Solitude

Chapter Four: Solitude

She was quickly becoming part of the fabric of his existence, her voice weaving in and out amongst the interminable minutes of the day, bringing color to a life that had always seemed to him somewhat colorless. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

He found himself listening for her in the hallways in the morning if he reached his classes ahead of her. Throughout the course of the day his gaze would, more often than not, stray to her as she worked on whatever he had assigned her. If she was sitting in the corner desk she seemed to favor, he would watch her surreptitiously as she scribbled down her notes and chewed her quill. He even admired the way she would patiently instruct a student on the proper way to dice licorice root. He was losing his mind.

How had the girl become so important to him in less than three months? He feared that when she finally decided she had had enough of his silences and moods, she would leave and his life would unravel before his eyes.

He couldn't figure out what she was doing with him. The time she spent with him went beyond that of apprentice and teacher – it seemed to him she spent every waking moment at his side, or at the very least, within his line of vision. And when she wasn't by his side – such as today – he realized much to his dismay that he missed her.

It had started this morning. He knew Hermione wouldn't be at breakfast and would, in fact, be gone until Sunday evening, but that fact hadn't kept him from looking up every time the doors to the Great Hall opened.

"Severus, dear boy," Albus had beamed at him, "where is Hermione today?"

"Muggle London," Snape had replied irritably. "A cousin is getting married and she needed to be there, apparently."

"Ah," the older wizard had replied sagely, "whatever shall you do without her?"

Snape snorted, "Enjoy three days of peace and quiet, without her incessant nattering, I expect."

Minerva, sitting to Albus' left, had leaned around the older wizard and tutted at him, "Severus, you know you enjoy her company. Why, ever since she's come back to Hogwarts you've been much more social – I don't believe you've missed a meal!"

Snape had grimaced at her. "I should have missed this one."

His morning classes had been disastrous. Her empty desk seemed to mock him and when one of the students raised her hand to enquire where 'Miss Granger' was, Snape had reduced the child to tears in less than a minute.

He decided to skip lunch in the Great Hall just to spite Minerva. He needed to pull ingredients for a particularly complex potion he was planning on having the fifth years' attempt, but the storeroom smelled so much like Hermione he couldn't concentrate and decided to give the class a surprise test instead.

He missed dinner that evening as well. He had work to do – he was very close to finishing his initial test potion for botched memory charms, and decided to take advantage of having his lab to himself for a change. He could get a lot done without Hermione around, chattering away and distracting him with her questions and theories.

But the lab was too silent. He gave up on the work he was doing when he realized he was humming the same tune Hermione often sang to herself when she was engrossed in a task. It was difficult to work without the white noise she provided.

Snape spent the rest of the night drinking in the armchair next to the fireplace in his room, trying to drive all thought of his absent apprentice from his mind. He refused to miss her. He didn't need her. He was glad she was gone.

And he was deluding himself if he thought he believed that.

What was the girl doing to him? He had always been content to while away his hours on potions work or research. Before she arrived uninvited into his life, he had enjoyed spending the night drinking fire whiskey in front of his fireplace. He had never felt lonely before, had he? Had he?

Scowling at the half- empty glass in his hand, he tossed the remainder back with one quick gulp and tried not to remember the unruliness of her bushy hair.

He awoke Saturday morning with a terrible ache in his back from sleeping in the chair all night long. His head was pounding with the mother of all hangovers and he cursed himself for drinking almost an entire bottle of fire whiskey as he stumbled to his bathroom and grabbed a vial of hangover potion.

He had just finished drinking it when he heard Albus' voice calling from his fireplace. "Severus, Severus? There you are! I was wondering if you were going to join us for breakfast this morning. We missed you yesterday for lunch and dinner."

"I was busy," Snape gritted back.

"Yes, yes," Albus replied cheerily, "I can see that from the bottle by the foot of your chair."

"Your point, Albus?"

The older wizard smiled, "Now, Severus...really...what would Hermione say?"

"I don't give a rat's arse," Snape replied stonily. "She's my apprentice, not my wife!"

"Who said anything about wife, Severus?" Albus twinkled back at him. "Are you coming to breakfast or not? The house elves made pancakes and I know how you enjoy a nice plate of pancakes with a dollop of maple syrup. If you're coming, I'll make sure to save you a plate."

"Can't a house-elf just bring a plate to my rooms?" Snape growled. "I'm not feeling overly socialable this morning."

"What else is new?" Albus retorted gently. "And no, if you want pancakes you must join us. It won't do to have you slip back into your old habits of isolation with Hermione gone. She will be coming back you know."

Severus fussed with the cuffs of his wrinkled frock coat. "I don't know what you're on about, you old goat, but leave off. I'm not in the mood."

Albus sighed, "Fine. So, I'll see you at breakfast?"

"Yes," Snape retorted. "I'll be there."

The day was long and dull. He should have been thrilled he didn't have classes to teach or essays to mark, but oddly enough, he wasn't. He could have prepared the ingredients for the next weeks' classes but was oddly reluctant to spend any time in his lab doing a job he had come to think of as Hermione's.

"Irresponsible chit," he muttered to himself. "She knows it's her job to stock the ingredients. Why have an apprentice at all if I need to do all their work for them?"

He decided to read a book instead – one he had just received from Flourish Botts. He had ordered "Anciente Majiks of Arabia" more than a year ago and it had finally arrived yesterday evening. The book itself was very old, with leather ties binding the stiffened satin weave cover to the thick sheets of papyrus the text was written on, but he couldn't concentrate on the words in front of him. Instead, he found himself thinking about how excited Hermione would be when he told her about this book. She would want to see it right away and would exclaim over the illuminated calligraphy and the strange texture of the papyrus beneath her fingertips. He had never met anyone more enamored of books than she.

He could almost picture it now – Hermione sitting in his armchair in front of his hearth, reading. The light from the fire would cast a warm glow over her form and every once in a while she would look over to him and share some interesting piece of information she had just read. They would discuss different ingredients or theories; she might even share an amusing story with him – then, as it grew later, she would carefully put the book away and take his hand, and tell him it was time for bed.

His eyes closed at the sudden rush of heat that ran through his body at the thought of Hermione joining him in his bedroom. Over the past few weeks he had become accustomed to these unwanted imaginings. He knew it was something that could never be – she was a beautiful young witch with the world at her feet – while he was an ugly, bitter and jaded wizard, more than twice her age. He couldn't help but wonder though, what it would be like...what she would be like. Was her skin as soft and luminescent as it appeared? Would the weight of her lithe young body feel as good against him as he imagined it would? He often wondered what she would taste like, if her lips were as succulent as they look. Would she stop talking if he kissed her?

It came as a shock to him when he realized how much he wanted to find these things out – how much he wanted to love her – not just physically, but emotionally as well. She made him want things he had long ago convinced himself could never be – a home, someone to talk to at the end of a long day, someone who made him feel as if his existence was important, someone who wanted his touch as badly as he wanted to give it.

It just wouldn't do. He couldn't allow himself to care for her. If he had managed to convince himself otherwise over the past few weeks, her absence of less than 48 hours was proving otherwise to him. He only had her for two years and then her apprenticeship would be up and she would leave him with nothing except a hole in his life where she used to live. What was she trying to do to him? If it was her goal to show him how empty and friendless his life was, she had accomplished that already. The longer she stayed the worse it would be when she finally left him and got on with her life. And when she did leave, everyone would know. They would know that he – Severus Snape – ex-Death Eater and bastard – had somehow let a mere slip of a girl become the center of his life and they would laugh at him.

Thrusting the book away with an angry growl, he jumped to his feet. Images of her would not keep him from doing his work – he had ingredients to prepare and projects to oversee and he was going to go do them.

She was in the lab when he stalked in. Her presence, where he had been least expecting it, gave him pause. Before he could ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, she looked up at him and smiled.

"Severus! I was wondering where you were. I thought you said you were going to spend Saturday in the lab, finishing some projects."

He blinked at her and scowled. "Aren't you back earlier than you anticipated?"

"Yes, actually, I am, but have you ever been to a Muggle wedding?" She laughed when his glare darkened, "Of course not – and you should count your lucky stars. I was glad to escape as soon as I could."

Snape merely cocked an eyebrow at her, "That does not explain what you are doing back a day early."

"I couldn't stand the thought of spending one more night at my parents' house," Hermione replied. "Honestly, my mother is insane if she thinks that Janey's white marshmallow wedding has given me any incentive to get married myself! The horror, I say. Worst of it is, Janey went and married a dentist! A dentist! I'll never hear the end of that, let me tell you..."

"So you decided to rush back to Hogwarts and wreck my weekend? How kind." He was being snide and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. His bad humor didn't seem to effect Hermione anyway – she just kept chopping and dicing and grinning at him.

"I thought I'd come back to get everything ready for next weeks classes, yes," she agreed, "because I thought that tomorrow you and I could go to Diagon Alley and..."

"No. Absolutely not."

"No? You don't even know why I want to go, Severus."

"I don't care. I am not going to Diagon Alley with you for any reason whatsoever, and that's final."

"Not even to help me pick up a special order from the apothecary? The Bearded Chinese Dragon skin you've had on backorder since September has finally arrived. I know you need it for one of your projects and you know that they won't release it to me. I'm not a potions master yet and it is a highly-controlled substance..."

"No one has informed me of it's arrival," Snape responded coldly.

"I ran into Bill Weasley last night after the wedding dinner – he's the one that told me about it. He's brought it himself, but couldn't deliver it direct to you because of import regulations."

Bill Weasley – the good looking son. Snape scowled. "How convenient, for you to 'run into' him."

Hermione blinked at his acidic tone, but otherwise ignored it. "So, shall we plan to go to Diagon Alley then? What time should I be ready?"

"I don't need you to accompany me, Hermione. I'm a grown man – I've no need of a nurse-maid."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "Honestly, why are you being so difficult? Of course I want to go – I need to pick some things up myself. Why shouldn't we go together?"

Snape didn't know how to respond to that question, so he moved to the workbench on the far side of the room – away from her. She was still wearing Muggle clothing and her arms were bare of material, the skin pale with just the slightest hint of tan. She was wearing a dress of some sort, buttoned up the back with a relatively short skirt attached. For someone as diminutive in size as she, her legs seemed remarkably long. Even her hair was different, pulled back into some type of plait – not the normal riotous mass of curls and frizz he was accustomed to. It made her look different, somehow. Less like the image of the student he tried to keep so firmly planted in his mind and more like the young woman he was trying – and failing – to deny she had become. She was going to destroy him.

He checked the progress of some of the potions he had brewing, trying to ignore the rhythmic chopping noises coming from her workbench. Over and above that, he swore he could hear her breathing, and even though she was on the other side of the room from him, he could smell her – freesia and citrus and Hermione. He hated the fact that his first response upon seeing her in his lab had been one of relief that she had returned. His initial relief was quickly turning to anger, however. She had no right – no right at all – to make him feel this way. He had been content without her in his life. And now he knew that with her gone, he would never be content again.

It would only get worse, the longer she stayed. He would come to depend on her for far too much, would eventually start allowing his apparent longing for her to take over entirely. She scared him. With every thwack of her knife against the work table his anger grew. Finally, he could take it no more.

"Why did you come back?" he growled at her, "Haven't you had enough of this, wasting your time in my dungeons when we both no perfectly well you need never work at all?"

Hermione looked at him in surprise, "I've already told you why I came back. Did you honestly think I wouldn't? I like being here, Severus. I enjoy being your apprentice; learning from you. I'm not the type to be content with an idle life – I want to work, I want to be successful for me, not because I'm a friend of Harry Potter's."

She had put down her knife as she spoke, moving towards him until the only thing separating them was his workbench. Snape leaned over it, his voice cold, "I don't need you here, you foolish girl. I don't want you here. But you've always been selfish, thinking about what you want before what others want – it shouldn't surprise me that you continue to force your irritating presence upon me. What must I do to rid myself of you?"

Hermione had flinched slightly at his words but failed to step back. "You must fulfill the contract of my apprenticeship."

"Why me?" he demanded. "Do you think somehow that your being here makes things easier for me? That perhaps, if the heroine of the Great Battle can stomach the presence of a traitor such as myself, the Wizarding world might change their minds about me? Are you so altruistic that you would sacrifice two years of your life thinking to help me? I neither want nor need your pity, Hermione. I don't need you. Go back to the world and let the sycophants kiss your feet, because I won't be."

His words were stark and he looked away from her as he spoke. He couldn't bear to watch her leave and was surprised when – instead of heading for the door, as he had been so sure she would – she rounded the edge of the table until she was standing directly in front of him.

"Why would I want any of that?" her voice was gentle, "when all I've ever wanted was to be left alone to learn and spend time with people I care about?"

He flinched when she said this; flinched away from the hand she placed gently on his arm.

"Then why don't you go find these people you care about and leave me alone?" he had sneered. "I'm sure they're wondering where the hell you've disappeared to."

"Harry and Ron know where to find me if they need to. Besides, I wasn't talking about them, I was talking about you."

He looked at her then, noting the earnest expression on her face as he absorbed her words. He refused to believe what she was saying. "I assure you, Miss Granger, I don't appreciate your idea of a joke."

She cocked an eyebrow at him in a style eerily reminiscent of his own, before running the hand on his arm up to his shoulder and then the back of his neck. Her fingers slid across his nape and he felt himself being drawn closer to her. She was looking up at him now, her eyes glittering with something Snape had never seen before. He felt the breath catch in his throat, felt the tightening in his chest as she whispered, "I'm not joking."

And then she was kissing him, her lips gentle and firm and warmer than anything he had ever felt before. He felt like his blood was turning to flame in his veins. He couldn't think; couldn't breathe. "I would never lie to you." Her words slid along his mouth and his lips opened slightly, as if to taste them. Her breath was minty and clean and he barely had time to register how good if felt before she was kissing him again.

Her fingers were feathering through his hair at the back of his head. No one had ever caressed him like this before. It was wonderful. Her other hand had somehow managed to find its way under his arm and around his waist, the heat of it against the small of his back branding his skin, despite the layers of material wore.

His hands still hung uselessly at his side, although his palms were itching to touch her. He wondered briefly, in the small part of his brain still capable of coherent thought, what would happen if he tried to taste her fully – would she be repelled? Before he could decide she would be, he felt her mouth open slightly and felt the warm tip of her tongue running inside the seam of his mouth.

It was his undoing. With a barely bitten back groan, his itching hands grabbed her to him, lifting her bodily against him. His mouth opened under her gentle onslaught and returned one of it's own – more tentative and uncertain than her own exploration – but all that he knew how to give.

It was the feel of her pulling away from him that brought him to his senses. Her arms were gripping him tightly around his neck now and he realized he was holding her several inches above the floor. Lowering her to her feet, he tried to find his scowl as he waited for her to tell him the kiss had been a mistake.

The words never came. Instead, she traced his face with the palm of her hand, before leaning into his chest and burrowing against his frock coat. Finally, she spoke.

"So, what time do you want to leave for Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

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A/N Redux: I hope y'all don't mind the fact that I throw song lyrics on the end of most of my chapters / stories. It's just that I have music playing around me all the time and I honestly hear certain songs in my head as I write. It's weird, I realize this – but if movies can have soundtracks, why can't my stories?

Possession by Sarah McLachlan

just close your eyes...