Chapter 10

Method in Madness

Chapter 10

It was almost three o'clock on a Saturday morning when Hermione left the library to return to her chambers. It had been five months since she became a Hogwarts Professor and she as still amazed by the audacity of some students. She was amazed that despite the unseemly hour, she had to break up several couples along the dark corridors from the library to the main stairwell leading to the dungeons. She now knew why Severus always caught students engaging in less than academic pursuits – the late hour and the deserted stretch from the library to the dungeons advertised their suitability for trysts. At least it was Saturday, she thought, she would be able to sleep in and finish drafting her research proposal later in the day. Thankfully, Ars Chemica had accepted the article on the Advanced Wolfsbane potion Severus had written with her; she expected a copy of the journal by owl anytime soon, she was glad that it gave her something to look forward to. She pottered down the corridor to her rooms, gingerly rubbing her neck in mental exhaustion. Then, it struck her – she was at the door outside her chambers and she could not feel the prickling of her wards. The gargoyle guarding her door had been shifted; that meant someone had deciphered her password; in all likelihood, that someone was still in her apartments.

Tightly grasping her wand, she entered her rooms unprepared for the sight that greeted her. Her chambers were dimly lit and the hearth was still cold. A wizard's robe of deep midnight black hung neatly on the hat stand at the door, smelling mildly of herbs and a potion residue. The owner of that robe was stretched out very comfortably and causally on the chaise lounge perusing what appeared to be his manuscript. Hearing her approach the pale personage hooked a lock of hair behind his ear and enquired after her night.

"What are you doing here Professor Snape?" she asked in a voice quaking with anger. "Do you know the word 'privacy'?"

"You really should change your password, Hermione," he responded. "You missed dinner, are you trying to kill yourself through starvation? There are easier ways to die, you could have asked me. It's late, where were you?"

"Come now Severus," she snorted. "Are you so desolate without my company that you stoop to enquire so impertinently in my affairs?"

"It is not my impertinence but yours. You have seen my manuscript in all its imperfections and your marks are all over it. I am honour bound to make this work a collaborative effort even though it galls me to see that it will no longer be mine alone. I am a possessive man, you should know that by now," he snapped. "Put that away," he added, gesturing to her wand. "You could hurt yourself with your foolish wand waving. I'm in no mood to administer a potion to you should that occur!" She approached him cautiously like a panther stalking her prey, he thought, clearly entranced by her movements.

Satisfied that she was indeed conversing with Severus Snape after a brief glimpse at his potion stained fingers, she put her robe in the laundry basket and pocketed her wand. She studied his tall frame stretched on her chaise lounge and she had a sense of déjà vu. She could not place where she had seen this scene but she did not allow that to bother her, she walked over to him, smiled fondly at him in an absentminded manner and wrinkled her nose. She could smell alcohol on him, not much, but faint enough to suggest that he had been drinking. Sitting down on the rug next to the chaise, she leaned forward, placed her hands on the chaise, looked up at him and asked kindly, "Are you drunk?"

He smirked as he turned to face her retorting, "Are you so desolate without my company, Professor Granger, that you stoop to enquire so impertinently after my affairs?"

She folded her arms on the chaise and laughed uncomfortably before resting her head on her arms and replying calmly, "I repeat, Severus Snape – Are You Drunk?"

"Yes, very much so," he answered with a note of truthfulness as he stared into her chocolate eyes. Then he rearranged his face into a scowl.

"Good!" she laughed. "It means you're not." She paused, noticing that he had moved the photograph she usually kept on her right bed stand to the small book table beside the chaise. "Are you still sore about not getting the Defence of the Dark Arts position?"

"Among other things," he said sullenly, summoning the silver shawl to serve as a cushion for him.

"Professor Dumbledore had considered giving you the position when you were in the infirmary but he decided against it because you cannot be replaced as Potions Master. Don't you see, you are so terribly good at what you do that Albus is hard pressed to find someone of your calibre to replace you. You are too good to be replaced. You have set an incredible standard for your students and your successor" she reasoned, taking his hands and examining them. "What did you brew today? Responsum unctio for Professor Sprout? Your hands are stained."

"They've been stained with a lot more," he snarled without making the least effort to snatch away his lands. He was rather comfortable to watch her trace her fingers on the stains.

"But now it's just potions that stain them, not blood. You have everything in your future to look forward to. You'll write another book that will be all yours and the academic wizarding world would value you all the more. It's too early in the morning for a fight. Why don't you return to your rooms and rest? I promise to be more responsive to insults and death threats later in the afternoon."

"I'm not a child," he complained quietly as she got up and kissed him on the cheek. Suddenly, all his vows of protecting her from himself vanished and he pulled her down to sit with him on the chaise. "But that does not mean I'm unresponsive to the pins you stick in me."

She stared at him, tempted to give him a good shake up to knock some commonsense into him. However, Hermione knew his violent streak and strained himself. "There are no lasting side effects to Counter Restorative to the killing curse. What is this about?"

"You once told me you esteemed me. Does that still hold true?" he asked with desperation in his eyes. She smiled without shame or embarrassment and nodded before patting his hands gently. He took that as a sign to lace his fingers with hers, encouraged by the fact that she did not seem repelled by him. He continued, "For my faults or in spite of them?"

She laughed uncomfortably and freed her hands. "What is the purpose of this interview?"

"I know about the photograph," he said quietly, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders. "You'll catch your death, dunderhead."

"Explains why you moved it," she muttered, unconsciously drawing the shawl closer to her. "You want an explanation but I cannot give you a simple one. It's late; we're both tired and if we go on talking, we will argue and wake the castle up. The ill temper of two bats must not be borne. Can't you leave it at the fact that I respect you?" she pleaded tiredly, her eyes not revealing her inner turmoil and panic.

Severus watched her expression and inwardly smiled. Good, he had taught her well, she is able to keep her emotions from showing on her face. "I have long been acquainted with the reasons and how you acquired it."

Hermione's eyes and mouth widened momentarily before she caught herself and lowered her eyes. So he knew! The sneaky bastard! The audacity of the man to invade her chambers and her dreams...That's it – her dream in the infirmary – he had used legilimency to divine the truth about the photograph. It's too late now, she thought. She might as well apologise and be over and done with it, thus she said quickly in one breath, "I know you're likely offended, but it wasn't my intention that you should find out. I understand if you think my sentiments abhorrent. I have no right to feel like a silly schoolgirl when you've shown no more than a friendly concern in my welfare. I keep the image of the man I love near me so that I can face him daily till the end of my days. I am mourning for more than my parents and my friends. I already consider myself his widow. I don't think affection settles well with you."

"Well, yes, that could be true," he smirked and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "I was shocked; you feel insulted that I've invaded your mind, I am sorry. But curiosity is a dangerous snare for us academics. Answer my question Hermione, for my faults or in spite of them?"

"Is that so important? Haven't I humiliated myself enough? I only do it once a day. Try again on Sunday!" she spat bitterly.

"Answer me, Hermione, I need to know," he pleaded. "At least before I do something stupid."

"For everything that you were, are and will be. I am...excessively...fond of you," she pronounced slowly, anxiety etched in her mind. She wondered what he was playing at; whatever it was, she only hoped that she would come out of it without losing her temper or his friendship. She wanted to tell him that she adored him but thought against it lest he storm out of her chambers and her life. No, she was Severus Snape's student and she could play this game.

He stiffened, as if he could read her mind, "In what sense?"

"As a one time mentor, a friend and..." she allowed her voice to trail, uncertain whether she should continue.

"And colleague?" he whispered.

She heaved a sigh of relief and felt the colour returning to her cheeks. She nodded dumbly, offering a weak smile.

"It seems Hermione, Miss...Professor Granger," he slowly drawled, his face an impassive mask once more. "I was right in this matter; I apologise for taking your time, I was labouring under a flawed notion. I have failed to recast the dialectic and the aftertaste is sour." He moved to raise her hand to his lips but she stopped him

"That was from your second poem. 'And failure to recast the dialectic / It tastes distinctive - Sour'. What an insufferable know-it-all I was that I didn't see it!" she laughed hollowly, then continued to recite the second stanza:

"What follows after virtue

That never admits its opposite?

Corresponded to innate goodness

Embryonic in recollecting Forms

Moderating between boastfulness

And conservative self-deprecation,

It tastes distinctive – Sweet."

"You memorised it!" he exclaimed with astonishment.

"Yes, I liked it better than The Oubliette. You have admitted your dependency on another and it made you uncomfortable, hence sour. But you could see that if you learnt to let go and see yourself for what you are, with your innate virtue for knowledge, you and I could do a world of good for ourselves and each other. I understand now, Severus! To think that you were dropping hints all the time – the poems, the sorting feast, arranging it so that we always chaperoned students to Hogsmead, escorting me to quidditch matches, a first edition of Arcane Potions and drafts, waiting for me at the library...To think that I wanted to grab you in between the shelves..." she cried, holding on tightly to his hand, her eyes moistening with unshed tears of realisation and joy.

"You have always been too good for me. I feel as if I have known you for years, yet I don't feel worthy of you," he mumbled shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I thought I had made myself explicit, but you didn't give me a sign. I thought you perceived my hints as unsavoury. I am capable of some form of affection, albeit, in the manner of us greasy gits and over grown bats."

Hermione could only stare at him as he kneeled in front of her to gently wipe away the tears before he reached in to embrace her. "So, I'm not too late after all," she laughed kissing him chastely on the lips.

"I thought that was supposed to be my line?" he responded evenly, trying to tease her. "You think I like the way students look at you? And even though I know Lupin has Sinistra, I don't particularly like the way he hovers about you. I was worried that you were already spoken for. If only I had asked!"

"What a fool I have been? I should have followed Minerva's suit and asked you to marry me!" she said, frowning at herself.

He looked at her and saw that she was utterly serious. Why disappoint her? He should let her know the truth. "That can be arranged if you so desire. We can conjure a walkway through the wall linking our rooms, we can maintain both our living quarters and our individual privacy should we need it," he answered in a low purr.

"Don't be a tease!"

"No, seriously Dearest, do you know what date it is today?"

"Saturday, the twenty-ninth of February," she answered slowly, fully aware of his suggestion and its unspoken implication. "Are you mad? I don't even know if you're the sort!"

"We are but mad north-north west because there is method in this madness. As for whether I am suitable, ask Death; you and I have been married to Death; you know what sort I am," he offered playfully while maintaining a scowl.

She fell silent for a moment as she considered the gravity of the matter. "You do realise I won't take your name when I'm teaching."

He nodded and told her, "You do realise I am not one for public displays."

Hermione nodded with a light smile and considered her options. She weighed both sides of the grave situation; either way she wouldn't lose out. It was a win-win situation both ways. If he agreed, it would suit her and if he didn't, she would get new robes, a hat and gloves. Deciding that it was a calculated risk worth taking, she quickly asked while holding her breath, "The proposition is on the table now, will you take it?"

"In all earnestness?" he asked and she nodded, holding her breath. He took a deep breath, paled a little and hoped that it was not a prank worthy of Peeves, he replied without hesitation, "Yes."

"Do you want a cushion for your knees?" she asked shyly when the magnitude of what they had agreed to sunk in.

"As a matter of fact, yes," he growled. "The ground is harder than I remembered. How did you figure out?"

"Simple, my dear Severus," she said smiling at his mock grimace. "I know you better than you know yourself."

Sitting down beside her on the chaise, he huskily said in his deliberate drawl, "I must have done something good to deserve you. I only hope that I continue to endeavour to deserve you." And with that, he finally sealed their promise with a long searching kiss.

Finis

NOTES: It is believed that on February 29th, single women can ask men to marry them. If the men refuse, then they must purchase some article of clothing for the women's whose proposals they refused.