Oh hello o/
It's been a hot minute.. for a long time I wasn't sure if I was going to continue with Whole. You know when you write something that is so satisfying that it's like scratching an itch you've been holding for ages? Yeah.. last chapter was very much like that. So much so, that I found it super difficult to figure out how to move the characters forward. Well, the cogs have been turning incredibly slowly but the words have now started to flow again. I know where we're going with this, and I've figured out some of the later story beats that had alluded me originally. I'm pretty excited to update :D
A couple things to note: I will more than likely go back at some point and change things in earlier chapters - some of the side stories don't work for me anymore and I want to flesh them out, but that comes second to the main story. Also, a reminder that this is a SLOW burn. Real big emphasis on slow. While things are definitely progressing with their relationship, we won't see real movement until after the events of the final book. So buckle up, you've waited this long so what's another little while, huh? :p
Enjoy ^^

Days seemed to fly past in the blink of an eye, at least to Severus. Endless classes, assignments, essays to mark. That would have been enough for any teacher, never mind countless meetings with the Dark Lord and the need to keep one eye firmly trained on Draco at all times. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to spend an evening in front of the fire with a book and a whiskey without being called away to deal with some monotonous task. Perhaps that was for the best, however. For all that he was physically exhausted, his brain had had little time to wander, and Severus knew that the minute it did he would likely fall into another spiral like last time. The one thing missing from his current schedule was a certain ever-eager know-it-all, one that he was loath to admit he had begun to enjoy the company of. He supposed it was to be expected, after the events at Christmas. While their get together on the floor of a classroom was cathartic in a way he didn't realise he'd needed, it was - in hindsight - a line that probably should not have been crossed. He could only imagine she was uncomfortable by the interaction, and he'd not made any effort to put her mind at ease since. At first she had sent highly apologetic letters on days when they were due to meet; homework or a last minute request from Dumbledore keeping her from visiting. Then, the letters had slowly stopped and eventually he just assumed she wouldn't arrive. Slowly but surely things began to revert back to how they had been before all of this. He mostly avoided her in class, pointedly refusing to acknowledge her hand in the air when questions were asked and snide remarks peppered in for added effect. He could see the shine that once glazed her eyes start to fade, until she was once again going through the motions in the runup to exam season. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. Obviously, it was the right course of action. Over the last year he had grown far too comfortable around the girl and redefining the boundaries of a student-teacher relationship was paramount. The teacher in him knew that what was happening was inevitable and wholly correct.

But there was another part of him, a darker part of him. A part of him that sat, curled up in the back of his mind with big round, yellow eyes in the darkness, and held a Cheshire-cat smile with pointed teeth. That part of him whispered all the things he knew were wrong, the things he wanted to lock away and ignore forever, and when it opened its grinning mouth to speak his entire nervous system felt like it was being washed over with heady scents of peppermint and vanilla. The memories of her touch floated down through his arms and into his fingers and some days he found himself absently flexing as if she'd just been holding his hand. He longed for the feeling. Part of him often contemplated how one might bring it back.

Damn it all, he missed her.

He missed the quiet evenings, the shadowed company of someone just as content to sit in companionable silence as he. He missed the easy banter between them, the sly digs or dry sarcasm that continued to surprise him each day. He missed the normality, as fragile as it was.
But then, there had been time to miss her before the attacks started.

He knew Draco would start escalating. It was only a matter of time given the displeasure the Dark Lord seemed to hold for him these days. Given the gravity of the task he'd been assigned (even with Severus' inevitable assistance) he could tell the boy was getting desperate. However, with desperation came recklessness, and Severus found it hard to sympathize with his actions given their consequences. Katie Bell had been the first. The girl had been almost lifeless when they finally got her back to the castle, and Severus had worked throughout the entire night to cleanse the dark magic gripping her. Not again, he had thought at the time. Please, not again. He had been lucky that time - Miss Bell likely owed her life to some incompetent fool in Knockturn Alley for the curse had not been fully realised and as such he had been able to stabilize her and draw out any residual harmful magic without lasting damage. Mentally, however, he was unsure if she would be the same again. A curse always leaves a mark.

Although he had never hidden his disdain for the youngest Weasley male, he still diligently provided potions and assistance when Draco's next attempt went awry. It made his eyebrow twitch to hear that it was Potter who had provided immediate, likely lifesaving assistance and not Horace. It was enough, in fact, to make him wonder if his years of teaching had finally made an impact on the boy. Not enough to change his opinion of the brat, but enough that he could feel a little smug about his abilities for once.

Once again the yellow-eyed darkness had pushed its way to the forefront of his thoughts as he stood in the Hospital Wing, discussing the boy's treatment plan with Dumbledore. After all of her impassioned rage, after watching her emotionally shed the sheer weight of Ronald Weasley's changeable personality - seeing the girl teary-eyed, gentling stroking the boy's hand as he lay groaning and whimpering in a hospital bed filled him with a rage he had not known in some time. He had no interest in categorizing it, nor acknowledging it in general. He pushed it down, willing himself to focus on the ageing Headmaster next to him and not the teenage angst in front. That was, of course, until Miss Brown had shown up and the entire group had taken it upon themselves to act out some sort of soap-quality drama amongst the beds. As he strode quickly from the room, pulling up lists of potions ingredients to give his mind a focus, the darkness stirred from the recesses of his mind to whisper, "Jealous".

The scene had definitely bothered him. It had continued to bother him, in fact, right up until one seemingly inconsequential afternoon. He was in the middle of grading second year papers. These, unlike their first year counterparts, looked like they may have actually been written by humans, if you could believe it. As he scribbled another acerbic remark in the margins, he felt it. A pull emanating from his right arm, not dissimilar to that of the mark's call. This was.. different, however. The mark elicited a sharp screaming pain, not unlike a bout of the Cruciatus Curse but confined to a single stretch of his forearm, echoing the hatred Voldemort himself held in his heart. It was designed to move you into action immediately, for no one wanted to find out what might happen if you were late to a calling. This - this was new. It felt more like someone held a string attached to his wrist and was tugging on it, begging him to follow. Although first perplexed by the sensation, a terrible realization began to take over - the bond! A tug like this could only mean the terms of the bond were being tested, and if that were the case he needed to get to Draco, and quickly. With no further thought to it he pushed out his chair, strode the small distance to his office door, and made for the direction his heart seemed to point him in.

Severus rarely panicked - a given for the job he found himself in these days. A level head and steady hand were vital if he were to deceive a megalomaniac. In fact, he prided himself on just how much he had managed to keep his nerve the last 6 months, what with, well, everything. The scene that befell upon him as he rounded the corridor to the boys bathroom pushed his nerve to its limit. Lying in a growing pool of blood, was Draco Malfoy. Kneeling next to him, terror and confusion and remorse written all over his features - Potter. He recognized the wounds instantly, for it was he who had created the spell all those years ago. How was it, then, that Potter had come to learn of it? Troubling, but a thought he could not afford to dwell on, as the bond between himself and the young Malfoy was already pulling tighter and if he didn't act quickly there would be more than one casualty by the end of the day.

He hurriedly pushed Potter aside, barely hearing the boy's rambled apology. The angry red slices of Sectumsempra were still oozing deep crimson and low whines of hurt coming from Draco betrayed the amount of pain he was surely in. Taking a beat to slow his breathing, he got down onto his knees before his charge and steadied both hands above the prone form. Lowering his voice he began the familiar sing-song chant, the one thing he was thankful for creating all these years ago. If his past self had been tormented enough to create a cruel and spiteful spell like Sectumsempra, he knew he must have had a modicum of remorse left in his system to also create a counterspell.

The process was painstaking. Sectumsempra was arguably both a brutal attack and a work of genius. Not only did the spell create deep lacerations across one's skin in multiple places simultaneously, but it was designed to cause the victim's own body to pump blood towards the wounds - killing them faster. Therefore, on the surface the whole practice of knitting these cuts back together looked fairly tame. However, the amount of one's magic needed to not only repair the damage but to fight against the recipient's own magic-induced response was heavy. Severus could feel the sweat dripping from his brow as he willed his hands to stay steady throughout the chant. He had a sense that the worst of the danger had passed; the bond was still present but the pull had mostly dissipated. When he was finally confident the wounds would no longer leak, he pushed himself back up onto his feet and carefully levitated Draco's body up out of the bathroom and towards the Infirmary - barking at students to clear a path as he went. By the time he deposited the boy into a bed, cast a multitude of new diagnostic charms to ensure he was no longer in danger, and handed the patient over to Poppy, he was about ready to collapse himself. Weary, he trudged back to his office, already mentally picturing the bottle of Ogdens secreted away in a drawer.

— — — — — —

Hermione practically dragged Harry down the hallway towards the Gryffindor portrait. She wanted to be sick, she wanted to cry, above all she wanted to scrub the image of Draco's lifeless body from her mind forever.

"Hermione don't be ridiculous! It was an accident!"

"An accident that would never have occurred, Harry, had you never wound up with that book! I understand wanting to get ahead in Potions, I really do. But honestly, what on earth possessed you to even consider using the spell?! What on earth possessed you to go around flinging unknown spells at others? You could have killed him!"

Harry had the good graces to look sheepish, at least. She was furious with him, in all her years she'd never known him to do something so brash, against another student no less. All year, she'd warned him, all year!

"I know, I know, okay? I didn't realise it would - I only meant to -" He faltered with his words, not knowing how to articulate his realisation of the damage caused. She stopped with him outside the portrait door, sighing heavily.

"I know you didn't, Harry. But you can't keep it. Not now. Not when you know what's in it."

"Well, what will you do with it?"

She smirked, uttering the password and watching the door swing open. She stepped inside, still holding Harry's wrist.

"Make sure that no student ever lays eyes on it again."

She sent Harry up the stairs to the boys dorms, pacing the length of the living area while she waited for his return. Nearly 10 minutes had passed before Harry returned, book in hand. She wondered if he'd delayed while trying to think up some excuse for not fetching it. It was good to see he hadn't followed through.

"Hermione-"

She put up a hand to stop him, the other reaching out for the book. Reluctantly, he handed it over.

"I don't want to hear it Harry, not anymore."

Book firmly in her grasp, she started back towards the portrait door, pausing briefly to turn back and hug her friend tightly.

"It'll be okay Harry, I promise."
She had no idea why she was promising such a thing - if Harry wasn't expelled for this it'd be a miracle. Turning back away from the boy, she headed out through the door and towards somewhere she knew she could keep the book hidden.

As she strode down the corridors towards the seventh floor, that nagging part of her that craved knowledge started to stir. The book was obviously dangerous, but it wouldn't hurt to take a peek would it? There was no denying Harry's skill in potions had catapulted this year, so what harm could there be in picking up some hints for herself. As if the book might burn her should she look within, she tentatively flipped it open to a random page. The whole thing was crowded with notes and scribbles in every available space. As she read, her brow furrowed. Surely not? She flicked through several pages, combing the margins and tracing the spiked scrawl while her brain methodically put the puzzle pieces together. She knew this writing. Eyes widening, she practically spun on the spot and hurried back down the stairs towards the DADA office.

As she made her way along the corridors, she took the time to mentally prepare for the situation she was about to walk into, and compartmentalized just why she was so nervous about doing so. Would he be mad that she had his book? It had to be his, she was sure of it, she'd spent the better part of 6 years craving anything he'd written on the off chance it was positive, after all. Still, she hadn't intended on having an actual proper conversation with him today and it made her stomach do little swoops the closer she got. She hadn't felt this awkward about talking to the Professor since before their extra lessons had begun, and to think it had only been a few months since she had poured her heart out to him on the floor of an unused classroom. Her whole body seemed to heat furiously at the thought.. What an absolute prat she must have looked. He probably already thought she was a frustrating teenager, now she could only imagine what opinion he held of her. And she'd touched him! She had laid her hands on her professor like they were in any way familiar! Her stomach began to fill with nervous butterflies, this conversation was going to be painful. As quickly as they rose, she tried her hardest to push them down. Think about why we have this book at all, Hermione! Why on earth would you create something that wretched?! As the fresh memory of Draco's body resurfaced, her nervousness quickly turned to anger. Did he not understand that this spell could have killed someone? Something in the deep recesses of her mind told her he understood that quite well, and she shivered at the thought.

Steeling herself, she reached the Professor's office door. Why can't I just come out and ask him about it? We've been comfortable all year, surely he'd give you an honest answer! As she went to knock, she suddenly realised she didn't even know if Snape would be in his office given everything. He'd more than likely be busy in the Infirmary looking after Draco with how badly the boy had been injured.

With no answer from the knock, Hermione tentatively pushed the door open to find the office completely empty. Breathing a sigh of almost relief she wandered into the small room, placing the tattered book onto his desk softly, suddenly very aware of how quiet it was and how loud her presence felt.

"Miss Granger.." Hermione practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of the Potions Master behind her. Turning to the door, she thought he looked exhausted. Not surprising, she was amazed he'd even turned up here; surely his rooms and more importantly, his bed, sounded more appealing.

The anger before drained from her as she took in his weary form. "Professor! Apologies, I was just dropping off -" He held up his hand to silence her, closing the door and letting out a breath.

"No apology needed Granger, what can I do for you?" He sounded as if the last thing on his list was a conversation with any student but all the same, he made a beeline for his office chair and threw himself down, closing his eyes as he sank into the leather. "If it's about your additional lessons, it is of no conse-" As Snape opened his eyes once again, they settled on the black leather book placed so delicately in front of him. All the air in the room seemed to be sucked out as a deathly silence settled over them.

Snape eyed the book as if it were a deadly animal, poised to strike.

"Where did you get this?" He asked quietly, not daring to remove his gaze from the offending object.

"I -" She faltered. "I found it, sir."

Snape tore his eyes away from the book and looked at her for what felt like an age.

"You are good at a great many things, Granger, but lying is not one of them." He practically hissed the word, causing her to tense. "I suggest you rethink your answer."

Her shoulders slumped. "Harry, sir."

"How?"

"He's been using it all year. He got it from one of the storage cupboards during his first lesson – he doesn't know it belongs to you!" Seeing the panic flash across her professor's features at the mention of Harry she hurried to clarify the situation. "To be honest, I didn't realise myself until today. It does belong to you, doesn't it sir?"

Snape didn't answer her, instead he merely took the book from his desk, opened a drawer and delicately placed it inside, shutting it away for the foreseeable. His hand lingered on the wood, as if debating what to do next.

"An interesting theory, no doubt."

She couldn't help but huff out a small laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Sir, no offence but I've seen enough of your handwriting over the last two years to know it's yours. Although I won't pretend to understand the moniker."

He steepled his fingers together in front of him, not daring to look anywhere other than ahead. "Thank you for returning it."

Another small smile. "Not at all." A silence settled between them, Hermione shifting slightly between her feet. "Sir, about Christmas-"

"I hope you understand that this does not in any way eradicate Mr Potter's quite obvious guilt surrounding this afternoon."

"Sir! Of- of course not! Harry is mortified about the whole situation, he didn't realise-"

The sound of a fist hitting the desk sent a wave of quiet through the room. "Ah yes, the eternal excuse of Mr Potter - 'I didn't realise'. Perhaps one day he might cotton on to his half-brained ideas before he resorts to wanton violence and destruction?"

"Sir you know that's not fair-"

"Not fair? Enlighten me Granger, is any of this fair?

This time it was her turn to raise her voice, slamming her hands down in front of the desk. "It was your spell! You chose to create a spell that.. that did that to another human! You can chastise Harry all you want, but if you'd never created the bloody thing in the first place none of this would have happened! What in Merlin's name -"

"SILENCE!" He rose from his chair with all the force of a charging bull. His chest rose and fell quickly, his eyes murderous. "You dare to even speak of things you cannot possibly understand, so quick to judge others as if the great Hermione Granger had never once made the wrong decision. Once again your blind loyalty to your friends refuses to falter, even if it makes you look a fool." He spat the last word, his eyes fixed on hers as if challenging her to respond.

"This," she looked around the room "this was a mistake. I should have burned the bloody book instead of doing the decent thing and returning it to its owner. At least then I could have avoided this ludicrous dressing down! I remove a deadly object - your deadly object, might I add - from circulation and this is the thanks I get? I'm done." Turning on her heel she made for the door, her eyes beginning to burn.

He watched as she crossed the room, knowing that should be the end of it. Still, the words tumbled from his mouth before his brain could catch up. "Scuttle back to your tower, Miss Granger. Perhaps you'll find the praise you so desperately seek in Mr Weasley's arms.."

Her whole body tensed, and try as she might she couldn't bring herself to put another foot forward, as if she'd been hit with the strongest sticking charm in the world. The words slowly took form in front of her eyes as she processed what had been said, and she took several breaths before she even dared speak. Slowly, she turned round to face him, her steady gaze matching his wild one.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to remain calm as she walked back over to him. She didn't stop until she stood at arms length.

The corners of his mouth twitched but didn't quite form the sneer he wanted. "Not following Granger? Unheard of for you, surely. Or perhaps your brain is so addled with rekindled affection that you fail to comprehend anything else said to you?"

"Rekindled? Is this some sort of joke, sir? I'm not sure I get the punchline."

He didn't want to do this. The rational part of his brain knew that everything he was saying was born of a lower instinct, ignited by jealousy and stress. It wasn't her fault, she couldn't see into his head, heavens knew she'd tried. Instead, the irrational side, the pathetic side that he had worked for so long to keep locked up, took over him now.

"You sat by his bedside, stroking his hand as if the mere concept of losing him was enough to rip your heart in two.. Tell me, were the hysterics at Christmas just your way of.. What's the phrase? Having your cake, as it were?"

"Ron? You think I feel anything for.. Professor for goodness sake he nearly died!"

"Helped in no small part by his own foolishness! That you would rush to hold his hand and shed tears over someone so foolhardy, especially after all he has repeatedly done to you, is nothing short of maddening."

"Of course I would! Despite everything, Ronald is still my friend and I care about him. I'd do the same for anyone I cared about." She prodded his chest. "I'm sure I've proven that enough to you over the last few years!"

Something about those words. Something about the absolute gall to place her hands on him. It snapped at something horrendously primal in him, that darkness he had spent months continuously working to ebb. The saccharine declaration, the admittance was sickly sweet and innocent, so unashamedly truthful and so infernally childish and he couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear the guilt of what was bubbling within him, couldn't stand to be reminded over and over that she was still his charge, and that he was ultimately the monster. All at once it made him want to send her fleeing in terror and have her beg for more. He gripped her protruding hand at the wrist and pushed her back against the cool wall of the office, rounding on her in a heartbeat. Panic flashed in her eyes and for a split second he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He felt so foolish that he had allowed her the time to vent and release her pent up emotion; he had sat with her as she poured her heart out and lamented the fact that no one would ever try to be what she needed even as that little voice laughed at the irony. It was moments like this that he remembered just how big the difference was in their heights. This was easy, too easy. He had removed the quick exit route, and now he towered over her, hands resting on the wall above her head. She looked up at him then, those amber discs speckled with honey, both in anxiety and anticipation. For all his turmoil he caught her gaze and matched it, not willing to be the first to break. This would surely go one of two ways, he thought idly. Let's find out which.

"And is that what we are, Hermione?" He purred. "Friends?"

..

..

Neither moved an inch. It was a mental game of chicken, neither wanting to be the first to show weakness. He could see Hermione struggling with her reaction, for all that there was fear and panic and anxiety in her eyes, the telltale flicker of hunger was there too. For all his grandeur, Severus was internally screaming that this was wrong, that it was a terrible idea, that Dumbledore would surely have his head before Snape took his life. And then he saw it. Hermione sighed, and the telltale shimmer of an Occlumency shield settled in front of her pupils. The look she gave him was something akin to pity, sadness, and reluctant acceptance. He already had the answer, hadn't he seen her memories?

"You know exactly what we are, sir."

As if Snape was no more than a ghost, she pushed off the stone and walked past him, reached the door and turned back to look once more. The same pity. The same sadness. His chest continued to rise and fall, his heart thundering as if he'd just finished a marathon. She looked as if she wanted to speak, like something was weighing heavily on her mind, but instead she simply nodded before disappearing out through the classroom and into the halls beyond. Snape did not dare take his eyes from the doorway for what felt like hours. Until his breathing calmed enough and the ringing in his ears faded to a dull whine. When, finally, his senses had returned fully, he lifted his wand and threw the strongest spell he could towards the wall before stalking through the doors leading to his private chambers.

Hermione, still leaning against the stone just outside the classroom door, finally released a shuddered breath.