Ever since her lapse of judgment on Wednesday night, Hermione felt her Head of House's watchful gaze lingering on her more than ever. Minerva McGonagall seemed to have an uncanny ability to appear just when Hermione was lost in thought, her penetrating eyes assessing and scrutinizing. The warmth of her usual mentorship now felt more like an interrogation, each glance from the Professor sending shivers down Hermione's spine.
In the days that followed, Hermione resolved to adhere strictly to the rules, though the decision weighed heavily on her heart. The thought of sneaking out again was tempting, yet the memory of McGonagall's stern expression haunted her, reminding her of the consequences she could face if she were caught again. She felt as if she were being drawn into a web of responsibility, the thrill of her secret rendezvous with Severus now replaced by a sense of duty and caution.
Classes felt interminable, each hour stretching on as she sat at her desk, her mind drifting to the memories of their dance beneath the stars. She often found herself glancing at the door, half-expecting Severus to stride in, his presence filling the room with an intoxicating mix of authority and warmth. But as the days rolled on, all she received were fleeting glances during meals, moments that left her yearning for more.
Mealtimes had become a painful reminder of what she was missing. She sat at the Gryffindor table surrounded by her friends, the lively chatter and laughter creating an atmosphere of camaraderie, but Hermione felt like a ghost drifting through it all. She was acutely aware of Harry and Ginny sharing stolen glances, whispering to one another while Ron animatedly recounted some Quidditch play. Each laugh and every smile felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, reminding her of the joy she was missing with Severus.
With her head buried in textbooks and assignments, Hermione felt increasingly isolated. Whenever she finally allowed herself a moment of respite, her thoughts immediately turned to Severus. She craved his company, his sharp wit, and the warmth of his embrace. The ache in her heart only deepened as she realized she would have to wait for another opportunity to see him.
On Friday afternoon, as she sat in the library surrounded by a fortress of books, she was unable to focus. The whispered conversations of her classmates echoed around her, but she couldn't concentrate on anything but the absent warmth of Severus's presence. She imagined his soft, almost teasing tone as he spoke to her, how his dark eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled, even if just a little.
Determined to keep her mind off her longing, Hermione turned her attention to the parchment in front of her, but the words blurred together as her thoughts wandered. What if he thinks I don't want to see him? What if he thinks I'm avoiding him? The doubt gnawed at her. She remembered the way he had held her during the Ball, how he had made her feel cherished and wanted, and the thought that he might feel rejected twisted her stomach in knots.
She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the images of Severus from her mind, but it was futile. Every corner of the library, every page she turned, reminded her of him. She knew she couldn't keep living like this, constantly yearning for someone she could only see in passing. That night, as she closed her books and headed back to the Gryffindor common room, her resolve hardened. She had to find a way to break this cycle, to make a move and see Severus again, even if it meant risking another reprimand from McGonagall.
"Severus," Professor McGonagall hissed angrily at the Head Table during lunch, her sharp eyes narrowing as she glanced around to ensure no one else could hear their conversation. "Are you willing to lose your license over this? Do you understand the risk you're taking? She was caught loitering around your office after curfew—again. And don't even get me started on your mysterious disappearance during the Halloween Ball."
Severus continued eating, his face impassive, though McGonagall's words had clearly hit their mark. He didn't flinch, but his grip on the silverware tightened ever so slightly. He had anticipated this confrontation, but that didn't make it any less aggravating. The stern voice of the headmistress held all the weight of authority, but it was laced with an underlying concern that she could not mask.
"I'm well aware of the rules, Minerva," Severus replied smoothly, his tone measured but firm. His eyes never left his plate as he continued cutting into his meal, exuding calm despite the tension sparking between them. "There's no need for melodrama. Nothing has happened that would warrant such drastic assumptions."
McGonagall scoffed, clearly not appeased. "Nothing has happened?" she echoed incredulously, her tone rising just enough to make a few of the other professors glance in their direction. She leaned in closer, her voice now a venomous whisper. "She's a student, Severus. Your student. If anyone even suspects what's going on—"
"They won't," Severus interrupted, his voice low and dangerous, though his gaze remained fixed ahead. "No one suspects anything. And no one will."
"Don't be naive," she snapped, her patience fraying. "People are watching. I'm watching, and I'm telling you this now because I'm trying to help you. If this gets out, it won't just be your reputation on the line—it's your career. Do you think the Ministry will let this slide?"
Severus finally met her eyes, his dark gaze unfazed by her harsh words. "I am not careless, Minerva. I'm fully aware of what is at stake." His voice was low but firm, a tone that brooked no argument.
But McGonagall wasn't backing down. "Then act like it," she retorted, her words clipped. "She's been distracted, sneaking out, and it's only a matter of time before someone puts two and two together. I've already had to cover for her once, and I won't do it again."
Severus's expression flickered, a brief moment of irritation flashing across his face before it was carefully schooled back into its usual calm. He hadn't wanted Hermione to risk herself sneaking out that night, nor did he like the idea of McGonagall having to intervene. He respected Minerva's authority and the fact that she was watching out for Hermione, but the idea of her interference rankled him.
"Your concern is noted," Severus said coolly, his words diplomatic but final. "I will ensure that she adheres to curfew in the future."
McGonagall sat back slightly, still watching him with a critical gaze. "This is your last warning, Severus. If you care about her as much as I think you do, you will keep her safe by staying away from her. This can't go on. It won't end well for either of you."
Severus's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he didn't respond to McGonagall's warning. He kept his face blank, but inside, her words gnawed at him. He didn't want to lose his job—everything he had fought for, the reputation he had worked so hard to rebuild after the war. He had spent countless years clawing his way back into the school's good graces, proving his worth as an educator, not just a former Death Eater. He couldn't let all of that unravel because of one impulsive choice.
Yet, despite all the logic and the risks involved, Severus found himself unable to ignore the pull that Hermione had on him. In just the short span of not even two months, she had somehow wormed her way into his heart, clouding his usually impeccable judgment. It infuriated him—how quickly and easily she had undone the carefully constructed walls he'd built around himself. She was supposed to be just another student, albeit a brilliant one. But she was more than that now—far more—and that realization unsettled him.
Ignoring her for the remainder of the school year? The thought felt impossible. Every time she walked into the Great Hall his gaze was inevitably drawn to her. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought, the way her eyes sparked with passion during a debate, the way she smiled when she thought no one was looking—it all captivated him in ways he hadn't expected.
He had tried to rationalize it. Told himself it was fleeting. Temporary. But that night at the Halloween Ball, when they had danced beneath the stars, something shifted. The moment he had taken her into his arms, felt the warmth of her body against his, everything had changed. It was no longer just desire—though that was certainly a part of it. It was something deeper. A connection he hadn't anticipated, and one he couldn't bring himself to sever.
But now, with McGonagall's warning still fresh in his ears, he was forced to face the reality of the situation. He had allowed himself to be careless, and if he didn't rein it in soon, everything could come crashing down around him. The Ministry wouldn't hesitate to revoke his license, and Hogwarts wouldn't be able to shield him if the truth came out. Worse, Hermione's future would be at stake as well.
Severus clenched his fist beneath the table, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He had to find a way to manage this, to protect both of them without losing her in the process. He couldn't—wouldn't—ignore her, but he needed to be more careful. More deliberate. If he allowed his emotions to govern his actions, he risked losing everything.
As he finished his meal in silence, Severus made a quiet vow to himself. He would keep Hermione safe from the scrutiny of others—even if it meant pulling back. He would distance himself in public, maintain the appearance of indifference, and do everything in his power to ensure no one suspected a thing. But privately? In those moments when they were alone, he would find a way to be with her, no matter the cost.
Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Severus Snape had fallen for Hermione Granger—and there was no turning back now.
The next few weeks were a torment for Hermione. Severus's sudden coldness, his refusal to even look in her direction, gnawed at her. The tension had crept into every corner of her day, making her feel restless and on edge. Even at meals, where she used to catch the occasional glance or exchange a fleeting look with him, he now barely acknowledged her existence. His eyes seemed fixed anywhere but on her, and when they did pass over her, it was as if she were just another student—no one special.
The confusion weighed heavily on her. She kept replaying everything in her mind, searching for the moment where it all went wrong, where she had done something to drive him away. Was it something she said? Something she hadn't said? The questions swirled in her mind until they became a constant hum in the back of her thoughts, making it difficult to focus on anything else.
One night, desperate to understand what had changed, she did something reckless. She had made up her mind to sneak out and confront him, tired of the distance he'd put between them. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her shoulders, she maneuvered through the dark corridors, her heart pounding in her chest as she neared his office.
When she finally reached his door, her breath hitched. She raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could touch the wood, the door swung open, revealing Severus. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sternness in his eyes that immediately made her regret coming.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was harsh, low, and cold, not the warm, indulgent tone she had grown accustomed to in their private moments.
Hermione hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I... I needed to see you. I don't understand why you've been avoiding me."
His gaze hardened, and he stepped forward, effectively blocking her from entering his office. "Go back to your room, Hermione," he said flatly. "You shouldn't be out after curfew. You know that."
"But—"
"No," he cut her off sharply. "This cannot continue. You are to return to your dormitory and never seek me out again after hours. Do you understand?"
His words were like a slap in the face. Hermione felt her chest tighten, a wave of hurt and humiliation washing over her. She had come here for answers, for some kind of reassurance, and instead, she was being cast aside as if she were nothing.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice small, barely able to hide the crack of emotion threatening to break free.
Severus's jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—regret, maybe even pain—in his dark eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
"It's for the best," he said simply, his tone cold and final. "Now go."
She stood there for a moment, frozen, feeling utterly dismissed. Her throat tightened painfully as she turned away, blinking back tears. She didn't say another word, not even to argue. The rejection stung too much, and all she could do was flee from his presence, her heart heavy and her mind swirling with confusion and grief.
As she made her way back to her room, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted irreparably between them. The warmth they had shared, the connection she thought they had, felt as distant and unreachable as the stars outside the castle windows.
Severus was teetering on the edge of madness. Every time he saw Hermione, whether in the Great Hall or passing her in the corridors, the desire to reach out, to pull her close, gnawed at him relentlessly. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to reassure her that his distance was not because he didn't care—but because he cared too much.
Yet, McGonagall's sharp warning echoed constantly in the back of his mind. The stern words from their last conversation haunted him. She had made it abundantly clear what was at stake. "Are you willing to lose your license over this?" she had hissed, eyes blazing with accusation. The Headmistress knew, of course. She wasn't a fool, and the last thing she wanted was for the situation to spiral into a full-blown scandal. And he couldn't afford that—not for Hermione, not for himself. The risk was too great.
But that didn't make it easier. Every time Hermione crossed his line of sight, it was agony. He could feel her frustration, her confusion, her pain, and it cut him deeply. He hated himself for pushing her away, for treating her like some mere schoolgirl when, in his eyes, she was anything but. She was everything.
That night, after he had told her to leave, the weight of his decision hit him harder than he expected. He had watched her eyes widen with hurt before she turned and fled from him, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to remain rooted in place. The moment the door closed behind her, he had slammed his fist against his desk, a strangled sound of frustration escaping his throat.
He had wanted to chase after her, rules be damned. He had wanted to grab her, pull her into his arms, and tell her the truth—that she consumed his thoughts, that pushing her away was tearing him apart. The image of her standing alone in the dark, confused and heartbroken, tormented him. He wanted to claim her, to let the world be damned, and make her his right then and there.
But McGonagall's warning rang in his ears like a bell tolling his doom. One wrong move, one reckless act, and everything they had could come crashing down. He knew he had to be cautious. The last thing he wanted was to ruin her, to destroy the life she was building for herself. No matter how much it tortured him to keep his distance, it was necessary. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
Even in the solitude of his chambers, he found no peace. The cold walls around him only amplified the emptiness he felt. Nights were the worst. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her—her bright eyes, her soft smile, the way she looked at him with so much trust. A trust he feared he was shattering.
He downed a glass of firewhisky, hoping it would numb the ache inside him, but nothing helped. His fingers twitched with the memory of how her skin felt against his, and his chest tightened as he recalled the way she had looked at him with hurt in her eyes.
This distance, this pretense of indifference, was driving him mad. Severus knew he was walking a fine line, and with each passing day, the line between self-control and complete surrender grew thinner.