Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The day after the Leaving Feast, Severus woke up with a feeling of relief. He had two full months before the fall term started – before he would have to see Hermione again. He let the relief seep into his psyche.

At least, he told himself that's what it was. Funny how he had never noticed before that relief felt a little bit like something less pleasing than that. It was a bit of a letdown, actually. If forced to analyze it, he would have to say it felt a lot like ... disappointment?

Fortunately, there was no one to force him to analyze anything at the moment.

Pushing the thought aside, he quickly got himself together. He was going to Spinner's End for the summer, where he would have no reminders of Hermione and would find it easier to get over the whole unfortunate lust situation.

Then, come fall, he would ignore her as thoroughly as he did everyone else who had no particular relevance to his life.

Unfortunately, it didn't prove as simple as he had hoped. Even the dark, depressing atmosphere at Spinner's End didn't stop him from wondering what she was doing and, more to the point, with whom. He had realized during those last few weeks of the school year that Weasley was showing an inordinate amount of interest in Hermione. Certainly more than "just friendship" would warrant. Perhaps this had even been going on before the shift in his own attitude, but he wouldn't have noticed it before that.

Once he had seen it, though, he had become increasingly concerned that she would fall prey to that dunderhead's dubious charms. And sadly, their graduation and subsequent separation didn't guarantee anything – they were friends, after all, and Weasley was probably visiting her constantly, hitting on her and trying to weasel his way into her life – and her pants. Pun intended.

Just because Severus was determined not to want her, didn't mean that someone as unworthy as Weasley should have her.

Eventually, with a month to go before fall term was due to start, Severus decided he might as well try to distract himself with work. Perhaps he would write a new textbook – an advanced course on the use of potions in defending against the dark arts. Such a project would surely keep him from devoting all his energy to avoiding thoughts of Hermione and Weasley – or of Hermione and himself.

Hermione soaked up the love and pride her parents lavished on her freely over the summer. They were thrilled that she was training to be a professor at Hogwarts; they thought it was the perfect job for her. It should have been the perfect opportunity to recharge and get some rest in anticipation of her new position.

In some ways, it was. When the time came to return to Hogwarts, she had almost succeeded in convincing herself that she was over her ridiculous infatuation with Professor Snape. He had hardly entered her thoughts at all in the last several weeks.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of her dreams. There, he showed up every night, like clockwork, usually multiple times. Sometimes, she woke up before things got too heated, but more often, she woke up frustrated, aroused, and desperate for release.

By the time she got back to Hogwarts, then, she was resigned to going through life in a state of sleep-deprived arousal.

It was just her luck that the very first person she ran into – quite literally – was Professor Snape.

Severus stared, shocked, at the woman who had rounded the corner at a trot and practically bounced off of him, landing in a heap at his feet. She didn't get up immediately. Instead, she craned her neck to look at him and stammered, "Sev – that is – Professor Snape! I didn't – I mean, I apologize. I should have been looking where I was going. Are you all right?"

Severus tried to keep his voice even. "An odd question, Miss Granger, considering that you are the one sitting on the ground." What was she doing here? Classes weren't due to start for another two weeks. He had assumed he would have that time to shore up his defenses.

"Oh," she said, looking around and seeming almost surprised to find herself sitting on the ground, then glanced back up. "I guess you are, then. I'm sure I'm fine, too, so you can get back to whatever you were doing."

He sighed, and reluctantly offered her a hand up. He didn't even know why he did that; he certainly wasn't averse to being thoughtless, or even downright rude. In fact, anyone who knew him would attest that he was both thoughtless and rude, most of the time. After a very long moment, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He carefully ignored the electric charge that seemed to pass between them.

She said, "Thanks." He nodded curtly, and she continued, "Er, I was just on my way to see Professor McGonagall, so I guess I'll see you later." She suddenly seemed to realize she was still holding his hand, but instead of releasing it immediately, she stared at their joined hands for another long moment. Then she blushed and took her hand back, saying, "Bye."

"Good-bye, Miss Granger," he replied to her retreating back.

Hermione spent the entire meeting with Professor McGonagall trying really hard to pay attention to the conversation, while her mind was busily trying to process that odd interaction with Professor Snape. He had been – not nice, exactly, but civil. Courteous, even.

Fortunately, the meeting had been short, as Professor McGonagall had simply wanted to check in about how far Hermione had gotten with the summer reading list she had provided. Naturally, Hermione had finished the list nearly a month ago, and had, on her own initiative, sought additional materials that seemed like they might be useful. She had finished those, too, and today, Professor McGonagall had suggested a few others that she might find interesting. Fortunately, she had given Hermione the suggestions in writing, so Hermione need not worry that she would forget them due to her preoccupation.

As the meeting had ended, Professor McGonagall had said, "Oh, and Hermione? You aren't a student anymore, so please call me Minerva."

"Yes, Professor – I mean, Minerva." She smiled sheepishly, realizing that this new informality would take some getting used to. Although, come to think of it, she already had trouble remembering to address Professor Snape formally (since in her dreams, she always called him "Severus," or sometimes even "Sevvy" – which she just knew he would hate). She hoped he hadn't noticed her little near-slip earlier.

As she sat in the library an hour later, she could swear her hand still tingled with the excitement of having been enveloped in his. She flexed and stretched it a few times, but the feeling didn't go away.

Maybe she was getting sick.

Maybe she was having sudden-onset paralysis.

Maybe he had cast some sort of spell.

She sighed. What was she going to do about this? Not the hand – she would probably never touch him again, if he had his way. A tingling, paralyzed, spellbound hand was the least of her worries. The real problem was the infatuation. An entire summer spent away from him, convincing herself she was over him, had been shot to hell in less than – she checked her watch – five hours back in his proximity.

So, distance obviously wasn't the answer – and even if it was, if today was any indication, avoidance wasn't a viable solution. Drumming her fingers against the book she wasn't actually reading, she considered what else might work.

An idea finally struck her, and she sat straighter in her chair as she considered it. Since distance wasn't working, maybe she should try getting closer instead of further away. He was sure to treat her with the same rude disdain that he always had. She had never been a masochist, so eventually, she would get tired of him treating her like the dirt under his feet, and she would get over him.

She hoped.

With renewed energy, she began to consider how she might get closer to Severus. Since he hated her, she would have to be sneaky, she decided. For the first time ever, she wished her personality had just a bit more Slytherin tendency in it. Especially since Severus himself was Slytherin, and therefore would be difficult to outsmart.

Well, she would just have to find a way. She wasn't going to spend the rest of her life pining away for a man just because she couldn't get close enough to let familiarity breed contempt.

That evening, Severus arrived a few minutes early for dinner. Looking around, he headed for the far end of the table, where few professors were seated. He preferred to eat his meals without a lot of foolish chatter around him, so fewer people was definitely better. He always tried to get a seat on the end, so he would at worst have one person annoying him. And, he could always hope that some professors would decide they weren't hungry and stay away altogether, thus increasing the likelihood that he would be left in peace.

Moments later, someone sat in the chair immediately to his right. Suppressing a sigh, he resigned himself to the likelihood that someone would be trying to make small talk with him. He really hoped it wasn't that fool Trelawney.

And then, his pulse increased suddenly, and he just knew who was next to him. He looked up and confirmed his suspicion.

"Miss Granger," he said by way of greeting. So much for avoiding her – this was twice in one day and the term hadn't even started yet.

"Professor Snape," she replied, and smiled at him, as though daring him to comment on her choice of seats. Glancing around, he realized that, while there were plenty of empty chairs where the students would normally sit, the only other empty seats in the professors' area were between Trelawney and Binns (and why did Binns come to dinner anyway? It wasn't like a ghost could eat!). No wonder she had chosen to brave his bad mood – for all his faults, he could at least claim that there wasn't much risk of boring her to death. She asked politely, "How was your day?"

She might very well irritate him to death, he decided. "Fine," he said tersely.

"So was mine," she babbled. "After my meeting with McGonagall, I went to the library and got a lot done in preparation for the fall term."

He took a bite of roast beef, chewed it slowly, then asked flatly, "Do you always talk so much while eating?"

She laughed, seemingly unfazed by his less-than-pleased tone. "Yes, of course," she replied. "If one doesn't talk between bites, there's a tendency to eat too fast, which isn't good for the digestion."

"Nevertheless, Miss Granger, I prefer not to talk while eating."

"Oh, okay," she agreed cheerfully. He was relieved, but only until she added, "You don't have to talk. I'll just keep the conversation going, unless you decide you want to jump in at any point."

He narrowed his eyes. "Miss Granger, are you quite all right?"

"Oh, yes, Professor, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," she replied. "Do I seem like I'm not?"

He frowned. "I don't recall you being this –" he bit back the word 'confident' at the last second, substituting "– loquacious in our past acquaintance."

She blushed lightly, but gamely smiled and waved a hand airily. "Well, it wouldn't have been appropriate before," she replied. "I was a student, and you were a professor before, remember?" He found himself nodding agreement as she continued. "And there aren't any other apprentices here at the moment, and I have to talk to someone, don't I?"

He could see her point, of course, but why did she have to pick him? She didn't even like him – practically no one did – and he was fine with that. But, recalling the location of the empty chairs, he supposed he could see why it had to be him, this time.

So he tried not to be too rude as she chattered away, but he kept his comments short and made them only when he had to – no point in giving away his unfortunate lust by getting deep into conversation. Besides, he had noticed Minerva watching them with an eagle eye from the other side of the room, and he certainly didn't want her thinking he was deeply involved in this conversation – even if he was hanging like a lovesick teenager on Hermione's every word.

That thought made him frown, and he was horrified to hear himself ask abruptly, "Did you see much of Weasley over the summer?"

For the first time since she had sat down, she appeared flustered. Indeed, she choked on the pumpkin juice she had just sipped, and coughed for several seconds before she managed to ask, "Ron? Why would you ask about Ron?"

He said, "You're friends with the idiot, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't think you liked him, so why would you ask about him?"

"Since we're having a conversation, against my better judgment, I assumed you would want me to participate in it."

"But, then, why would you ask about Ron and not Harry?" Since he didn't have any kind of answer for that, he just shrugged. She continued in a confidential tone, "I'm actually closer friends with Harry, you know. Ron and I have never spent much time together during summers or holidays – unless Harry and I went to visit Ron's family or something."

"Oh," he said, and perhaps because she was staring at him with intense curiosity, he heard himself add, "I got the impression he was interested in a deeper friendship."

"Ron?" she asked, sounding perplexed. "You mean – me and Ron? Like, together?" Her voice rose to a near-squeak. "As in, together-together?"

He shrugged again, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in his face. "Perhaps I was mistaken," was all he said. He tried to keep his intense relief at her reaction to the idea off his face and out of his voice.

Suddenly, he realized that he might have planted an idea in her head that hadn't been there previously. He decided to let the matter drop before he made anything worse. But then the words came out of their own accord, anyway, "In any event, it's better that you don't get closer to that foolish brat. He and Potter are as likely as not to get you killed."

"They aren't that bad," Hermione returned, sounding annoyed now. "I know you don't like them, but they're good guys. They're my friends, so keep your comments about them to yourself, if you please."

"I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree about this. I just hope they don't get you killed before you discover I'm right," he added darkly.

She rolled her eyes. "Let's talk about something else. Minerva said you were writing a textbook this summer. What's it about?"

He raised an eyebrow at her use of Minerva's given name, but presumed that Minerva had given permission. "It addresses the use of potions in defense against the dark arts." As he spoke, it suddenly occurred to him that earlier, when she had bumped into him, she had started to call him 'Severus' before she corrected herself. That seemed odd – he would have to consider what it might mean when he was alone later.

They discussed his textbook for the rest of the meal, and he was surprised to find that he enjoyed the conversation.

Later, as Hermione got ready for bed, she thought back over the conversation she had had with Severus at dinner. He hadn't been as rude as usual – except for the bit about Ron and Harry, but that was to be expected, considering he had little use for either one of them. So far, her plan to get to know and hate him wasn't working very well.

But, with the Charm she had used earlier that day, she was certain to have many more opportunities to chat with him at meals. She smiled at her reflection as she congratulated herself on such an effective spell – none of the other professors had sat next to Severus, just as she had planned when she made it so that none of them would even notice the empty chair there at all.

Returning to her review of their conversation, she focused on the one part where he had seemed a little testy. Why had he brought Ron up at all? He couldn't possibly care whether she had seen her friend or not. And as she had asked him, why ask about Ron and not Harry? The only clue she had was that he seemed to think Ron wanted to date her or something. Which was just plain crazy – she didn't think of Ron like that – never had, never would.

If she hadn't known better, she would have thought Severus sounded almost jealous.

But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

In any event, she had to assume that he would revert to his normal self tomorrow, when he saw her at breakfast. Fortunately, she had made enough Confidence-Boosting Potion to get her through the next several days, at least. Only a single tablespoon had enabled her to carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation, rather than stutter and stammer like a tongue-tied schoolgirl, for almost the entire dinner.

Well, except for that Ron bit. What was that about? She pondered the question, without reaching any conclusion, until she drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, Severus congratulated himself on getting through dinner without giving away the fact that he was growing more intensely attracted to Hermione by the minute.

He was really displeased to discover that she was better able to carry on an intelligent conversation about his textbook than anyone else he had mentioned it to. In fact, aside from her unfortunate tendency to defend the thoroughly indefensible Weasley and Potter, her conversation was interesting and enjoyable.

He thought again about how she had nearly called him by his first name earlier in the day. Did she think of him as something other than her former professor? The very idea brought up an odd mixture of pleasure and confusion and disbelief and – to his everlasting irritation – arousal.

He mentally reviewed everything he could remember from first-year Arithmancy, since that was the most boring thing he could think of, until his body came back under control. It took much longer than usual, because he would just be getting back to normal, and then he would hear her voice again, saying the first syllable of his name: "Sev –"

And he would be right back where he started, aroused, frustrated, and irritated.

In any event, Minerva and the other professors could do whatever they pleased. He was certainly not going to invite a greater level of familiarity by giving her permission to call him Severus. He was having enough trouble reigning in his suddenly-overactive libido without adding the certain knowledge of what his whole name would sound like coming from her lips.

He consoled himself with the thought that odds alone decreed that it would be rare indeed that he would find himself seated next to her at a meal.