Chapter 5
Somehow Hermione managed to fall back asleep. When she woke up again from a dreamless sleep she was alone in the bed. She sat up slowly, taking in the sight of Snape’s private bedroom, still somewhat shocked to remember that she had slept curled up in the arms of Severus Snape.
Trying to put the strangeness clouding her mind away for the time being, she got up and quickly transfigured the sleep shirt Snape had lent her into a suitable black dress that fell to the floor. She fetched her blouse and turned it into a burgundy sweater that she slid over her head before heading out to the living area. Snape wasn’t there either, the clock on the wall told her it was well past breakfast which meant he must be teaching classes.
She walked to the kitchen to look for something she could scrounge together to eat but noticed something on the counter. Sitting in the center, amidst the potions and cauldrons, was a plate with bread and jam on it, a cup of tea, and a note that said:
Try to stay out of the forest until I return.
She put the note down and looked at the food. A warming charm had been cast to keep it ready for her. Hermione smiled, surprised by yet another small act of kindness being performed by Snape.
She took her breakfast over to the sofa and ate while studying the ritual. But as the day wore on so did her boredom. Realizing that Snape probably wouldn’t be back until after dinner, Hermione decided to do something else with her time.
She slipped away into the secret passageway.
***
Hermione crashed into Snape as he marched through the shadows of the passageway. When she collided with him the many books she was holding went tumbling to the floor around them.
“What are you doing? I asked you to stay out of the forest. And I come back to find you gone and—”
“Do you think I got these books in the forest?” Hermione snapped, crouching down to collect her spilled tomes. “I used the passage to get outside of the grounds so I could apparate.”
With a groan Snape crouched down beside her and assisted in picking up her books. “Where on earth did you go?”
“A muggle library.”
Hermione stood up with her books but Snape quickly snatched the stack from her and began striding back to his quarters. Hermione followed behind him. Neither one of them spoke again until they emerged from behind the tapestry.
“You could have asked me to—”
“I wanted muggle novels,” Hermione insisted. “I cannot spend every waking moment researching a ritual we can’t even perform for months. I’m bored. So I went out and got books to read. I’m sorry I didn’t leave you a note. I thought I would be back sooner, but I lost track of time.”
Snape set the stack of novels on the counter and spun around to face Hermione, his long black robes swirling around him like wings.
“I am trying to help you, Miss Granger.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then for the love of Merlin: Leave. A. Note.”
Hermione nodded. “Okay. I will from now on. I promise.”
Snape sighed. He almost sounded relieved.
“I brought you back dinner from The Great Hall.” He gestured to where a plate sat waiting for her on the counter.
“Thank you.”
Snape nodded. “I have papers to grade.”
He said nothing else, striding over to his desk to work. After several hours in comfortable silence Snape stood up and announced they should prepare for bed.
“I showered before I left this morning, so feel free.” He gestured to his bathroom.
Hermione said nothing as she got up and went to shower. When she emerged after she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of Severus Snape in nothing but his pajama bottoms, climbing into bed. He turned when he sensed her eyes on him.
Hermione had had enough sense to transfigure her dress back into a sleep shirt, but she still felt far too exposed under his gaze.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, settling under the covers.
Hermione obeyed without thinking, moving to ‘her’ side of the bed and crawling under the covers. The two lay in awkward silence for a few moments, their breathing giving away how painfully awake they both were.
“Professor?” Hermione said.
Snape sighed. “Yes, Miss Granger?”
“Do…you ever have nightmares?”
Snape was silent. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed softly, feeling foolish for even asking. She began to turn to face away from him when he spoke.
“Yes.”
Hermione froze. She could feel his eyes on her but she didn’t dare look at him.
“What are they about?” she asked the ceiling.
“I do not commit every dream to memory, Miss Granger. They are about frightening things as all nightmares are.”
Hermione huffed and rolled onto her side, facing away from him. The two remained in silence for several more painful moments.
“Why don’t you call me Hermione?” she said softly, letting her words get swallowed up by the night.
“It would not be appropriate.”
“I’m in your bed. I think we’re fast past what’s appropriate.” Hermione rolled over to find that Snape was already looking at her. His black eyes bore into her brown ones; it was startling to say the least. “Besides,” she continued, softer, more nervous under his accusing gaze, “I was never your student. The other Hermione was.”
“Still,” Snape said, failing to provide any other explanation.
“I don’t want you to keep calling me Miss Granger, and I don’t want to call you Professor.”
“I see.”
“You don’t want me to call you Snape, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then why can’t I call you Severus and you call me Hermione?” Snape sighed, his perpetual sneer morphing into something akin to a frown. “Are you so afraid of someone seeing the real you?”
“I am not—”
“Because I’ve already seen it. I watched that man die in Harry’s arms. I watched Harry cry over your dead body, Severus.” Snape stiffened a bit at the sound of his first name. “I listened to Harry recount what he saw in the pensieve; what you did. Who you were before Dumbledore broke you down.”
“I am loath to disappoint you,” he continued sardonically, “but Dumbledore was not entirely to blame for who I became.”
“I know. But if you would listen to what I’m saying—”
“And what are you saying, Miss Granger.”
Hermione exhaled in frustration. “I am saying that I watched Harry mourn Professor Snape. You watched him mourn me. We haven’t truly met until a few days ago. I am not the Hermione Granger you taught, I am a Hogwarts Professor. I am a survivor. And I’m telling you I don’t want to be talked down to like I’m still some schoolgirl you can’t stand. You clearly don’t want to call me Professor Granger, so call me Hermione.”
Snape stared at her for what felt like an impossibly long time but was more likely just a few seconds.
“And you wish to call me Severus?”
Hermione didn’t exactly know why, but she shifted across the mattress the tiniest bit, her hand resting between the pillow and her cheek. She nodded. “Do you want me to keep calling you Professor?”
“It is what I’m used to you calling me.”
“That’s what I keep trying to say; your Hermione died—” Hermione stopped. Realizing too late the weight of her words. “I…I don’t mean…I just meant the Hermione you knew—”
Snape moved his hand to rest on top of hers. Hermione inhaled softly from the sensation of his touch.
“You are Hermione Granger.”
Hermione stared into his eyes, getting lost in their black blaze.
“You hated Hermione Granger.”
“I did not.”
This surprised her.
“But—”
“I did not hate you.”
“Then why—”
“Because I am not a kind man. I have no delusions about that. I do not think I deserved Lily Potter. I do not believe I had no other choice than to do what Dumbledore commanded. I made my choices and I suffered the consequences. Apparently worse so in your timeline. I may have found you annoying but I did not hate you.”
“Do you still find me annoying?”
“Not at the moment.”
Hermione found herself smiling. She shifted her fingers a bit against Snape’s so that they were almost intertwined.
“Go to sleep, Hermione.”
Snape pulled his hand free from hers and rolled away to face the wall. Hermione inhaled sharply, startled and slightly disappointed to abruptly be left without the slight pressure of his hand on hers, but then she realized what he had said. She sighed softly, her smile growing as she rolled over and fell asleep.
***
Hermione woke the following morning, having slept through the night without a single bad dream. She sighed in contentment as this realization washed over her. As she settled deeper into the mattress a second realization overcame her; a body pressed against hers and arms encircling her waist.
It was Severus, they were cuddled up together like two lovers, the steady rise and fall of Severus’s chest moving like the tide against Hermione’s back. She inhaled softly and tried to shift away from his hold on her, afraid for him to wake up and accuse her of somehow orchestrating their entanglement.
“Go back to sleep, Hermione,” he mumbled against her hair.
Hermione stilled, shocked by his casual use of her first name, and the way he tightened his hold on her and pressed his nose deeper into her hair.
“Severus,” she whispered.
“Sleep.”
“Don’t you need to get up?”
“It’s Saturday. Stop talking and go back to sleep.”
“But what about breakfast in the Great Hall? Won’t the other professors notice if you’re not there?”
“I don’t care.”
He nuzzled against her neck and exhaled softly, his breath sending a shiver down her spine. Hermione figured he must be speaking to her from a dream-like state. Surely he wasn’t truly awake, otherwise he would never say these things or behave this way.
“Professor,” Hermione said, slipping back into a more formal address, “you’re…holding me.”
“Mmm,” Severus grumbled.
“Don’t you want to—”
“What I want is for you to be quiet and go back to sleep.”
Hermione shifted a bit against his arms’ tight hold on her, trying to make herself comfortable, though she found such an endeavor to be somewhat of a struggle with how anxious the entire ordeal was making her. On the one hand she enjoyed this almost tender side of him, but on the other she feared it would all shatter with his typical cruel words and sneering looks as soon as he fully awoke.
“I am fully awake, Hermione.”
Hermione gasped, registering the dull ache in her forehead from where Severus had barrelled into her mind without warning.
“You shouldn’t—”
“Don’t think so loud then.”
Hermione was silent for a moment, trying to come up with a clever retort, or hoping by the good graces of Circe she would suddenly gain the skill of occlumency. Neither such enlightenment came.
“You’re really awake?” she asked tentatively.
“I am really awake.”
“Then why are you still holding me?”
“Because I’m comfortable.”
“Holding me?”
“Yes.”
Hermione was thankful her back was to Severus so he couldn’t take in her perplexed expression.
Severus sighed. “Please go back to sleep. It’s early and neither one of us has had much rest the past few days.”
“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled.
“I am not blaming you. Just stop bothering me about whether or not I am conscious and go back to resting.”
“Okay, bossy.”
Severus huffed, Hermione thought it almost sounded like an amused laugh. Almost.
“Ever so mature, Miss Granger. Now—” he pulled her a bit closer, “sleep.”
***
Hermione awoke later in the morning when the sun was lazy in the sky, the wind whistling through the trees in the forest. She was alone in the bed, the sound of Severus in the kitchen drifting through the apartment. She got up, pulled her sweater on over her sleep shirt, and made her way out of the bedroom to see Severus hunched over his worktop, brow creased, deep into his work. Hermione stood and watched for a few moments, almost mesmerized by watching how he treated the art of potion making with such purpose and intent. It was like a dance only he knew the choreography to. A pity he was so wretched at actually teaching potions.
“How long do you intend to stand there and stare at me?” he asked gruffly, never once tearing his eyes away from his work.
“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled. “What are you doing?”
Severus stood up straight as he poured whatever it was he was brewing into a small jar.
“Making this.” He finally looked over at Hermione. “Come here.”
“Why?”
Severus sighed. “Don’t be difficult this early in the morning.”
Hermione glanced at the clock across the room. “It’s after eleven.”
“Hermione,” he intoned, clearly growing annoyed.
But the use of her first name on his tongue did something to her that her rational mind couldn’t quite make sense of. So she obeyed, walking across the small space to stand before him. She looked down at the jar in his hand then up into his inky eyes.
“That’s a healing salve?”
“Yes. I brewed this one with a slight numbing agent so it should only lightly sting for a moment.”
“As opposed to?”
“I may have exaggerated before on how painless the salve was.”
Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.
“I am telling the truth this time. Without the numbing agent you would feel the full force of the salve which must burn the curse away.”
“I know. Believe me, I’ve been slathered with half a dozen variations of those salves back at St. Mungo’s. I have no desire to endure anymore.”
“You haven’t had my variation and I can assure you the numbing agent will dampen the worst of the burn.”
“Why can’t you let this go?”
“Because you’re hurt and I have the ability to fix it.”
Hermione stiffened. There was something so simple and obvious about his words that undid her. No one had phrased it like that. Her scar was a problem to solve, a mystery to crack, it was never seen as something attached to a person who was in need of healing—in need of caring. And here was one of the arguably cruelest men she had ever met showing more compassion for her plight than even the most skilled healers of Britain’s wizarding community could muster.
“Hermione,” he said, his voice taking on a tone so gentle it didn’t even sound like it had truly come from his mouth, “let me help you. Please.”
“O–okay,” she stammered nervously; her mind still reeling.
Severus nodded to her arms, still braced across her chest. She looked down at her arms as Severus extended a hand to her. She unfolded her limbs and placed her forearm against Severus’s open palm. With his other hand he gently pushed back the sleeve of her sweater to expose her scar. He seemed pained by the sight of it but quickly tried to hide his reaction, reaching for the salve, dipping two fingers into the light green mixture, and bringing them to hover above Hermione’s skin.
His eyes met hers once more. “It will sting for a few moments. That is all.”
“You promise?” she whispered. She was plagued by memories of the countless agonizing treatments she’d undergone after the war and she couldn’t bear the idea of having to suffer through such an ordeal again.
“I promise.”
Hermione nodded, blinking away tears before they had a chance to fall. “Okay.”
Severus nodded back and then applied the salve. Hermione hissed as the sting, sharp as a bee, shot across her skin. She instinctively tried to pull her arm free of Severus’s grasp but he held her steady, gently massaging the salve into her skin, the mixture settling into each groove of the scar. After a few moments the sting did indeed fade and soon all she felt was the soothing caress of Severus’s fingers against her arm. She exhaled slowly, her entire body shaking as he massaged the last bit of the mixture into her skin.
“It has to be applied everyday for a month,” he said, his usual terse tone returning.
“Right. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He was still holding her arm. Hermione tore her gaze away from her scar to look up at him. As her eyes met his, his gaze softened the tiniest bit. Hermione felt his long, lithe fingers gently wrap around her forearm, holding her in a far more tender caress than was necessary for medical care. But the medical care was complete, now he was just holding onto her.
“You—” Hermione held his stare, no idea what to say. She found herself moving closer, tilting her head back, and parting her lips.
She registered Severus leaning forward, the light pull on her arm, bringing her closer to him, and for one blissful, horribly confusing moment Hermione was certain he was going to kiss her. Then Hermione felt the quickly growing familiar sensation of Severus slipping into her mind. She inhaled sharply, her cheeks flushed with humiliation as her unguarded thoughts and unexpected desires were on full display for the legilimens before her.
Severus dropped her arm, stepping back from her, and turning to face his work top once more. “I have some things to get done today.”
“Right.” Hermione coughed awkwardly to clear her throat just to have something to do.
She retreated to the bedroom in shame, quickly changing into jeans she had transfigured out of a pair of Severus’s trousers. She pulled her sweater back on and tied her hair up in a bun before braving the kitchen again.
“I’m…going to go into London. I’ll be back later.”
She grabbed a satchel stuffed with muggle novels and headed for the hidden passage.
“Do you have muggle money?” Severus asked.
Hermione froze, her hand grasping the edge of the tapestry.
“Of course I do,” she said coldly. “I’m a muggle-born, aren’t I?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. He wasn't looking at her at all. His hands were gripping the edge of the worktop, his back hunched, a book on advanced healing potions open before him, his eyes scanning the words on the page intently. It was as if she wasn't even there. Hermione sighed softly in agonizing disappointment. She pulled back the tapestry and disappeared into the passageway.