Synergy

A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful betas, Lariope and Lulabelle72, for their patience and tremendous help with this chapter. I'm sorry about the long delay in posting this chapter. Real life got in the way, as it so often tends to do. The next one should not take this long!

My gratitude also to the TPP staff for all their hard work, ensuring that this site runs so smoothly and efficiently.

Outside the tavern door, Hermione was surprised to find the spring air was much cooler than it had been this afternoon at the ceremony. A chill ran across her upper arms as the evening breeze wafted past, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its path. The moon was full and bright, casting a soft blue glow on the unfamiliar surroundings. She figured they must have used the back exit of the Anvil, since there was nothing she recognized, and they were now standing in a small yard with a scrawny birch tree and a large wooden crate marked "Meyer's Butterbeer" propped against the stone wall of the tavern.

Ahead of her, Snape had stopped all motion once he had heard her footsteps crushing the yellow spring grass behind him. He stood frozen in place as if he'd been Petrified by an errant spell. Stillness and silence surrounded the yard; it was too early yet for the crickets, and people were still trailing in from the ceremony at Hogwarts.

In the absolute silence, Hermione was suddenly afraid Snape would Disapparate if she even blinked an eye.

Why had she followed him? To be contrary? Or to apologize?

All she knew was that she wasn't quite herself, and that somehow it was very important to tell that to Professor Snape. Warm embarrassment washed over her face when she thought about her immature behaviour in the tavern. It wasn't just the kiss but also the childish way in which she had conversed with him. She wished she had thanked him for staying and for being cordial to Harry. She wished she would've been more focused when they had talked about her research.

But could that not wait until tomorrow? Had they not agreed to meet?

If she were honest with herself, she would also have to admit to following Snape because she was curious. Curious as to why he had initiated a conversation (albeit bizarre) with her after her impulsive kiss, curious as to why he would talk with her when so many were seeking discourse with him, but he would not allow them to penetrate his reclusions. She was also curious about the way in which a grown man...no, not just any grown man, Snape...had stared at her with naked need in his eyes.

She could sense his hunger, like a man preparing to eat after a long fast. That Hermione would be the feast was too bizarre for her to comprehend. She couldn't even compete with a chocolate frog when she was with Ron, and now this man, her snarky professor, had looked at her like he wanted to devour her as if she were the Welcoming Feast.

Hermione felt her heart speed up as he looked at her. It was not necessarily a sexual feeling, but a deep reaching of her soul toward a man who looked in dire need of something.

So underneath all of her excuses for apology and gratitude, stood an opportunity for Hermione Granger to obtain the elusive appreciation of the one professor she had never been able to impress.

"Professor Snape," she called to him across the still air.

He turned around with disciplined slowness, allowing the moon to light half of his features. His penetrating gaze could be felt even if it could not be completely seen. Hermione approached him across the yard, passed the leafless birch tree, and stood awkwardly in front of him, head slightly raised towards his face.

"Sir, I felt the need to apo..."

Suddenly, both of his hands were wrapped around her upper arms, pushing her against the Anvil's stone wall, and his mouth came down fiercely on hers, cutting her off mid sentence.

He was already breathing fast, his warm Firewhisky breath blowing balmy currents across her face while his feathery eyelashes were sweeping across the round curve of her cheek. The thought briefly anchored itself in her mind in wonderment, Professor Snape has soft eyelashes. The entire situation felt surreal. Around them only the silence prevailed, and it was now mingling with her disbelief that she was here with this man, doing this, feeling him.

Without warning, his pursuit became more frantic as his mouth traveled all over her face, neck and below her ears to the tender spot where her jaw line met her neck. Her heart accelerated as a thrill of the forbidden shot through her. He ran his tongue around the entire rim of her lips until they were sleek and wet. His mouth felt warm and firm, and surprisingly soft. How can such soft lips utter such harsh words? He wasn't kissing her so much as he was consuming her.

She could feel his teeth pinching her earlobe and nipping the base of her neck. What was he doing? Oh mercy me, he's biting my neck. The frantic pace combined with the unexpected bites sent a ripple of warning down to her toes.

As Hermione was overcome by wave after wave of sensation, she began to panic. She was in over her head. She had no idea how to respond to something of this intensity... It was too much, too soon. The first few moments of their encounter had been electrifying, but now it felt as if things were quickly careening out of control. If only he would just slow down! She had the feeling that she was being engulfed, drawn under... She should push him away now.

As if reading her thoughts, or perhaps suddenly becoming aware of his own loss of control, Snape pushed away from her unceremoniously. She took one step toward him reflexively before she noticed his hands forming tight fists at his sides, as if restraining himself from reaching out for her again.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered huskily and flinched as though he wanted to spring at her again.

This cold, hostile, solitary powerful wizard needed her. She could feel the desire and desperation radiating from him. His words, and the look in his eyes plainly displaying his need and loneliness, sent a wave of something fierce sweeping through her like a tsunami, wiping away her urge to fight and replacing it with the urge to soothe, to relieve his burden.

He was becoming utterly undone. For Hermione, there was no aphrodisiac more powerful.

Without a hint of hesitation, she pulled him into her embrace, pressing herself to him firmly as if trying to extinguish his solitude with the visceral soothing of her presence.

***

What the hell was she doing? Surely she was sober enough to have heard him? Why did she continue to do exactly the opposite of what he asked? Was this why she had followed him?

How far would she take this?

At last, he looked down at the young witch who, for some unknown reason, was offering herself so openly. In the moonlight, he could see her profile as she laid her head against his chest, her hair in complete disarray under his chin. Looking up at him, eyes shining and sure, she reached a hand around his neck and tried to force his head down to hers.

This is a mistake.

She reached another hand up, both hands in his hair, fingers scraping along his scalp and sending a shiver down his spine. He had not been touched in so long; he found himself rolling his head, desperate for more contact. She was so warm, her breasts so damned soft against him.

What was one more mistake in a life that had so many already?

Finally, he took what she offered, wildly, urgently, pushing his body hard to hers, keeping her pinned to the wall. One hand grabbed a fistful of curls and pulled down on it to expose the arc of her neck. He bent down and licked a first hasty taste. Almond. She tasted like almond, and suddenly, he couldn't get enough of that taste. He pressed his teeth to the tender skin as his tongue licked between, soothing the area, his lips suckling her from collarbone to the soft flesh behind her ear. His left hand sneaked underneath her white blouse, fishing for contact of any kind. His hand landed on the soft skin just below her armpit, his thumb touching the thin material of her bra. She bent her knees slightly, his thumb sliding under the silky material covering her breast. He let his thumb rub back and forth rapidly over the hardened peak a few times. She breathed out a deep, low moan of pleasure directly in his ear and whispered in a soft familiar voice, "Feels good."

He stopped dead in his tracks. Miss Granger.

He forced himself to look into her sensuous brown eyes, filled with desire.

For a second, everything stopped, and in his one lucid moment, Snape wondered how it was that he was feeling up the darling of the wizarding world against the exterior wall of a seedy tavern, and that she was apparently enjoying it.

After years of using and being used, Snape could not help but wonder what her agenda could possibly be.

Forget her agenda. Whatever she wanted, there was clearly something in it for him.

But suddenly, his shoulders slumped, and he relaxed his grip on her. There was no way he could do this. Something deep in his mind insisted that he would not defile... He could not take someone like Hermione Granger against a tavern wall.

When he spoke, the words were wrenched out from between clenched teeth.

"Miss Granger, do not..."

Do not what? He could not say. Do not play with fire. Do not pretend. Do not pity me. Do not underestimate me. Do not overestimate.

He could not choose one and, consequently, never finished his sentence.

He took three slow steps back from her, turned around abruptly and disappeared, her look of confusion and arousal branded into his mind.

***

Hermione Apparated as softly as she could into the newly remodeled kitchen of her childhood home. She hung up her cloak, kicked off her sandals and sent them tiptoeing into the front hall closet while she rubbed her sore feet. She heard her mother's voice from upstairs, "Hermione, is that you?"

"Yes, sorry to have woken you, Mum," replied Hermione in a hushed tone. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" she added for fear her mother would come downstairs and greet her. She needed to be alone to try to decipher everything that had happened since she had left her home earlier in the day.

She walked up the stairs like a burglar and stopped on the landing when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She stared at herself for a few seconds and wondered how she could still look the same when inside she felt like a completely different person.

She made her way to her bedroom, still decorated in hues of blue and white, and quickly prepared for bed methodically, while trying to keep the myriad of odd feelings at bay until she was ready to greet them one by one.

After she had braided her hair (a necessity if she didn't want to look like she had been struck by lightning the next day) and brushed her teeth, she sat down at her old work desk and took out some paper and a yellow pencil and wrote the date at the top right hand corner and stopped.

How sad that she needed to sort out her feelings on paper instead of simply just talking it over with someone. Isn't that what her friends did? The problem was that everyone looked to her when difficulties arose, but no one ever paused to inquire if she had any of her own. After pondering that little injustice for a full minute, she had to admit that it was partly (or fully) her fault. She had always enjoyed being the problem solver, and perhaps her competence was what made it seem like she could not possibly have any difficulties herself.

She wrote down the issues she had to work through in chronological order as they had happened: Ron with Cho, the ceremony, the breakup with Ron, and finally, Professor Snape.

Hermione liked to do things linearly, but tonight, her thoughts kept circling back to one item in particular. The feelings her encounter with Professor Snape had evoked were so dominant that it overrode everything else on her list. She felt a stab of guilt. She had attended a heart wrenching ceremony and broken up with her boyfriend of a year, and all she could think about was Snape? Shouldn't she be ashamed by her behaviour?

No...she had done nothing wrong. She and Ron had already ended their relationship, and she and Professor Snape had kept each other company on a difficult day. Things had taken an unexpected turn; that was all. But now there was something growing within her, a newly awakened feeling that she had no idea how to label or what to do with. All she knew was that feeling was pervasive. She could still feel where his lips had roamed over her skin, but it went deeper than that.

She cast a spell to turn off the lights and crawled into bed to consider it further. Flat on her back, she tucked the blankets tight over herself, as if to keep the feel of his presence from escaping.

In the dark, she reflected that he was no longer her professor in distress. What had been pressed against her earlier had been purely male. Now, he was a man, and for the first time she understood why so many witches were infatuated with him.

She sighed and wondered what he was doing right now. Was he laying in his bed somewhere thinking about her?

A sudden image of Snape lying in a bed identical to hers, flat on his back with the covers tucked in... No, the covers were not tucked in. They were pushed aside by his legs, and his nightshirt was rucked to his waist, while he... he...

Hermione shivered, and that shiver was not altogether unwelcome, in fact it was also delicious. She remembered the way he had pressed against her; she was certain she had felt his erection, his hardness, through all those layers.

She rolled to her side and spooned her pillow, enjoying the heat and tingling that her recollections of Snape's arousal brought to her lower body. She wondered if she would ever get the chance to feel him again that way... There had been so much heat.

Hermione gradually fell asleep, while real images of Snape and the wishful ones intermingled, cocooning her in sensuous dreams all night.

***

Snape Apparated into the master bedroom of Treacle Cottage and sat down on the large bed, concluding that he should never have left this place while inebriated. Look at him now, as horny as when he was a teenage wizard... and just as frustrated too.

He shed his long coat on the chair and cast a Muffliato at the sheep cushion that began protesting loudly over the weight of his cloak. He didn't bother to remove anything else as he went face down unto the bed, trying to avoid looking at the décor. He then rolled onto his back and let out a long, deep breath of dissatisfaction. His state of arousal could no longer be denied; his erection pressed both pleasantly and uncomfortably against the fabric of his trousers. It was dark in the room except for the sheep glowing on the ceiling, fat and fluffy constellations that drifted and baa'd mutely. He closed his eyes to avoid them, and vivid images of Granger's tilted face, soft skin and tiny moans, made him nearly desperate to seek release. He took himself in hand and tried to latch on to the feelings instead of the images, but in the end, the thought of her being so wildly and openly responsive to him, one last image of her eyes gleaming with lust for him, wet lips parted, sent him over the edge.

After, he lay awake for hours, trying hard to Occlude thoughts of Miss Granger, but as in real life, the damn girl was persistent and kept floating to the surface of his mind. Severus tried to recall the last time anyone had touched him like she had--on purpose and so gently, that it had dissolved his common sense. He supposed the fact that he had been drinking all afternoon and that he had been living like a monk for Merlin knew how long didn't help matters either. But still... he had no business being with the likes of Granger.

What about her common sense? Had consuming alcohol altered her eyesight and her memory?

It was all her fault, he decided. Her and her juvenile little notes and her soft hands in his hair. He hoped he had scared her for good and that she would let McGonagall know that she would no longer whore herself out to make him stay at Hogwarts.

Truth be told, Severus did not actually believe that Minerva had had anything to do with tonight's encounter. He had known the old witch for far too long, and it was impossible that her strict code of ethics would suddenly evaporate just solely out of the desire to keep him on staff. But it was actually easier to think of Granger as offering herself for the cause than to think of her as being responsive to him because she was trying to comfort him, the only reasonable alternative explanation for her behavior.

Had he become one of the hopeless cases she was known for taking on? He had no right to that comfort. It was undeserved, and it was entirely unwanted.

The incident only served to increase his resolve to resign from teaching for good and move this God-awful cottage somewhere else and start anew. There were only five weeks of school left, and chances were that he would never see Ms. Granger again after what had happened last night. He was trying to piece his life back together; he should not be taking a sledgehammer to what little he had.

Once she was nicely sobered up and reconciled with the Weasley boy, she would feel disgust at ever having touched him at all.

***

Heartburn. It had to be heartburn and not angina, thought Irma worriedly, poking her chest with her fingers a few times. She should not have eaten the small (tiny, really) cucumber sandwiches that Pomona had brought back for her. That's what was making her sick... Please let it be the sandwiches!

She sat up in bed, both feet resting flat against the small green carpet on the floor. She glanced at the clock, but could not see the numbers properly without her glasses on. Moving very slowly, as if brusque movement would set off a heart attack, she reached for her glasses on the bedside table and put them on carefully. The hands of the clock, now in focus, showed that it was 1:19 AM. The pain had not subsided, and to make matters worse, she was starting to have difficulties breathing as she felt her chest tightening.

Am I having a heart attack?

It suddenly came to Irma's mind that if she were to die, not too many people would care. Irma wondered how long it would take before anyone even noticed that the library had not been opened.

Would he care?

No. It was not likely that Severus Snape would give a hoot if she died.

In fact, he would probably be disgusted if he ever found out that someone such as herself had been in love with him for so long. That thought made her reach over to her bedside table (less carefully than minutes before) and fumble inside the bottom drawer to extract the small wooden box that held the notes that Severus Snape had written to her over the years. She opened the box holding the cover between her thumb and index finger and stared at the last note they had exchanged. No, you shall not. She replaced the lid on the box and gently placed it at the bottom of the rubbish bin. She caught a glimpse of the matchmaking checklist she had thrown out earlier that day... as if there were any possibility that these two would ever have any chemistry. What a pathetic plan anyway... What did she think would happen? That they would fall in love, and Professor Snape would start coming to the library every day in order to help young Granger with her research while she was in France, and that she, Irma, would continue to be satisfied in just seeing him? In the lonely, dark hours of very early morning, it all suddenly seemed so very sad.

Irma grabbed her wand and cast a quick "Incendio" before she could change her mind. She watched the box and notes go up in flames rapidly. They burned for a few minutes, the wood of the cedar box making a fragrant twirl of smoke on top of the rubbish bin.

At least now she had saved him the embarrassment of finding out. And finding out from a third party. She was still very worried as to his whereabouts today. Perhaps that was why she wasn't feeling well?

Another pain came and squeezed her chest, reminding her of why she was up in the middle of the night.

What should I do?

She sent her Patronus, a rather large silver dragonfly, to Madam Pomfrey to ask her what the difference was between heartburn, angina and a heart attack. (She didn't add broken heart to the list.)

A medi-owl returned promptly with detailed instructions from Madam Pomfrey:

Hi, dear. First, do not worry. Drink three large goblets of distilled water and wait three minutes. If there is no change, we will come and get you. If the pressure in your chest is released, then it was just heartburn.

Irma did as she was told. She conjured up the goblet with the correct amount of water and drank it quickly, and finally the pain subsided with an enormously satisfying burp.

She sent a note back to her colleague to inform her that she feeling better. She thought about how nice it was to be in an environment where immediate care was accessible. Yes, Hogwarts always took care of everything.

Everything but the loneliness.

***

Snape woke up to the smell of something heavenly beneath his nose. He opened both eyes to find Remy beaming proudly at him and holding a silver tray filled with fragrant breakfast items. Usually, he could not even eat breakfast, especially if he had been drinking the night before, but today his stomach growled at the sight of the food presented to him. Oddly, the morning light did not slice into his brain like a sword either.

He must have slept like something hibernating, because he could not remember hearing Remy preparing any food for him. Perhaps he would keep this place after all and just figure out a charm to move it to a different location when the school year was over. He was ready to move on.

After he had eaten breakfast, in bed no less, with the sheep for company, Remy returned with mail he had just received from a delivery owl.

He was not surprised at all when he read:

Dear Professor Snape,

Mercury

Miss Granger had found her footing again and come to her senses. Well, at least, he had put a permanent stop to her ridiculous Mercury notes.

***

By midmorning the next day, Hermione had already had her breakfast with her parents, explained her breakup with Ron (Inevitable! Her mom had interrupted quite a few times... even at the part where she described her excessive drinking and kissing an old acquaintance); she had cancelled brunch at the Weasleys' and forced herself to at least write a thousand words for her research project despite being quite hung over.

Her parents were now safely out of the house, shopping for perennials that Hermione would eventually have to charm back to life at some point during the summer. She grabbed a left over slice of whole wheat pesto pizza from the fridge on her way back to her bedroom upstairs. After two bites, she realized that she had butterflies in her stomach from her upcoming trip to the Hogwarts library, and she heaved the slice into the rubbish bin.

Back in her room, she took out her clothes from the green canvas bag she had brought over from France for the weekend and laid them out on the bed for her perusal. She fretted for a few minutes about what to wear. Were her jeans too Muggle ? Too young looking? What about the long khaki skirt that she had considered wearing to the ceremony yesterday?

She sat moments longer staring despondently at her clothes on the bed. After handling a few more shirts, Hermione came to the conclusion that she was just trying to distract herself with false problems. If Professor Snape showed up at all, it would not be how she was dressed that would dictate how their meeting would go.

She felt a tremor tumble through her lower belly. Was she thinking about clothing to avoid thinking about the fact that perhaps he wanted nothing to do with her? What if he had simply been drunk, and he would've done... all that, with any female that had come out that door? She had smelled the Firewhisky on his breath, and rather strongly...

Well, she was going to go to the library regardless. She had to keep working on her research, and she couldn't afford to be so distracted so early on in her Master's thesis. But it wasn't fair that being held by the grouchiest man she knew would excite her more than anything she had experienced before, and now she would need to cast those feelings aside. Truthfully, she really didn't have time to delve into her reactions to Snape's closeness, to understand why his behavior had inflamed her so quickly and brought her to the height of arousal with only a few frantic kisses (if they could even be called that). Ah, and his hand under her jumper, touching her, making that part of her as hard as he undeniably had been...

Stop! Stop thinking of what happened! She put a hand to her throat, feeling the rapid pulse under her fingertips, and her chest was heaving with quickened breath. Men were trouble. They were a distraction. And she hadn't gotten this far in her life by allowing herself to pine after men who, under ordinary circumstances, didn't care one whit about her, nor had she gotten this far by melting every time one of them so much as touched her breast.

***

Madam Pince came bustling down the hallway, dabbing her mouth with a flowered handkerchief. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw Hermione Granger sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a book by the doors, apparently waiting for her to open the library. The young witch looked up from her book, smiling at her as she bookmarked her page with a pretty purple string and got up swiftly.

"Madam Pince," she whispered, out of habit even though they were still in the hallway. "I wasn't sure if the library would be opened the day after the ceremony."

Irma could only stare. It was almost 13h00 and Ms Granger was here. Coincidence? She had to find out.

"What brings you here, Ms Granger? I thought a young woman of your age would be sleeping in after last night's festivities?"

Trying to sound casual, Hermione replied evenly, "Oh, I'm meeting Professor Snape to discuss my research."

"Professor Snape," repeated Irma, her hand flying to her mouth.

Hermione felt herself blushing at the evident surprise in the older witch's voice. "Yes... Remember, you were the one who suggested that he might be able to offer some insights into my research project."

"When?" asked Irma, a slight tremor making the word seem drawn out a bit. "When did you see him?" she elaborated with a slight edge of panic in her voice.

"Yesterday evening," Hermione said above the heat burning her face. "He's okay." She added, hearing Madam Pince's worry in her tone.

"Thank God!" the librarian exclaimed, grabbing both of Hermione's hands and squeezing her fingers tightly.

And just as suddenly, Irma let go of the young girl's hands as if she had grown thorns on them. What happened to her face could not really be called a blush; it was too instantaneous; Irma turned poppy red in one shot. Both women stared at each other, eyes wide.

The embarrassed librarian turned abruptly from the young witch and took out her wand from the side pocket of her bile colored dress. She released the wards quickly and entered the library without holding the door open for Hermione, who followed her on her heel. Irma went straight to her desk and looked for something to busy herself with. She drew her chin in when she looked down at the surface of her pristine desk. Not one paper at her disposal to hide behind in order to tamper the feelings of mortification and elation trampolining in her mind.

Hermione hovered at the edge of the desk, and Irma felt transparent beneath Ms. Granger's scrutiny. "I happen to care about my colleagues," she announced somewhat defensively to the confused young woman.

"Right," said Hermione, still puzzled by the librarian's bizarre behaviour. "You don't happen to have Professor Snape's research articles handy by any chance?" she asked to ease the tension.

By any chance...

Irma went behind the glass window to her filing cabinet and pulled out a rather large yellow envelope. She took out the contents and made a quick copy using her wand. The originals could not be trusted with anybody, even the very organized young witch waiting for her. She set the documentation on the circulation desk, facing away from her, and realized she had left her wand behind, so she pivoted back towards the glass window partition to retrieve it. She caught the young witch perched over the articles, trying to read the titles upside down. She had always been curious, that one.

She bound the loose parchment sheets together with a stapling spell and finally handed them over to the girl.

"Thank you, Madam Pince."

"That's my job," said Irma stiffly.

Hermione nodded once and grabbed the stack of papers with her free hand. "I will be sitting at my favorite table if Professor Snape is looking for me," she said, pointing in the general direction of her usual study spot. "But to tell you the truth, I doubt that he will even show up," she added before going towards her table.

Oh, trust me, he won't come... because you, Mercury, have already cancelled your meeting with him.

Irma looked at Miss Granger's smooth face and pretty curly hair before her eyes were drawn to the small red line on her neck. This time, they both blushed.

Oh, sod it! thought Irma and asked, "So, he's well?" No need to specify whom she was inquiring about.

"Yes, he's fine," replied Hermione, comprehension slowly permeating her perplexed neurons.

"Fine is good... isn't it?" Irma asked pathetically, wanting more details but unable to ask.

Hermione felt her heart melting like wax under a heating spell as she realized the depth of Madam Pince's feelings for her colleague. She fancies Snape! And from the desperate look in the librarian's eyes, she had for a long time.

Hermione thought best to pretend she hadn't caught on, but decided then and there to give as much information as she could about Professor Snape.

"Well, yes, we were all worried about his whereabouts, and it was a complete coincidence that I ran into him at a secluded pub downtown," said Hermione chirpily, and somewhat too fast. "I think he might have been drinking a bit, but seemed okay otherwise." She watched the tension ease from the librarian's shoulders.

Irma gave her a small smile, and Hermione continued, screening what would make the librarian feel better and what wouldn't. She couldn't tell her about the part where she had tried to kiss Snape or the part where he had tried to consume her. The stuff in between seemed safe enough.

"One wouldn't think of Professor Snape as a confidant, but I told him about my break up from Ron Weasley regardless. I was a little bit tipsy myself."

Irma smiled, trying to picture Severus listening to Miss Granger's difficulties.

"We also talked about my Mercury research. He hinted that he doesn't agree with my premise." Hinted? "We agreed to meet here today, but I think he got a little annoyed at me at the end, and perhaps that's why he didn't come. He left to go home afterwards."

There. That's all I can give you.

"All right then, Miss Granger, it was nice catching up with you, but you need to let me get back to work now," said Irma evenly, trying not to let too much gratitude tint her words.

Hermione gave a short laugh and said, "Sorry, I know sometimes I talk too much."

Hermione walked to her table very slowly as if her discovery had affected her muscle tone. She had just come to terms with the fact that she herself was somewhat attracted to Professor Snape, and to have to contemplate that Madam Pince felt the same way felt very bizarre.

She pulled her chair out with one hand and sat down distractedly while watching Madam Pince water the large ferns with an extra bounce in her step she hadn't had before entering.

Hermione suddenly felt extremely sad for the librarian. How long had Madam Pince had feelings for Professor Snape? Was there something she could do?

She thought of Irma Pince as a young woman, perhaps dreaming of starting a family with a wizard of her own. Had she been hoping it would be Snape? Poor Madam Pince; she looked so distraught and lonely. Hermione wondered what it would be like to have no one to even share your breakfast table with year after year.

But there wasn't much she could do to help the poor woman, was there? Perhaps it was time she stayed out of other people's business anyway. Hadn't she been feeling sorry for herself because everyone perceived her to be a problem solver?

Hermione leaned into the table, rested her head on her folded arms and peeked at the large painting of an old mill beside a stream, surrounded by tall grass dancing softly into the breeze while a young wizard read a book under an apple tree. She'd studied it often and knew it as well as the rest of the library. Most times the soothing scene filled her with contentment and peace and helped her to focus before starting her work. It lent no such satisfaction today as she tried to ignore the lingering disappointment that rang within her at the absence of Snape and the feelings of sadness brought on by Madam Pince's solitary life.

Slowly, Hermione lifted her head, deciding that it was time to get back to work. She Accio'd her quill and fresh parchment from her schoolbag and began to itemize her list of things to do for the afternoon. She had Snape's research papers in front of her plus she had two references that she needed to look up here. The Martine Dumoulin Library in Paris only had the first edition of The Dangers of Methyl Mercury, and that was just not recent enough.

As she got up to look for the third edition of the book, an idea slowly started germinating in her mind. Perhaps there was a way she could help Madam Pince after all.