Don't Look

Lest I forget – I continue to worship at the altar of Jo Rowling, whose generous spirit allows us to play in her playground, as long as we don't attempt to make money off the process. Thank you, St. Jo!

And my heart-felt thanks to my brilliant beta, Leigh-Anne, who always has the right words (and often the right title) for me. This is one of her titles, and it's perfect.

19. DON'T LOOK

CRACK!

Dobby appeared so suddenly that Hermione feared Professor Snape might hex him.

Not that the house-elf would have seen it coming since he had his eyes squeezed shut, even though he balanced a tray with a huge Brown Betty and two fat mugs, along with milk, sugar and assorted biscuits.

"Dobby! Thank you!" She cleared the small table between her and Professor Snape with a wave of her wand.

The house-elf broke into a broad grin. "You is welcome!"

"Open your eyes, Dobby, or you'll spill it."

The house-elf carefully put the tray on the table and beamed, then clamped his eyes shut again. "I is not seeing anything," he announced solemnly.

Professor Snape's nose twitched and Hermione kept her features placid.

"That smells like your tea," he said suspiciously.

"It is. Shall I be mother?" She poured his cup.

"You mean you refused to allow me to brew it, but you allow a..."

"Dobby, thank you so much!" she dismissed the house-elf and watched with satisfaction as he disappeared with the usual CRACK! "You were saying?" she asked politely.

"Explain yourself."

His good mood was definitely gone.

"I gave Dobby a supply of PG Tips for your use only. You will be served your own special tea at the High Table, or here or in your office or classroom...anywhere you ask for tea. However, nobody else will get it."

"That still doesn't explain..."

"I hope you realize it won't be the same as what I prepare because it will be prepared with magic, of course. But it's still light-years ahead of what they usually serve in the kitchens."

"Miss Granger..." His voice was close to a growl.

"And, no, I'm not going to tell you how to prepare it Muggle-style. As I said before, I insist on having something I can do better than you, even if it is only prepare tea." She handed him his properly prepared and stirred cuppa and then set to preparing her own. "I hope it's not too disappointing."

He drank it suspiciously. "Sub-standard," he announced.

She tasted it and found it quite good.

"But better than the kitchen's usual brew," he admitted grudgingly.

"Thank you." She smirked without shame.

He glowered at her. "Thank you."

And for a brief time, they simply shared the intimate joy of a good cup of tea.

She finally spoke up, a little too forcefully, but it was by being forceful that she managed to not shrink in embarrassment. "Excuse me, I need to take care of some things in the loo."

"By all means," he muttered, ignoring her to pour yet a third cup of tea.

She entered to be faced with the horrible tub of red.

Had he been in there? She couldn't recall. She felt herself blushing.

She Evanescoed the water, cast a Stasis on the damp fabric to keep it from draining everywhere, and floated it to the corner until she could come up with a better way to handle it.

She set the tub to cleaning itself and went to stick her head out the door...

He was about to enter.

"Oh!" Her heart leapt, startled.

He seemed just as caught off guard, though surely he knew she was still in there.

He placed a firm thumb on her upper lip and pulled up. "Loosen up, let me look."

"What are you doing?" She jerked away from his touch. "I'm not a horse and you're not purchasing me."

"I think a little Blood Replenishing Potion might be in order."

"I've never had to take such a thing..."

"Your gums are pale." He handed her the vial, which she tossed back (while giving him a good Snape-ish scowl) and then wheezed and choked (while receiving a smug Snape-ish smirk).

"If you don't mind," she said, unable to look him square in the eye, "I think I'm going to take another hot bath."

"I think that's an excellent idea." His voice was a soft chocolate rumble in his chest, and she could no more stop her eyes from flying up to meet his unfathomable depths than she could stop her heart from beating.

"And then..." she said breathlessly, somehow feeling the need to keep talking, "I have Arithmancy homework...."

Which she suddenly realized she could be quite easily convinced to ditch.

And she suddenly wished she hadn't brought it up at all.

Especially when she saw the change ripple through him.

A change she could not describe but could practically taste in the air between them.

"I need to make rounds, and then--we should dine with the others tonight before Dumbledore decides to invade."

And then, he was gone in his usual billow, and she was left with an empty, gleaming white tub and an empty ache in her lower abdomen that hadn't been there before.

XX

Fucking hell.

Homework.

If that didn't define everything that was wrong in his life...

No, not everything.

Just what was beginning to feel like the most important thing.

Which in itself was ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as the fact that he'd followed her into the bathroom to offer to wash her back.

Her slender back with a delicate line of vertebrae that he remembered in clear detail, a back with water streaming down it as she hunched over, quivering, on that occasion when she'd attempted to defoliate herself from top to bottom. A back that he could imagine stroking while it was soap-slick, sliding his hands beneath the surface of the water to delve...

He stifled a growl.

He'd never washed a woman's back in his fucking life, and thank Merlin his wife had homework or he'd be doing it now, and nothing good could come from such an activity, of that he was sure.

Wife.

Fucking hell.

What had happened to the bit of bliss he'd reveled in for all too short a time?

Oh, that was all too easy to answer.

She could make him laugh.

She could not change the fact that they were unsuitably matched and in a totally unsuitable situation.

He decided it was a good time to flush out the idiots from the Astronomy Tower.

Fuck that.

It was time for a chat with Albus.

XX

Hermione sat demurely at the High Table in her jeans and jumper, her hair an ever-worsening mare's nest because she kept forgetting to deal with it, and besides, Professor Snape only had one mirror in his quarters, so she didn't actually have to think about how she looked all that often.

Which probably explained a lot about how he looked, too, she thought, watching him hide behind a hank of hair as he drank deeply from his goblet.

She played with the shepherd's pie, letting it drop from her spoon into the bowl, over and over again. She didn't want to be here, was quite tired of eating with everyone watching. Why did Professor Dumbledore care whether they came out of their quarters, anyway? What made it his business?

She felt quite put out about the whole thing. They had been having such a nice "simply" time and now it was over.

Madam Hooch was regaling Professor Snape with some Quidditch story; he seemed totally disinterested but that didn't stop Madam Hooch. And besides, he also seemed totally disinterested in Hermione, which, well, hurt.

She continued to play with her food.

"Hermione? Professor Snape?"

Good heavens, Colin Creevey, beaming like an idiot, his ubiquitous camera hanging from his neck.

Professor Snape gave him a full-wattage glare. "If you place any value on that thing, you will not even think about aiming your camera in my direction.

"Hi, Colin," Hermione said with forced friendliness, hoping to defuse the atmosphere just a tad.

Colin, of course, was oblivious. He grinned at the two of them. "I wanted to give you something, you know, for your wedding. I went through all my pictures–all of them back to my first year...and finally found one." He presented the magical photo which even at first glimpse, Hermione recognized from her fourth-year Yule Ball by the swirl of blue that had been her gown.

She took it eagerly and leaned forward and...her breath escaped in a soft sigh. "Look," she said to Professor Snape. "We're both in it!"

She felt rather than saw him lean slightly toward her, toward the picture in her hand, then heard his soft snort.

In the foreground, she and Viktor swirled by, her face radiant, his entranced. It was a "moment," one that stopped her breath.

But, not because of Viktor. In the background a lean figure in black leaned against the wall, not even looking at her. Professor Snape glared off into the distance, and the reality of it struck her as charming and ludicrous at the same time.

"Look," she said again, laughing. "It's perfect, isn't it?"

"In what way do you define perfection, pray tell?" he growled.

"I don't know," she said. "I honestly don't know. But it seems ... I can't explain. It's funny and sweet and very real, that the only way he could find a picture of us together is to find a picture of us not together." She looked up at him expectantly.

"Well," he agreed, "it's certainly not inappropriate."

"Of course it's not because there was never anything inappropriate, was there?"

He snorted again.

She looked up at Colin who still grinned. "I thought you might like to have it, and wanted you to have it now, before..." He broke off unexpectedly.

"Before?" Hermione asked.

Colin blushed. "I can't explain... yet. But you'll see."

"Thank you." She had no other words, but somehow they must have been heartfelt enough because at that, he blushed, turned away and took off for the Gryffindor table.

When she realized Madam Hooch was holding court again, she smoothed the photograph tenderly and pushed the shepherd's pie out of her way.

It was the only photograph she had of Professor Snape.

They were on their way out of the Great Hall when Professor Dumbledore intercepted them. "Severus," he said with his insane twinkle. "Hermione."

She forced a smile and held back a sigh.

Professor Dumbledore bent at the waist and offered his arm like a gentleman from a different age. "Come with me, Hermione. I believe we have some work to do."

She froze.

She whirled to look at Professor Snape, but he just gave her a languid flick of the fingers. "Go along, it won't take long. "

She felt panic seize her. "I don't want to." She peered into his eyes...desperately. Please don't make me.

But he didn't relent.

She rushed to his side and pressed the photograph into his hand. "Don't let anything happen to it," she said, unable to understand the coil of tension tightening around her heart.

He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Fight like fucking hell, Miss Granger."

And just like that...in a single instant...the tension was gone.

She felt herself grin, felt herself glow, and felt a surge of energy jolt through her.

"Whatever you say, Professor."

She whirled away from him with a flounce and, ignoring Professor Dumbledore's repeated offer of escort, strode briskly ahead of him to the staircase that would take them to the Seventh Floor.

XX

Severus watched her priss her way up the staircase, leaving Albus to follow, and had a sudden disturbing awareness that Albus was going to get a very close-hand view of his wife's jean-clad arse twitching its way up seven flights of stairs.

And then would dive into her mind for an easy backstroke through ... everything.

He hoped Albus Dumbledore got trapped and had to stay there. It would serve him bloody well right.

But as Severus took the staircase down to the dungeons, he knew that he hoped no such thing. In fact, every part of him was wanting to dash back after them, stop them, grab her and bring her back down where she belonged.

He gave a disgusted sigh and tried to shove such ridiculous urges out of his mind.

Ten minutes later, he was at the stone gargoyle on the Seventh Floor, discovering that the password didn't seem to work.

Fifteen minutes later, he was pacing, realizing that the old bastard had blocked entry.

Thirty minutes later, he was barely able to contain his rage. What the fuck was Albus doing? Thirty fucking minutes?

Forty-seven minutes later, the gargoyle leapt aside and the wall split open revealing the spiral staircase.

He was already halfway up when he heard the Headmaster's voice call out sharply, "Hospital Wing!" and he burst into the office to see the last of the green flames as the floo fires died down.

The office was empty.

Hospital wing?

He dove in after them.

XX

And burst from the fire to find Albus awaiting him, arms outstretched to stop him from flying to the bed where she lay, white and still and lost in the wild tangle of hair that, spread across the pillow, seemed bigger than she was.

Severus reached to fling Albus out of his way, but the old wizard drew upon all his power to stop him.

"What did you do to her?" he snarled, the words torn from him in a burst of anger and fear.

"She's fine, Severus, she's fine. She just exhausted herself..."

But the expression in Albus's eyes belied the false reassurance of his words.

Poppy stood over her, casting diagnostic spells, and Severus realized in an instant what she was looking for.

Even Albus didn't have enough power to withstand him as he flung the old man aside and, in turn, shoved Poppy aside, as well.

Dark magic? They thought there was something Dark happening to her?

His terror knew no bounds.

He whipped out his own wand and began casting the spells himself. As if Poppy's skills held a candle to his when it came to the Dark magic.

He heard their voices but ignored them. Heard Albus tell him that she'd blocked him totally and completely. Heard Poppy say that she'd exhausted herself magically in the effort. Heard them both trying to get him away from her, and finally sensed them watching his every move as he pushed on relentlessly, casting each diagnostic, leaning close to her skin to inhale, to look for the telltale glimmers of black, to look for any residue at all of Dark magic.

Could it have really happened? Could she have been spelled without him even noticing? Had he been that fucking blind?

Finally, relief coursed through him, even though it did little to ease the tension that tightened him to the breaking point. "There's none," he said in a hoarse whisper. "She's clean. There's nothing Dark here."

He forced his head up, forced his eyes away her face, from the purple smudges under her eyes, from her pale lips.

He looked up at them and repeated, "She's clean."

And it wasn't until that moment that he realized what they'd been looking for.

His Dark magic.

They thought he'd done something to her.

"I'm glad," Albus said quietly, "but that still leaves us with a question that has to be answered."

Severus could only stare at him, his heart not recovered from the blow of suspicion.

"What are you not telling me? Why would she do this?" Albus waved at her body. "What is she hiding, Severus?

"Why was she willing to die to protect you?"

"Die?" The word rocketed through him. "What did you fucking do to her?"

"It seems we've found yet another area of unexpected expertise in Miss Granger," Albus replied. "She not only blocked me...she blocked me down to the third level, before..."

"The third level? Were you trying to kill her?" It took everything in him not to aim his wand, not to cast an Unforgivable. His voice trembling with rage, he scooped her into his arms.

"No, Severus," Poppy begged. "You need to leave her here so that I can care for her."

But he ignored Poppy, the force of his rage still aimed at Albus, his mentor and father-figure and friend.

"And if I'd done this to Potter, you would have trussed me up and turned me over to the Aurors," he sneered. "Don't come near her. Don't come near my wife."

He went to the fireplace. "Open the floo to my quarters," he snarled.

"Severus, she needs..." Poppy began.

But the fire flared green and he stepped into it and barked out the destination, and it wasn't until he stepped into his own quarters and realized his legs wouldn't support him...them...anymore that he realized her eyes were open.

Her eyes, glittering and glassy and, how had he not noticed before? The reddish-brown color of hot sweet tea the moment before the milk hit it.

And she opened her mouth and tried to speak, and he shook his head and pressed his cheek against hers and inhaled the sweetness, the gentleness, and the unexpected strength.

And she tried again, tried to speak, and this time, he heard her words and saw her lips form a smile. "I fought... I fought like fucking hell."

"Language, Miss Granger," he growled into her ear as he clutched her to him, his eyes squeezed closed.

She sighed into his neck, and he pulled back to look, to examine, to reassure himself.

Her proud smile faded and she gave herself up to sleep.

It was much longer before the tremors stopped quaking through his body and longer still until he was able to stand and carry her to the bed.

And longer still before he was willing to let go.