Chapter 12

This Time

Chapter 12

Sometimes we draw the line

And people remain where they don't belong

Believe Me - Tonic

He snatched the notebook from her hand. 'Who asked you to snoop through my things?' he snarled, panicked, scooping up his other notes, as well.

'You said your Lovegood notes were on top...I picked up two notebooks instead of one, just by accident,' she said patiently. 'Where did you get those?'

He strode away from her, pushing through the door and out into the corridor, his brain seething. What could he tell her? Should he perform a Memory Charm on her? Could he remove her recall of his Transfiguration notes without damaging her memory of her breakthrough...without robbing her of the memory of how she had kissed and caressed him?

'Adin!' she called, now following him down the corridor. 'Don't walk away from me!'

He quickened his pace, panicked. What could he tell her? What should he say? If she found out who he was, she'd be repulsed...she'd be horrified...she'd hex his bollocks off for misrepresenting himself to her....

Her hand closed over the back of his jumper and she gave it a tug. 'Tell me,' she insisted.

He pulled away from her without stopping or looking around, fear driving him into Professor Snape's persona. 'I loathe nosey people who can't mind their own business,' he snarled viciously, stopping before the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

'Don't look at me,' the Fat Lady said, seemingly offended by his tone.

'Mince pies,' he snapped at her, and the portrait swung forward.

'I didn't take it on purpose,' Hermione hissed, crowding through the portrait hole behind him, 'but I want to know how you got those class notes!'

He wheeled about and stepped towards her, his expression ugly. 'It's none of your sodding business, Granger.'

She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to step back. 'If you stole them, I'll have to report you,' she cried. 'I'm a prefect...it's my duty!'

'I didn't steal them, you insufferable little know-it-all!' he roared at her, spittle flying from his lips in his rage. 'They belonged to my mother!'

He didn't know where the lie had come from, but the effect on Hermione was almost instantaneous. The pugnacity fell from her stance, and she became penitent.

'Oh, Adin,' she whispered, 'I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.'

He fell back from her; the trauma of moving seamlessly from passion to inquisition to consternation to contrition was rather too much for his seventeen-year-old self to process smoothly...bloody hell, it was too much for anyone with a y-chromosome to process.

'Forget it,' he said gruffly, and turning, he bolted up the stairs to his dormitory. Seating himself behind his desk, he slammed the incriminating notebook into a drawer and buried his face in his hands.

Hermione's attitude towards him for the next several days was conciliatory, but Severus kept his distance. He had been very, very stupid...she had damn near sussed him out with that unforgivable blunder with his Transfiguration notes. He was floundering, losing touch with his true identity, absorbed with the life of Adin Prince amongst the Gryffindor seventh-years, whose foibles, fears, and everyday lives had become far more real to him...and infinitely more dear...than anything he had left behind at Spinner's End.

It didn't help that every passing day found him thinking more of Hermione than he had done the day before. Although the flying gryphon tattoo still occupied a very fond spot in his thoughts...and a prominent one in his dreams...he sometimes dreamt of simply being with her, always in quiet, intimate circumstances. The feeling from the dreams was nearly frightening in its power, and until now, one he had never thought to experience, either waking or dreaming.

He couldn't begin to fathom what it meant.

In the Special Studies class, Hermione's breakthrough had brought about the commencement of actual spell experiments. It was a huge leap forward in their research, and Professor Dumbledore had awarded twenty-five points to Gryffindor on Hermione's behalf. She had flushed pink with pleasure, turning to share her enjoyment with Severus, but he was quick to duck his head, scribbling unnecessary comments in his notebook.

Of one thing he was certain: None of them would want him, if they knew who Adin Prince really was. His friends would no longer want to joke with and confide in him, Hermione would certainly never want to kiss or caress him again...and Dumbledore would be disappointed, which was far more punishing that the old man's anger.

Under no circumstances could he let her...let them...find out who he was.

In the first week in December, new announcements went up on the notice boards in the common rooms, creating a buzz of anticipation in the entire school. The last two weekends of term would be enlivened by Christmas parties in each of the Houses. The first weekend would have a party in Slytherin on Friday and in Ravenclaw on Saturday; the next weekend would have a party in Hufflepuff on Friday and in Gryffindor on Saturday. Students from other Houses were permitted to attend only as the date of a House member. The excitement was immediate, and for Severus, rather amusing. As he intended to neither offer nor accept an invitation to attend a party, he could sit back and watch the intrigue.

Luna did not hesitate to stop the seventh-years on their way down to dinner one evening and invite Neville to attend the Ravenclaw party as her date.

'M-me?' he stuttered, dumbfounded.

Dean nudged Neville sharply, and Severus had to turn away to hide his smirk. Severus had endured numerous long, involved conversations with Neville on the subject of Luna, but poor Dean actually had to sleep in the same dormitory with him.

'I...I...' Neville tried, and Dean wrapped an arm around his mate's shoulders.

'What he means,' Dean said to Luna, 'is he'd be delighted...right, Neville?'

Neville nodded, giving Luna a shy smile.

'Good show, mate,' Severus said bracingly, sitting down beside Neville at the table. 'You're going out with her!'

Neville turned a slightly sickly shade of green and gulped water from his goblet.

Hermione seated herself unabashedly across from them, flipping her bushy mane away from her face and giving them a sweet smile. 'And who are you going out with, Adin?' she asked.

Severus felt his face flame, and he glared down at his chops, stabbing his sprouts with a vicious thrust of his fork. 'None of your business,' he muttered mutinously.

Neville gasped and attempted to tread on his foot under the table, but Severus ignored him.

'All right,' Hermione said placidly, beginning to methodically eat her dinner.

Severus finished his dinner in record time, then escaped to the library alcove and pulled out his books, trying to study for an upcoming quiz in Ancient Runes. He began a translation exercise, only to find his attention wandering as he considered Hermione's question about whom he was going out with. His study attempt petered out, and he was doodling a flying gryphon on the edge of his parchment when an intruder arrived; immediately, he covered with his hand.

'Hi,' Hermione said off-handedly, settling in her usual spot and opening her Ancient Runes textbook to study.

Severus glared at her, but she completely ignored him, flipping through the textbook pages and jotting notes on her parchment as if he were not even present. He tried again to translate the ancient Mesopotamian treatise, but every movement of her hands on her books drew his attention back to Hermione. Finally, goaded beyond bearing, he demanded, 'What were you on about at dinner?'

She raised her eyes to his, an expression perilously near to understanding in her brown eyes. 'If you don't ask me to go with you,' she said, 'I am going to go with someone else...and you won't like that, you know.'

He curled his lip at her, anger quaking through him. 'I don't give a damn what you do,' he spat. 'And you need to find somewhere else to do your homework...I don't want you here!'

With a pitying smile, she lowered her eyes again to her parchment, not dignifying his lie with a comment.

A ferocious arctic blast descended upon them in the next week, assailing the castle with a snow storm of blizzard-like proportions. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures classes were moved from the grounds into the castle, and Quidditch practice was cancelled until further notice.

Undeterred, Hagrid dragged massive trees into the Great Hall, where the professors fussed about, decorating them. Suits of armour began to sing Christmas carols, and the denizens of Gryffindor Tower began to decorate their common room for the upcoming Christmas party. Ginny Weasley marshalled a group of first- and second-years whose job it was to make paper chains, and Lavender Brown corralled the third- and fourth-years to decorate with holly and ivy.

Meanwhile, in the relative quiet of his dormitory, Severus frowned at the pendant he had bought on impulse in Hogsmeade the previous Saturday, trying to determine how he would give it to Hermione without her knowing whom it was from. The tiny golden gryphon, set with minute ruby eyes, had seemed to call to him, and although it had been rather expensive, he had justified it to himself, reasoning that it was the only gift he would buy ... the only gift he had ever bought for a girl.

On the Friday before the Ravenclaw Christmas party, Allison approached him in the Special Studies class. Dumbledore was sipping tea and chatting with Jared, and Hermione was sitting quietly beside Severus, scribbling on a piece of parchment.

'Adin,' Allison said softly, 'would you like to be my date for the Ravenclaw Christmas party?'

Severus blinked and set down his quill, taking special care to recap his ink, trying to think of a way to decline Allison's invitation. To his right, he was aware that Hermione had stopped writing, and he could almost feel the weight of her gaze upon his face. Nevertheless, it surprised him when she spoke up.

'How sad,' she said, her voice dripping with something that was definitely not sympathy. 'Did all the other boys turn you down?'

Severus inhaled sharply, wishing he could withdraw, like a turtle, into an impervious shell before the hexes began to fly. Allison's mouth was agape at this attack from an unexpected source; it seemed she was having difficulty gathering herself for a counter-strike. Taking full advantage, Hermione continued, 'Of course, poor Adin has had no invitations either, so I'm sure he'll be happy to help you out.'

The bell rang, and before Allison could respond, Hermione gathered her things and swept away without a backward glance.

'She's always been so nice to me!' Allison gasped.

'Pay her no mind,' Severus said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 'She's upset because the bloke she wants to go with hasn't asked her to the Gryffindor party.' Darting a glance from the corner of his eye, he saw Jared with his back to them, pushing things into his bag. 'Ask him,' he urged her. 'Tell him you're going just as friends...you have to start somewhere.'

Without waiting to see if she'd take his advice, he sauntered out into the corridor, feeling rather pleased with himself. He'd got Allison off his back and pointed Jared in the right direction, which would hopefully prevent the Bulgarian from asking Hermione to the Gryffindor party. Not a bad day's work.

On Sunday afternoon, the snow stopped falling, and though the clouds were leaden, for the nonce, it was possible for the intrepid to venture out. Severus allowed himself to be lured out by Dean and Ron, who promised him a snowball fight with the Hufflepuff Quidditch team; he dearly wanted an excuse to knock down the Hufflepuff Beater who had put him in hospital.

The battle raged furiously for an hour or so, until the Gryffindors charged the Hufflepuffs' snow fort, and the Badgers surrendered. Victorious, Severus stood amongst the other participants, punching arms and slapping backs, until he felt a snowball hit him in the back of the head. Turning to find his assailant, he saw a Gryffindor scarf-wearing figure fleeing in the general direction of the greenhouses.

Pausing only to pack a few snowballs and to tuck them into the pockets he had waterproofed for such storage, he set out in pursuit, fully intending to bring his attacker to his knees. He lost sight of the other Gryffindor around the igloo-like mass of the first greenhouse, but as he rounded the end, another snowball, this one poorly thrown, smacked into his shoulder. Whirling, he returned fire, pelting the now cowering figure with three forcefully delivered missiles before he realised the squealing was definitely girlish, and the reality of the bushy brown hair burst on him.

Hermione lowered her arms, which had been crossed protectively over her head, and glared at him. 'That hurt!' she cried.

He advanced on her, and taking her arm, he pulled her to her feet. 'What did you expect?' he demanded, beginning to dust snow none too gently from her cloak.

She waited so long to answer that he stopped what he was doing to look down at her face. She gazed at him intently, her expression stealing the breath from his lungs.

'I wasn't sure what to expect,' she said softly stepping closer, her little bow of a mouth slightly parted, as if waiting for...

'You ought to have expected to have your face rubbed in the snow,' he said severely, fighting the impulse to kiss her, which she plainly deserved.

She extended her neck, a roguish smile playing about her lips. 'Rub away,' she invited.

He swallowed, trying not to think of rubbing her in any way, shape, or form. With a terrific exercise of self control, he stepped away from her. 'You got what you deserved,' he said stonily.

She smiled ruefully, extending a hand to him, as if to keep him with her. 'Any attention is better than none at all,' she said wistfully.

Her words struck him like pellets of ice, stinging upon impact, scoring his insides to bloody tatters. He wanted to give her what she wanted...to give her everything he had...but he could offer her nothing ... not a damn thing.

Wanting to speak, but knowing he couldn't, he turned from her pensive face and hurried back to the castle, suddenly chilled to the core.

That night he had the most vivid dream yet. He and Hermione were alone in the Special Studies class, where he pled with her whilst she stood with her back to him, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. He was not sure what he was asking of her, but he sensed it was something to do with the cure for the Dark Mark Curse. Then Dumbledore stood in the room with them, whispering to Severus, 'Don't forget her role in your salvation...don't forget the prophecy.' His dream self was assailed with terrible distress; he had forgotten she was to be the agent of his salvation...how could he have been so foolish? He begged her to help him, but she walked out of the room and left him there, alone.

He awoke in the indifferent light of morning, drenched in cold sweat. How could he keep her close whilst keeping her distant?

He couldn't be sure, but he suspected men had been trying to solve that conundrum since the dawn of time.

Rising from the bed, he grabbed his things and headed for the shower...it was as good a place as any to think.

Neville's date with Luna went so well that he mustered the courage to invite her to the Gryffindor party, while it seemed that Allison's outing with Jared had served only to make things awkward between them. Severus tried to keep his head down and not get involved with his friends' affairs leading up to the end of term, but it was still amusing to watch Dean turn himself inside-out to appease Parvati's lingering anger over the debacle with Padma at Halloween...enough so that she would agree to be his date for the Christmas party. Ron and Lavender seemed to be slowly resolving their differences from Halloween, although Lavender's blithe attendance of the Hufflepuff party with Michael Corner...'Just as friends, Ron, honestly!' she had said...had got right up Ron's nose and made him as grouchy as a bear.

Severus managed to get through the week by avoiding Hermione's eye whilst watching her obsessively when her attention was directed elsewhere. The constant, low-level longing had escalated to the point that it interfered now with his appetite, as well as his sleep. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but he had begun to suspect some sort of slow-acting spell that caused him to behave like a puppy dog.

On the last Friday of term, the students and teachers alike seemed to be in an infectious holiday mood. In every class save McGonagall's, the students were allowed to bunk off, amusing themselves as they liked. Severus made progress in his reading of Bleak House, pleased to think of the nearly three-week long Christmas hols, during which he could read to his heart's content in the deserted Gryffindor Tower. No one he knew of was remaining at school for the holiday, and he anticipated the solitude, wherein he would have an opportunity to reason his way out of his inexplicable preoccupation with Hermione Granger.

That day in Special Studies, the Room of Requirement had read the Headmaster's intent and provided a lovely tea, complete with little Christmas cakes and mince pies. Severus partook of the repast with enjoyment and was beginning to think it had been a near perfect day...until Hermione rose from her seat, saying, 'I'll just have a word with Jared.'

Before he knew what he was about, Severus' hand shot out and closed about her wrist. Hermione looked down at him, her eyebrows raised. 'Yes?' she said.

'Have a word with me,' he suggested.

She peeled his fingers from her wrist. 'I told you what would happen,' she reminded him.

He grabbed her hand. 'Sit down,' he said.

She pulled away from him, and he was on his feet like a shot.

'Go with me,' he blurted.

She turned to face him, her arms folded, her eyes narrowed, her lips in a thin line. 'Why should I?'

His brain whirled. She was seriously unhappy with him...she might very well ask Jared to be her date, and he didn't want that. He swallowed. 'Please?' he said, disliking the plea in his tone.

Her eyes softened slightly, and she sat again. 'Don't push me too far, Adin,' she said quietly. 'Even I have my limits.'

He looked down at the top of her bushy head, feeling foolishly relieved. 'Then you'll go with me?' he said.

'Yes,' she said shortly. The bell rang then, and she tarried only long enough to wish the Headmaster a happy Christmas before walking out.

Severus didn't care if she wasn't talking to him...he didn't mind if they spent the entire party not talking to one another...just as long as she didn't go with another bloke, nothing else mattered.

On Saturday night, Severus glared at himself in the mirror in his room as he combed his hair. You're damn near thirty-eight years old, he told himself. It's bloody well time to start behaving like it.

Eschewing the jeans and jumpers he usually wore outside of classes, he fastened a pair of slim black trousers about his waist and slipped a black cashmere sweater over his head, folding down the high neck with precise movements of his long fingers. He wasn't good-looking, and he never would be, but he had some measure of sophistication, if he could bring himself to remember it. So much of his existence before the Youthening Enchantment had become like a distant echo of a life he had once read about, rather than lived, but he could surely generate enough savoir faire to enthral a teenage girl for a few hours...couldn't he?

Over the sweater, he donned the tailored black coat that matched his trousers, ending by pulling on highly polished black boots.

'Blimey,' the mirror breathed. 'Where've you been hiding that get-up?'

Severus smirked. 'Watch your mouth,' he reminded it.

'I would if I had one,' the mirror chortled as Severus let himself out into the corridor.

Dean came up behind him, dressed in a dark red silk kurta over matching trousers, looking very much like an Indian.

'Parvati wanted me to,' he said hastily, before Severus could speak.

Neville came along in Dean's wake, frowning at his feet as he came. 'But should I hold her hand?' he was saying and did not look up until he ran into Severus. 'Sorry, I...' he began, then his eyes grew wide, and he fell back a step.

'Neville?' Severus said, concerned.

'All right, mate?' Dean said.

'Adin?' Neville said softly.

'Yeah?'

'Merlin,' Neville breathed. 'You reminded me of someone for a minute ...'

Dean clapped his roommate on the shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's get this party going.'

Severus watched them walk away from him, thinking with a wry smile that he knew exactly whom Neville had mistaken him for. Perhaps it was a bad idea to try to infuse Adin with some of his alter-ego's worldly wisdom.

'Oi!' Ron's voice echoed down the corridor, and he careened around the curved passageway, tucking in his shirt as he moved. Harry appeared behind him, making vain attempts to flatten his hair into some semblance of tidiness.

'Adin's not down yet,' Ron said over his shoulder to Harry. 'We're not the only late ones.'

The three of them trouped downstairs together, and Severus blinked when they reached the common room. Ginny's cohorts had produced enough output to make the room look as if it had suffered a paper chain explosion; the effect was simultaneously chaotic and comforting. He chuckled at Ron's muttered, 'Blimey, Ginny, kill a few trees, why don'tcha?'

Then Severus saw Hermione, and everything else was wiped from his mind.

She stood on the girls' staircase landing, wearing a cranberry-red dress of some slinky material that emphasized and clung to her breasts and hips, with long, tight sleeves which tapered to her wrists and a high, tight neckline which emphasised the fragility of her slender neck. Her hair was smoothed and pinned up; he had never seen her looking so much like a woman, and the fierce, possessive wave which passed over him then drove him to the foot of the staircase, where he paused and looked up into her face.

When her gaze touched him, her brown eyes lit with a blazing intensity that was meant for him alone, he found himself standing straighter, lifting his chin to meet her silent challenge. In the next moment, Hermione moved smoothly down the stairs and straight into his arms, as if it were her natural place in the world, and he grasped her waist and swung her to the ground, maintaining his hold on her even after her feet, in their shiny high-heels, had touched the floor.

'You're amazing,' he said, his adult vocabulary deserting him under the influence of his adolescent reaction.

'Good,' she said, allowing her hands to rest upon his chest, 'that was my intention.'

He possessed himself of one of her hands and lifted it to his lips. 'You have succeeded,' he assured her.

She smiled at him, incandescent, and he slipped an arm about her, clearly marking his territory against any possible intruders...but it seemed, on the cursory examination he could spare from feasting his eyes on Hermione, that the other seventh-years were happily occupied, apparently unaware that Severus was in possession of the prize in the room. Neville gingerly held the hand of Luna Lovegood, who stood beside him in silver-spangled robes, her protuberant eyes fixed upon his face as he spoke to her. Parvati was magnificent in a gold silk sari, beaming up at Dean as he inclined his head to her, and Lavender and Ron were already entwined in a vertical wrestling match. Harry and Ginny stood at the centre of the room, and Harry was patiently enduring the admiration of the people who felt empowered to approach him tonight. A spread of refreshments had been provided beneath a banner proclaiming this to be the Gryffindor Christmas party, and an old-fashioned Victrola, which was being energetically manned by the younger Creevey, played Christmas music.

The only one of the seventh-years who was not happily coupled for the evening was Jared, who was pinned nervously in a corner by the rapacious Romilda Vane. Miss Vane was particularly intimidating tonight in a green velvet corseted dress, which pushed her rather imposing chest into unavoidable prominence. Severus could not find it in his heart to feel sorry for the berk; it served him right, really, for slighting Allison, didn't it?

'Shall we mingle?' Hermione asked him, reclaiming his attention. His arm was about her shoulders, and she fit perfectly against his side, soft, feminine, fragrant ... and his. No, she's not, the inner voice protested, but he ignored it; she felt like his.

'Merlin, no,' he replied. 'I don't want to share you.'

She coloured deliciously, slipping her arm about him, as well. 'Then let's find someplace quiet,' she suggested.

From the music, chatter, and laughter, Severus surmised that the party was a success, but he truly had little attention to spare to keep up with it, for Hermione was utterly captivating. They sat upon a loveseat he had magicked into a corner near the hearth; the firelight played upon the strands of her hair, turning some to vermeil and others to copper, and her eyes shone with intelligence as they talked, drawing him further and deeper into her toils.

'Do you do it on purpose?' he asked at one point, his eyes fastened upon the perfect bow of her upper lip, the scent of her spicy perfume addling his mind to the point of inanity.

'Do what?' she whispered, the glossy, cranberry colour upon her lips enticing him to taste her, to see if the flavour was as intoxicating as the sight.

'Ensnare me,' he murmured, speech becoming more difficult with each passing moment, the exquisite agitation slowly but inexorably building between them, driving him along a path whose end he could not divine.

'But it's mutual,' she breathed, turning her face until he felt her breath upon the skin beneath his ear, and sudden, inarticulate desire shuddered through him with a force which left him weak.

'Budge up, mate,' Dean said, and Severus looked up to see Dean and Parvati standing beside the loveseat. 'This one's close to the fire.'

Severus looked to Hermione, who rose and gracefully slipped into his lap, freeing up a cushion for Dean to sit and pull Parvati onto his knee. The two of them were soon lost in a long, deep kiss, but Hermione simply rested her cheek upon Severus' shoulder, her arms about his neck, her fingers twining in the hair at his nape. He retaliated by caressing up and down her spine, his cheek pressed to her forehead, and his nose buried in her hair. If his lips occasionally touched her ear, or her breath fanned over his throat, raising gooseflesh along his arms, he never properly kissed her, for what he felt was so far beyond words or thought, he feared he would be incapable of stopping once he had started.

In time, the room emptied, with only Harry and Ginny occupying the armchair across from them, Dean and Parvati beside them, Neville sitting upon the hearthrug with his arms wrapped about his legs, staring into the flames, and Ron and Lavender, moving slowly together to the music from the gramophone. The quiet camaraderie was perfect, a feeling of belonging such as Severus had longed for, but never experienced until now, and he knew that the provenance of that rapport now sat in his lap, her lips pressed to the pulse beneath his jaw.

Neville was the first to murmur his good-nights and go upstairs, and two-by-two, the others followed, all headed to the top floor of Gryffindor Tower. When he knew he must retreat or cover himself in damnation, Severus murmured into her ear, 'Thank you for coming to the party with me.'

She leant back from him, showing him the smouldering of her chocolate-coloured eyes. 'Are we going up now?' she asked, trailing her fingertips down the side of his face.

'Yes,' he said, moving her gently onto the cushion beside him before standing and taking her hand.

She rose, twining her fingers with his, allowing him to lead her across the room, through the detritus of fallen paper chains, until he stopped between the two staircases.

'Good night, Hermione,' he said, raising the hand he held to his lips, turning it at the last instant to press a burning kiss to the inside of her wrist.

She sighed, her breasts rising and falling. 'Sometimes, I would like for you to be ignoble,' she said.

'I'll keep that in mind,' he told her, nudging her toward the girls' staircase. 'Please go up.'

She gave him a long, measuring look, then acquiesced with grace. 'Good night, then,' she said, and he watched her until he couldn't see her any longer before making the long climb up to his empty bed.