Undisclosed Desires

Five

In the years following the war, Severus thought he had learned to better control his negative emotions. In particular, anger, resentment, and jealousy. Or, at the very least, he had learned to not put himself into situations likely to rouse those darker sensations. Far easier to do when he no longer served two masters. Much easier to do when his present was no longer filled with relics of his past.

Nevertheless, he was sure he could be excused for the sudden burst of upset that gripped him when he received his latest missive from the Ministry. He was sure no one could blame him for impulsively tearing off in search of answers, when a more level response might have been more appropriate.

The receptionist at St. Mungo's told him that Mediwitch Granger was currently off the premises, at lunch. Understandably, privacy dictated that she could not divulge the location, but she was so nervous that, for Severus, discrete Legilimency at twenty paces proved fruitful.

Severus marched into the Leaky Cauldron and it took only a few moments to locate the back of her bushy head. Such was his ire that he was not deterred by the company she was keeping. As he stalked over, Potter spotted him first—a violent flinch of surprise evidence to that. There was no time to relish in such a reaction, however.

'Potter, Weasley, and Granger,' Severus hissed, 'how charming.' As Hermione spun her head around, he met her look of surprise with a dark glare. 'A word, Granger, if you don't mind .'

Ignoring the gormless expressions of confusion from her companions, Severus spun on his heel and headed for the door. He heard her follow him quickly out into the courtyard.

'What on earth—' she began.

He cut her off, shoving the letter at her. She snatched it from him and he stared down at her as she read. Progressively, her stature started to shrink; reflexively, he straightened his.

'Severus,' she began, screwing up the parchment and shaking her head imploringly. 'It's not—'

'Apparently, I am that much of an ogre that I have been warned to check my behaviour! For fuck's sake, Granger, I accept that I was a prick in years gone by, but I never expected you would despise me so much you would make false allegations about my conduct!'

She tried to speak, but he was afraid to hear it, because he was belatedly beginning to realise his anger was seeded by a feeling of intense disappointment. Bitter disappointment that for all her posturing to the contrary, she really could not bear him.

'My reputation,' he interrupted harshly, 'as weak as it is, cannot take these hits—especially from people like you .'

He made to leave, but she was quicker. She managed to catch his wrist, and then her hand was grasping on to his, pulling him back. It should have been easy for him to simply wrench himself free, but the gravely whispered ' I do not despise you ,' made him freeze.

Not only that, but she held on to him tightly. She had touched him only once before, a long time ago; a moment he was loath to recall.

'Severus, I apologise; I acted impetuously! I thought if I went to the Ministry and told them we weren't getting along they might agree to release us! I never alleged anything, I just thought it would be believable if I told them you could barely tolerate me… That you were being… difficult . I told them I gave as good as I got! I never thought they would write to you… It is possible they also sent me a warning...'

Her voice trailed off and she abruptly released him. Severus immediately stuffed both of his hands in his pockets.

'You wanted to participate in this charade, not me!' he snarled. 'I would thank you not to use me to get yourself out of a situation of your own making!'

For all his bluster, she seemed strangely unphased by his irritation. Her eyes closed and she shook her head repeatedly. 'It wasn't for me ,' she argued. 'It was for you—it was to get you out of this situation.' Her shoulders drooped with a sigh. 'I have seen what an affront it is to you, to make you part of this. It is cruel; after everything you have been through—'

'Pity, Granger? Oh, thanks for your condescension, I appreciate it very much! I can take care of myself. I do not require busybodies like you to make decisions for me.'

He could no longer stand there. He could not stand pity. With a growl of irritation, he Disapparated into the air. Cruel, was it? Now she saw his humiliation in their pairing—their mistaken pairing—and felt sorry for him. Pitied him. Of course it was someone's idea of a twisted joke—to associate him with the Muggle-born Gryffindor, the brain box, the do-gooder, Potter's friend. Would his life ever be fully dissociated from that family?

Nearly all of his life had revolved in some way around that name. His pre-Potter life existed in only small chunks of memory, some of which he cherished, but the rest were mostly best forgotten. His post-Potter existence was now in danger of being similarly tarnished too.

And he was tired of it. Tired of all of it. Tired of the pain and tired of the anger.

In his fury, Severus very nearly marched straight into the Ministry to demand that whatever contract it was, whatever was underpinning it all, that it be dissolved, rescinded, undone… Whatever was necessary. He wanted to know who it was that had it in for him. Who was laughing at him, pairing him with Granger and making him feel...

Precisely that, making him feel.

That was when he paused. He was outside the building when he saw enough sense to realise setting foot inside the place in such a high dudgeon would do him absolutely no good. Shouting his mouth off would likely get him a night in the cells at most.

He had behaved enough like an impulsive Gryffindor for one day. Gritting his teeth, he instead retreated back to work. Immediately, he set to brewing—the only sure-fire way to get his equilibrium back.

As it was, after a couple of hours listening to the bubble of the cauldron, Severus could feel his affront begin to weaken. Trouble was, he didn't think he could put it all down to the cauldron. He was sure it was because her earnest 'I do not despise you ,' seemed to echo around his head at inopportune moments. It was a mark of his wretchedness that he should set store in those words—that he should find some success in the idea that Hermione Granger, actually, did not despise him.

But it was a nice thought. It was more than nice.

The keen recollection of how her hand felt on his also gave him pause. The warmth of it he could not get from his mind. It filled him with warmth, and that feeling seemed to rise for supremacy amongst his feelings of self-loathing and resentment.

Her touch was so delicate, she was delicate, he realised; strong, yet delicate.

Perhaps even exquisite.

He was a fool to think such thoughts. He knew because he had succumbed to such beauty before. In a life often dark, but certainly perpetually murky, he could not be criticised for being drawn to it, could he? Who could fail to understand his yearning for the light of others to shine on him, even if only for a moment? He needed it. Craved it, even.

It was only the beauty of potion-making that he had sustained him for nearly all of his adult life. Its delicacy and its art was the only beauty afforded to him to fill the hole in his heart, and in his mind, too. He had dedicated himself to the pursuit of knowledge, but such was the law of diminishing returns, that it was an increasingly empty endeavour.

And here he was, older than ever, more knowledgeable than ever, and lonelier than ever.

Later that evening, Severus was still at his desk. The last half and hour had been spent trying to read through a potential submission for the next edition of the journal. Without getting to the end of it, however, he shoved it to one side and decided it was time to retire for the evening. As he was securing his office, the front door knocked.

Grimacing, he marched down the hallway and wrenched open the door. Feeling a complete lack of surprise, he found himself looking at Hermione Granger, clearly fresh from a shift at the hospital.

'Good evening,' he drawled, stepping over the threshold and causing her to take a step back.

Severus shut the door and proceeded to build the locking charms.

'Might we talk?' she asked stiffly.

'If we must,' he responded, but, nevertheless, started walking along the pavement towards the entrance to Diagon Alley. 'Make it quick as I am on my way home.'

He chose not to look at her, so he was left to imagine the clench of her jaw.

'You didn't let me explain why the Ministry wouldn't buy my story about our animosity.'

Severus said nothing.

She continued on. 'They admitted that the contract could be terminated should the parties encounter, ah, hostility.'

'Your point?' he asked shortly.

'There is an enchantment they have and it knows things,' she burst out breathily, reaching out her hand in a motion to get him to slow down.

Severus readily complied. He stopped suddenly and stared down at her. 'I beg your pardon?'

'There is no person sitting in the Ministry dreaming these scenarios up.' She lifted her chin obstinately. 'The enchantment knows the truth of things, of what is happening. That is why our goalposts keep changing; it's intuitive.'

'Magic?' Severus muttered in confusion. 'But there was nothing in the agreement that specified any such enchantment.'

Hermione snorted. 'As you have implied before, it is the Ministry and they do what they want, clearly.'

Clearly. He was momentarily at a loss, which she evidently noticed.

'Something for you to think about, eh?' She actually had the gall to reach out and give his arm a condescending pat. 'See you Saturday.'

And with an almost satisfied quirk of her mouth, she turned and walked briskly on up the pavement, disappearing around the corner without another look. Severus watched her go, vaguely dumbstruck by her cheek.

In a moment, he continued with his own progress, only far more slowly.

His head was beginning to throb with the complexity of it all.

After a bad start to the week, there was one small positive note and that was learning his task remained the same as hers. A relief considering the confirmation there was some sort of progression to these instructions. Surely, they now needed to work to put a halt to any such progression?

Why was it they did not get stuck at square one? They should still be on their fifth coffee meeting, shouldn't they? Doomed to repeat owing to their fatally flawed compatibility?

But there were far too many intrusive thoughts recently—too many infringing feelings that could only be sourced back to her. They made him anxious and uncomfortable, a place he had absolutely no desire to be. So he oscillated back and forth over his decision on where to take her. The answer was a reset, perhaps; turn things back to where they should be. Set the context, return to formality, and put everyone back into their place. This debacle was simply a means to an end, and once it was over they need never cross paths again.

He decided he would stick with the theme of work, as she had done. Maybe this would confuse the enchantment? Perhaps that was the key, to tinker at the parameters to even fool it, maybe?

Trouble was, in those moments of frank reflection, he found himself surmising that one Hermione Granger might enjoy work as much as frivolity, if not more? In any case, he lacked the inspiration for anything else. He did not know enough about her to take her somewhere she really despised. Who would have thought he might struggle to show someone a bad time?

On Saturday morning, however, when he found himself sitting on the stone wall that bounded the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, clock-watching until the imminent arrival of her Portkey on the hour, it was then that Severus really began to doubt his decision-making.

When she appeared, her first reaction was to stare around in surprise. Then she saw him and, evidently mindful of his grim countenance, she folded her expression into something more subdued.

'We're going to Hogwarts?' she enquired softly.

Severus nodded tightly, rising to his feet and setting off along the winding path to the castle.

'Why?' she asked, skipping slightly to catch up.

'You'll soon see.'

He walked resolutely on, feeling a creeping sense of resentment again at the sight of her. Worse than that, internally, he wrestled with the notion that his resentment lay not with her, but with himself—for who he was, and who he never would be. Then he silently railed at himself for allowing his thoughts to drift in such fanciful directions. Could he not just focus on the matter at hand?

'I wish to express my regret, once more, Severus, for—'

'There is no need,' he interrupted sharply. 'I quite understand the sentiment behind your actions.'

Her reply was not immediate, but she did say, 'I do not think that you do, actually, but perhaps we should leave it at that.'

He was in no mood to argue with her, so it suited him to ignore the point. In a few moments, they reached the gates to the castle. There was a huge padlock on the gates, but one which had no room for a key. Severus took out his wand and began silently undoing the series of complex locking charms.

'In the summer,' he explained, 'when the castle is empty, Minerva allows the use of the dungeons for me to carry out the brewing that I cannot undertake back at the office.'

'We're brewing?'

'Mm,' he confirmed, determinedly not interested in her reaction.

Severus opened the gate and they entered. They started following the main path up to the Entrance Hall, but only for a short distance before he veered suddenly off the path and took a route across the grass that led directly to a dedicated access to the dungeons.

'Is Minerva here?' Hermione asked breathily, trying to maintain his brisk pace.

'Apart from the elves, no one is here, not even Hagrid.'

'Oh.'

It was always a small window, but big enough for him to get done what he needed.

They moved into the castle and, as the sconces lit to illuminate the familiar dungeon corridor and various nooks and crannies, her head started craning round with interest. When he realised she was probably mentally cataloguing the location of the Potions classroom, and other familiar territory, he grit his teeth and berated himself for bringing her here. Never mind the years that had passed, was it really a good idea to bring them both back into this contextual environment?

And yet, that was what he had wanted, hadn't he? It would do him well to be reminded, repeatedly, of his position as her much older former teacher.

Merlin, how he hated himself sometimes.

They entered a large cavernous dungeon that had multiple benches, on top of which sat multiple cauldrons. At one end, there was a series of much larger cauldrons that sat just above the floor, suspended in place via chains hooked to the ceiling.

He sent a black robe sailing towards her and Hermione just about caught it before it smothered her. She resized it and put it on. 'I am obviously aware of St. Mungo's procedural guidance for cross-contamination and the charms they insist on for robes, but I can sense you have additional spells.'

Severus took a breath and simply looked at her. Here were the inevitable questions.

'Would you care to explain what those spells are, please?' she ground out.

'Not particularly, no,' he drawled, donning his own robe.

He turned to approach a large preparation bench, busying himself with laying out a selection of knives. He sensed her step up to the bench beside him.

'But you will, nevertheless,' she murmured lightly, looking over the instruments with interest.

'I won't,' he muttered stubbornly.

'You will.'

'No.'

'Just tell me.'

'Granger—'

He intended to hiss something scornful at her, something that would darken her expression, dull the sparkle in her eye, and maybe, eventually, even get her to storm out. And yet, he couldn't do it. The words dissipated in his throat when he looked at her.

He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to rouse contempt. He wished to inspire something far more noble. What he knew about nobility, of course, was hardly worth knowing about, mind. But damn the consequences, he could do better.

'I presume I do not need to teach you a ward against your hair?' He gave a sideways look at her extravagance of hair.

She smiled sheepishly. 'Oh, no. I'm sure you remember my experience with cross-contamination.'

'Indeed,' he murmured disapprovingly.

'What are we brewing?' she asked hurriedly, as if to change the subject.

'I brew some supplies for the Infirmary here at Hogwarts—another string pulled by Minerva.'

He advised they were brewing the most basic pain reliever that the Infirmary stocked, one which tended to be dispensed most frequently for minor aches and pains. He began to explain his process for cleansing his implements and surroundings. He had cleansing charms for his cleansing charms, it seemed, but he knew she was familiar with clinical settings and knew that nothing could be left to chance. There were even room-wide wards that were potion specific that would alert the brewer to a mis-step.

She interrupted. 'Room-wide? I have never heard of that before, but then, I can't imagine you making many mistakes.'

Severus almost smiled at the irony.

'I have brewed some of these potions thousands of times, Granger, and yes, some of them I could brew with my eyes closed, but therein lies the difficulty. No one is immune to distraction—boredom, even. Not all errors result in a curdled mess, as you know, so I leave nothing to chance. Nothing is foolproof, of course, but a safety net is required, especially when managing multiple brews at a time.'

'Multiple brews?'

'Indeed. When I was resident here I could brew supplies on demand. I do not have the time for that now. As you are aware, official recipes often result in a fixed yield. I should be here for weeks if I follow those recipes. Some recipes may be scaled up for a larger yield per brew. The most time-consuming part, of course, is the preparation of larger ingredient quantities.'

So saying, he pointed her to a bench and levitated a large container of ginger for her to peel.

'It isn't the case that you can simply increase the quantities and achieve the same level of efficacy?' she questioned, taking up a knife.

Severus, beginning to be occupied with his own preparations, almost forgot to feel irritation at her questions. 'Indeed not. Some recipes do not work that way. Increased quantities of lavender will change the outcome of Dreamless Sleep entirely.'

He lit the base of the cauldron and began filling it with water. Once it started to boil, he began dropping in the ingredients from his workstation.

'Presumably stirring techniques are affected by the scaling up?' she asked.

'Yes,' he answered, lifting a large stirring rod and depositing it into the cauldron. 'That is also rather more trial and error. In this particular case, there are additional stirs required as the time for the ingredients to coagulate is much extended. However, when I brew a large batch of anti-sickness elixir, I have to introduce an additional counter-clockwise pattern in order to counteract the increased peppermint, which would otherwise make the potion unpalatable to drink.'

There was momentary silence from her, so much so, that he actually looked up from the cauldron to see what she was doing. She seemed lost in thought. When her knife started moving again, he resumed his own task.

Ten minutes later, he was aware of her jumping off her stool and bringing over the ginger. 'If some recipes cannot be maximised, how do you brew those?' she enquired, looking with narrowed eyes at the long benches with lines of small cauldrons along them. 'Surely not one single batch at a time?'

'In a manner of speaking…'

'But…' she trailed off with irritation.

'There is no time to go into all that today; that is my job for tomorrow.' He sent her a satisfied smirk, but he should have been cleverer. Immediately, her face changed into one that suggested a bright idea had hit her.

'I'm not working tomorrow,' she stated.

Severus fought not to close his eyes in despair. 'Granger—'

'Why not? It doesn't matter that it isn't scheduled.'

He felt quite sure that it did—that it should , if only for the sake of his future well-being.

'You must allow it,' she implored.

He clicked his tongue irritably. 'No.'

She stood before him, almost entreating. 'Why not? I think it would be really useful for my training.'

Not for the first time, he was vaguely put off by her proximity and he focused on gripping the stirring rod tightly. 'I do not teach anymore, and, besides, you are under the tutelage of St. Mungo's.'

'Never mind that.'

'I do mind that. The answer is no.'

She huffed. 'There must be something I can offer you in return?'

His mind should not have gone there, there was nothing provocative in her tone, but it did. He made no outward sign of it, though. Instead, he surveyed her a little bit more obtrusively, before replying, 'You have nothing I want.'

Belatedly, he could tell it lacked bite and she evidently noticed, for she appeared to take no offence. Her shoulders lifted a little. 'We'll see,' she stated, turning back to perch back on her stool.

Severus checked his watch, grimly. He did not like the sound of that one bit.

The rest of the hours ticked by in mostly silence—the silence of concentration, interspersed mainly with the sound of cauldrons bubbling or the sound of pestle against mortar. Nothing awkward occurred. There were none of her twisty conversations where she lulled him into revealing more than he should. Severus thought he might even feel relaxed. A little bit.

But when they were finished, ready to depart, and he had locked up the gates, she did have one final parting shot.

'See you here again tomorrow at nine-thirty!' she quipped, before abruptly disappearing.

Severus blinked, staring at where she had stood. Any sense of relief he had felt at surviving the afternoon unscathed, evaporated.

Another challenge from her.