor, who had become not only her colleague but also close, was directly looking at her. She was unsure if he wanted to make her uncomfortable, or if he simply did not want to miss her reaction. Honesty was the best policy, if she could trust her experience. "Well, I suppose I would." Her facial expression turned thoughtful. "If you haven't thought about me as a sexual being, then it is safe to assume you find me unattractive." The black haired wizard pursed his mouth, looking to the ground. "Do colleagues think about the erotic life of their co-workers?" A sigh left her. "Some do, others don't. We are not just colleagues, Severus."
He leaned against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed in front of his buttoned up chest. "What are we, Hermione? Friends? Are friends supposed to think about what goes on intimately between their friends and others?" She blushed again, leading to him loosening his posture. What was wrong about wanting to touch her warmed cheeks, and kiss her heart-shaped lips? Wasn't she telling him more or less, that she wanted to be desired by him? Hadn't he shied away from indulging his needs for long enough? He stood still. This was Hermione, and not some aristocratic witch who hoped for a One-Night-Stand with a war hero. She deserved better, so he was not going to give into urges that could ruin what they had.
"Are you trying to spare my feelings, Severus?" She rose from the Sofa, now imitating the pose he had held just seconds before. "It's ok if you do not find me attractive, it really is." Oh, this beautiful brave witch was standing before him with crossed arms below her chest, fighting off tears because of him. "We're just friends after all. I had just hoped that I could at least be considered passable in critical eyes like yours." Enough. He didn't want to hear such nonsense anymore. Grasping her upper arms, he shook her carefully. "Have you lost your mind, witch?!" His baritone carried the calm threateningly spoken words to her ears. "I'm an unappealing man, who is mainly preoccupied with Potions and the dismantling of the Dark Arts, instead of charming witches, partaking in social events, and featuring in the Witch Weekly as the most popular Bachelor. What makes you think, that I would judge you in any way?" She did not dare look at him, but pathetically enjoyed his hands on her. "Humans judge, Severus, whether they want to or not. There is no need to pretend. You either never considered me interesting enough to acknowledge my womanhood, or I'm...", she held in, thinking about Lily Potter neé Evans, "or I'm not your type. Which now that I think about it makes perfect sense. I'm sorry for troubling you with my irrational behavior." Her previously broken voice formed to steel.
Now, that she was looking into the face she so wanted to caress, his angry and irritated expression became apparent to her. "Not my type? Hermione, you frustrating creature! You are not the only one who has been enraptured in painfully pleasurable dreams those past weeks. It seems as if you suffer from chronic bad taste, since your choice has fallen on me, but I can assure you, that my taste is refined and as such I do not think you merely "passable"."