Chapter Six

The moment passed.

Two people as sensible as they were would never allow themselves be swept away on a tide of dangerous feelings.

Hermione sat motionless, eyes closed, lips parted, not daring to move a muscle. Long seconds passed before both suddenly realized that they needed to move in order to avoid an awkward situation. Well, even more awkward than the one they were in.

He was the first to recover. "You can carry on on your own now."

She inhaled deeply to clear her head, and continued working.

Of course, she achieved a perfect Augeo Vitalis.

But her mind was not on the potion. For the remainder of the day, she worked at a frenetic pace, trying to keep her thoughts at bay. She stayed up well past her customary bedtime in the belief that fatigue would make her fall asleep right away, but she was mistaken.

She lay awake in her bed, enveloped in the darkness, with the curtains closed and her gaze fixed on the canopy above her. Remembering every second. Every movement. Every sensation.

Her left hand crept across her waist, echoing the way he had embraced her. She wanted to feel again that electrical current running all over her, that sensation of abandon, of complete surrender.

She could deny it all she wanted, but that would make it no less true: she felt powerfully attracted to a man who not only was more than twice her age, had been her professor and was now her patient, but was also an ex-Death Eater and one of the most despised people in the magical world.

And yet . . . knowing all of this . . . she still felt like a moth sucked inexorably toward a burning candle: at once conscious of mortal danger and helpless to resist. Thank God she'd be married soon, and safely out of the way of temptation. Although . . . Ron was wonderful, really he was, but he didn't excite these visceral reactions when he held her or made love to her. He was always so earnest...a little anxious, even...and although he tried his best to please her, he had never succeeded in making the earth move for her, nor drawn from her throat a single cry of ecstasy.

But he would be a good husband, she told herself, trying to convince herself she was making the right decision. You couldn't base a relationship...much less a marriage...on sex alone. There were more important things, like friendship...and they had been friends since childhood. They knew each other like an old pair of shoes, and that would guarantee a contented life together.

The sex would probably improve with time.

Severus wasn't faring much better. After he had been helped to bed by a house elf, he lay under the covers with his eyes closed, but instead of sleep he was visited by images from that afternoon. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman...perhaps this was just his body, urging him to get back in the game. Yes, he told himself, that must be it: he was simply experiencing his body's natural response to the nearness of a young woman.

But self-delusion was not one of his failings, and he knew that there was something more going on. Why did it please him so much to see her laugh? Why was he so eager to make her happy? The look on her face when she received his gift had been more than ample compensation for the "loss" of his valuable personal notes. Why? Why did he suddenly adore the smell of jasmine? Why had the thought she would never fancy me popped unbidden into his brain?

He berated himself for his stupidity. He was no longer a boy, and yet here he was, repeating the errors of his youth. The last time he had yearned after a Gryffindor who belonged to someone else, he had fucked things up royally and had spent the next twenty years with a broken heart, trying desperately to atone for his actions. There was no way he was going to make the same mistake again.

And this time was even worse than the last, because now he was nineteen years older than she was, stuck in this wheelchair, reduced to a squib, and . . . well, if he had been less than comely in his youth, the years had done nothing to improve his appearance. He refused to become a pathetic old man chasing after a young girl; her rejection would cost him what little dignity he had left. It was a good thing he had observed this weakness in himself early enough to control it with a bit of willpower.

Yes, that was what was called for: the not inconsiderable force of his will. And it was time for him to stop being a pathetic invalid and get back to being Severus Snape, the terror of the dungeons.

So they both made up their minds, she to become Mrs Weasley and he to return to being Severus Snape. The next day they met again as usual, and neither admitted that something extraordinary had happened the day before.

***

The students in the Hogwarts special summer program had become accustomed to the sight of Hermione Granger pushing Severus Snape about the castle and grounds in his wheelchair, and heads no longer turned when they passed. Only a week remained before the NEWTs, and everyone was studying frantically...except for Hermione, who was completely unruffled and confident of obtaining a good result, a calm due not just to her years of assiduous study, but also to a newly acquired maturity. Looking into the face of death...her own and that of the people she loved most...had given her a new perspective on things.

Severus had tried to continue helping her, but there wasn't much he could help her with any more; hers was a truly exceptional intellect. It was a shame, he thought, that there were no House points to be earned in this program, because she would certainly have earned more than her share.

One quiet Thursday afternoon, they were seated alone by the lake in the shade of the big tree that had become their favorite spot, both immersed in reading their respective books and enjoying a companionable silence, when an owl flew down and dropped a letter in Severus's lap. When it realized they had nothing with which to reward it, it flew quickly away.

Startled to receive a letter, since no one really wrote to him anymore, Severus opened it immediately. As Hermione watched, the tranquility left his face, and his eyes took on a strange brilliance.

"Bad news, Professor?"

"I've just learned that my maternal grandmother has died," he said evenly.

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied, genuinely saddened for him. Poor man. There had already been so much pain and sadness in his life . . . and now this.

"Don't be, Miss Granger. I certainly am not. If I'm sorry for anything, it's that this letter didn't arrive years ago."

Hermione stared at him, shocked and confused. His grandmother had died, and he was glad? He saw her expression and laughed harshly, folding the letter. Had she been anyone else, he would not have bothered to explain, but, much as it pained him to admit it, her opinion mattered a great deal to him.

"My mother was a pureblood of good family, Miss Granger. Eileen Prince was raised like a princess, pampered and protected by the wealth of her family. Right up until the day she fell in love with, and got pregnant by, a Muggle, Tobias Snape. In spite of her parents' opposition, she eloped with him. And they disowned her, condemning her...and me...to the miserable life my father provided. If they had had any heart, my mother and I would have had somewhere to go to escape from that monster. But however she begged and pleaded, they never gave in. If only they had died sooner, we would have been able . . . my mother . . ."

The professor faltered in mid-sentence, lacking the words to finish his thought. He felt the hand of his ex-student on his arm, and saw a look of sympathy in her eyes.

"We were hungry, cold, afraid. Tobias Snape abused us verbally and physically. I at least was able to escape here to Hogwarts, but she remained a prisoner in that house. And my grandparents knew it, and they didn't give a damn. If only they had died sooner, we would have had a place to live in peace, and some means of sustenance."

His eyes glittered darkly, filled with a fury she'd never seen before.

"My mother died in short order. My father killed her...not with blows, not with a weapon. But she died of grief, so it comes to the same thing. She guttered and went out, little by little, like a candle, until she finally lost the will to go on . . . and her parents did nothing to help her, and they knew. They knew everything, the whole time, and they let her die."

His features twisted, and then hardened. Hermione pressed her hand on his arm, and he placed his own hand over it.

"Professor . . . "

"And now . . . now . . . it's all mine: the house, the fortune. Now, when I don't need it any more, when my mother is gone. But I know the last thing my grandparents would have wanted is for the son of Tobias Snape to stroll through those rooms as lord and owner. So that's exactly what I plan to do."

"I'll go with you," she said, in a voice almost as fierce as his own, but then she remembered whom she was talking to and added, in a softer voice, "that's if you want me to."

Severus raised his glistening eyes to hers, taken aback by the offer.

"After the NEWTs, Professor, we'll go and walk around the Princes' house."

***

The NEWTs arrived at long last. They threw themselves into the exams wholeheartedly, determined to get the best results possible. Hermione was accustomed to being the last to leave the classroom after the written exams, since her answers were always extensive and detailed. She had no problem with either the written or the practical exams, and when she was done she felt very strange, as if it were not reality that she had finally taken her very last exam, and her education at Hogwarts was finally at an end.

They had spent the evening before the last day of exams together in the common room, celebrating and sharing what would be one of their last moments together as classmates, recounting the funniest incidents...and some of the terrible ones, like when the twins left Hogwarts for good, or the horrific fight with the mountain troll that they had early in their first year.

The day after the exams were over, the boys went out in the afternoon to play Quidditch, conscious of how little time was left to them to fly over the Hogwarts pitch, and Hermione went to the library to bid farewell to the thousands of books that had been her constant companions all these years.

She took down a fat volume of Hogwarts, A History and sat at a table by a window. After a few minutes she laid her head on the smooth pages to rest for a moment, and before she realized what was happening, she had fallen asleep.

She woke when Madam Pince shook her by the shoulder, her voice urgent.

"Wake up, Miss Granger. The headmistress wants to see you immediately in her office."

"Wha--?" she asked, confused, waking disoriented from her dream and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, she's asking for you and insists on seeing you immediately."

Hermione ran her hands over her face and hair, trying to put herself to rights, and yanked at her robes to straighten them. Wondering what on earth could be awful enough to make the headmistress issue such a peremptory summons, she ransacked her memory, looking for any misdemeanor she might have committed. But no, her conscience was clear; she could think of nothing they could reproach her for.

The gargoyle admitted her without requiring a password when she arrived, and then the headmistress's office door opened just as she raised her hand to knock. Inside, Professor McGonagall was waiting for her, along with a formally dressed man.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Allow me to introduce Mr O'Riordan," said Minerva in a formal manner, gesturing toward the man standing next to her, who nodded politely to Hermione. "Mr O'Riordan has come from the Ministry for the express purpose of giving you the results of your NEWTs."

"But . . . the results aren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow," she said, confused.

"That is correct," broke in the Ministry envoy. "Your official results will arrive tomorrow, and I'm told nobody here"...he glanced at Professor McGonagall..."will be surprised that you got 'Outstanding' in every subject. But given the circumstances, we felt it appropriate to give you more detailed results privately, along with our sincere congratulations. Your percentage scores in the examinations were extraordinarily high, breaking a number of historical records. Here..." he handed her a rolled parchment tied with a red ribbon "...are your examination scores. Again, congratulations, Miss Granger."

Hermione could barely take in what she was hearing. A number of historical records? She unrolled the parchment with shaking hands, and her eyes flew across the columns bearing the numbers of her results, along with another set of columns showing the previous high scores. She raised her eyes, still in a state of shock, and opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to say something, but her mind was a complete blank. Suddenly she broke from her reverie and said, "Thank you so much, but I have to . . ." and left the office at a run.

She practically flew through the castle corridors, leaping up the staircases, grabbing onto pillars as she rounded the corners, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

She burst into the bedroom, but stopped abruptly in the doorway.

Because he was standing up, looking out the window at the sunset.

Hearing someone enter, he turned slowly, bracing himself against the windowsill.

"Professor!" she cried, on the verge of tears, and she ran and threw her arms around him.

He could barely withstand the impact of her body against his chest; his knees buckled under him, and he leaned on her to keep himself from falling.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," she said, her breathless voice choked with emotion, "but I didn't think you'd be able to manage it so soon."

Smiling, Severus pushed a stray lock of hair back from her face.

"No more did I, Miss Granger. No more did I."

They regarded each other for a moment in silence, the slanting rays of the setting sun warming their faces. Suddenly she drew in a sharp breath, startled by the weight of a revelation.

"Professor, your eyes! They're not black, they're brown!"

Severus chuckled softly.

"Of course they're brown, foolish girl. If they were black..."

"...you'd have aniridia. And aniridia is associated with diseases of the eye and cognitive deficiencies. And you clearly suffer from neither of those."

"Always the insufferable know-it-all. I assume, from the unusual way in which you entered, that you have something important to tell me."

Hermione's face split in a tremendous smile, and she showed him the roll of parchment.

"My NEWT results. A Ministry clerk came expressly to bring them to me. I've broken various records...in fact, I've got the highest scores of the last twenty years."

"And in Potions? You beat my old score as well?" There was just a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"No, Professor. I didn't beat it. Imatched it."

T/N: Exartemarte really earned his exorbitant salary this chapter, helping two American Muggles find their way through the British educational system. We doff our collective hat to you, sir.

A/N:

From Wikipedia: "Aniridia is the absence of the iris. This usually occurs in both eyes. It can be congenital or caused by a penetrant injury. Congenital aniridia is not just an isolated defect in iris development but is a panocular disorder with macular and optic nerve hypoplasia, cataract, and corneal changes. Vision is severely compromised with the aniridia and the disorder is frequently associated with a number of complications with the eye: nystagmus, amblyopia, buphthalmos, and cataract."

Obviously Hermione, insufferable know-it-all that she is, was already aware of this.