Chapter 22

A/N: Characters & concepts still not mine ... sigh.

Chapter 22

Severus was very quiet on the walk across the courtyard, back to Hermione's room. If not for the solid warmth of his hand holding hers, Hermione would have panicked. As it was, she was nervous, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he was angry or worried or what?

The evening had been magical – there was really no other word for how it had felt to dance with Severus for so many hours. She had been so sure that he wouldn't dance with her, even if she screwed up her courage enough to ask – and then, with very little prodding from Dumbledore, he had asked her.

Even then, she had thought he would dance one duty dance with her, and that would be the end of it – they would go back to chaperoning the students and he would likely never dance with her again. Not to mention, she had assumed the duty dance would be something fast and athletic, not something slow and romantic.

But again, he had surprised her – he hadn't treated any of it like a duty or a chore. Rather, he had surrendered to the music and the moment in a way she had never expected he would. And he was an amazingly skilled dancer, too – he led her confidently, no matter what the dance, and she felt like they were floating together across the floor.

So, as a whole, the night had been as close to perfect as she could have dreamed up – right up until the end, when they had come back down to earth with what was starting to feel suspiciously like a thud. She had an awful feeling that now that Severus realized people had been watching them, he would decide to go back to giving them nothing to see.

As in, he would dump her. Especially if he thought of his attraction to her as a weakness – which she had a sinking feeling he did. Somehow, she just knew that he wouldn't take kindly to feeling exposed – even vulnerable – as he must be feeling right now.

And the longer he was silent, the more Hermione's silent anxiety grew. At last, she could take it no more. "Severus?" she asked tentatively. He didn't immediately answer. After a moment, she spoke again, more insistently. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Are you – are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" he asked neutrally.

"I don't know," she answered softly. "You're just really quiet, which – well, that sometimes seems to mean you're mad."

"No, I'm not mad," he said, and she felt herself relax ever so slightly. "I'm just – I don't know," he finally said. "I'm not entirely comfortable with everyone knowing our business. It was bad enough when Dumbledore and Minerva suspected, and then when Potter knew." He shrugged. "Even if everyone hadn't been there, Miss Weasley is not known for her discretion. I was just trying to reason out what effect this may have on my ability to discipline my students."

She frowned. "Why should it have any effect on that?"

He gave her a speaking look. "When you were in my class, what did you think I would do if you misbehaved?"

"Ummmm, I don't know. Take off points from Gryffindor, give me detention, lower my grade, I suppose."

"And why did you think that?" he pressed.

"Because that's what you always did. You were very consistent about it," Hermione said.

"Oh?" he asked. "Not because you thought me a heartless, cruel disciplinarian?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "Maybe initially – back in first year, when we thought you were trying to kill Harry." She glanced at him apologetically. "But you weren't, and you've proved again and again since then that you would do what was necessary to protect your students. You were very consistent about that, too. You'll still be consistent, won't you?" He nodded once. "So why should this have any effect on anything?"

He looked thoughtful. Eventually, he said, "I can't vouch for my temper if they say anything about you, or about us."

"Just ignore them, and they'll stop. Especially after you give them a few detentions."

"Well," he said doubtfully, "what's done is done. I suppose there's no point in worrying about it now."

"It'll be fine, you'll see," Hermione reassured him, hoping it would be true. "Now, did you want to come in?" They had reached her door some time ago and had been standing outside, quietly finishing their conversation.

He looked tempted. "I don't suppose there's any chance Potter will transfigure himself into a female so he can stay the night with the Weasley girl?" he asked morosely.

"Not likely, with Professor Snape running around just waiting for an excuse to deduct points," she teased, wanting desperately to coax some humor out of him because that was the only thing she could think of that would calm her nerves.

But he didn't laugh, or even smile. He just sighed and, still sounding gloomy, said, "I thought not – even if it weren't against the rules, I'm just not that lucky. In that case, I'd better not come in."

"All right," Hermione agreed. "Did you still want me to come by later?"

His lip finally twitched. Seeing it, Hermione relaxed marginally. He said, "If you don't, I'm quite likely to come to you, like I did last night." He lowered his voice to a mock confidential tone. "Consistency is one of my finer qualities, or so I'm told."

She grinned, relieved that he seemed to be throwing off his mood. "Oh, it definitely is." She glanced around to make sure they were alone, then stretched up and kissed him quickly. "I'll see you shortly."

He touched her cheek briefly, then turned away, disengaging his hand from hers at last, and walked off toward his quarters. Sighing, she let herself into her room.

Mere moments after Hermione had changed into her nightgown and robe, Harry knocked on the door and called, "Are you decent?"

"Yes, Harry, come on in!" she called back. He let himself in, and she watched as he dithered around the room, seeming agitated and unsettled.

"Are you all right?" she asked eventually. "You seem upset. Did something happen with Ginny?"

"What? Oh, no," he answered, then immediately amended, "Well, yes, I suppose it did. She slammed the door in my face, actually."

Hermione frowned. "Why would she do that? What did you do?"

Harry started to protest, "Nothing much!" At Hermione's sharp look, however, he sighed and said, "I snapped at her, and she got mad."

"Why did you snap at her?" Hermione asked.

"Never mind," Harry said, "It's not important, really. I'll apologize tomorrow and everything will be back to normal. Sort of," he added under his breath, so quietly that Hermione almost missed it.

"What do you mean, 'sort of'?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing." She gave him another look, and he finally admitted, "Okay, fine. It's not going to seem really normal as long as you're shagging Snape."

Hermione suppressed the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She did not need to go through this again right now. Not when her own anxiety was rising up again, threatening to engulf her. She said, "Oh, come on, Harry, do we have to go through this again?"

"Apparently, we do," he said doggedly. "I just don't get what you see in him."

She forced herself to stay calm, "That's because he's different when we're alone."

"And how is that a good thing?" Harry argued. "If he's only nice to you in private, then how much can he possibly care for you?"

"I don't mean alone, as in no one else around," Hermione said irritably. "I mean, alone, as in not around you. You bring out the worst in him, and he doesn't do much for your charm and wit, either."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just don't get it," Harry said. "So make me understand. What makes you think you're in love with Snape?"

"Hmmmm," He seemed to genuinely want to know this time, so Hermione calmed herself and thought for a moment. "It's hard to explain, really," she said finally. "It's a whole lot of little things that make me just ... know."

"Like what?" Harry persisted. "Give me something specific – something that makes sense."

"Like the way he listens to me," she said.

"Lots of people listen to you," Harry pointed out seriously.

"Not the way he does. It's like his entire focus is on me and what I'm saying. And I know he doesn't have patience for most people, so it really means something that he likes my company." She paused and shook her head. "He also talks to me. And sometimes, he laughs, and I feel like I've won the lottery, because he's usually so solemn. I feel like he needs me. He's so alone, so much of the time, you know."

Harry shook his head again. "I still don't get it. I mean, I get why he would want you – any fool can see you're the tops. But I still don't get why you would want him."

Hermione thought some more; after a long moment, she said, "He has total faith in me, Harry – he trusts me, when he hardly trusts anybody. And whenever I need him, I know I can count on him."

Harry frowned, looking like he was going to argue some more, but then he just sighed. "All right, all right, you win. I still don't get it, but it's obvious that you do, so I guess I'll just have to hope that you're right about him. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I appreciate that, Harry, I really do. But you don't have to worry," she said, pushing aside the worry that threatened to reassert itself.

"I can't help it. I'm worried," he declared. "But I suppose it's something that he danced with you – I don't think he's ever danced at a Hogwarts function before."

She smiled her remembered delight. "It was amazing," she confided. "It was like gliding on a cloud. I didn't want the night to end."

"We all saw that," he replied dryly. She threw a pillow at him.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "Did you have to stare like that? It made him uncomfortable."

"He didn't look uncomfortable to me," Harry said. "He looked just as grumpy as ever."

"He did not!" Hermione exclaimed hotly, irritation flaring to life again. "He was just fine until everyone stared at us."

"Right," Harry said wryly. "Which explains why he glared at me and Ginny for talking to you."

"He doesn't like people watching him, and who can blame him? He used to be a spy, so having people watch him must feel dangerous to him."

"Okay, fine, I can see where he might be uncomfortable having us watch him," Harry was forced to concede. "But –" He stopped.

"What?"

"Never mind. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Spit it out."

"It's just – I was a little freaked out with the way he was holding your hand." He shook his head. "Snape doesn't do affection, so I just don't know what that was all about."

"Severus is very affectionate," Hermione said severely. "You just don't know him like I do. I mean, of course he doesn't run around holding hands with everyone. Who would?"

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for that, too," Harry replied. He changed the subject. "Now, won't he be expecting you?"

"Wh-what?" Hermione felt a flush rise in her cheeks, but decided to try to brazen it out. "Why would he be expecting me? We just said good night."

"Right. And I'm sure he's perfectly fine with me sleeping here, too."

"He's okay with it." He gave her a speaking look. "Well, okay, he's not thrilled about it, but he trusts me."

"But he doesn't trust me," Harry said reasonably. "And anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and you weren't here, so unless you want me to believe that you were somewhere else entirely ..."

Hermione was thoroughly embarrassed now. "All right, fine, I went to see Severus. I could tell he was worried about what might happen after he left, and I wanted to reassure him."

"Oh, you wanted to reassure him," he said meaningfully. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"You know what?" Hermione asked testily, "If you're quite through embarrassing me, I think I'll just leave you to your own devices. Good night." She headed over to the fireplace and pulled out her Floo powder.

Harry laughed at her discomfiture, but all he said was, "Good night, Hermione. And say good night to Snape for me."

She glared at him from the fireplace and left without another word.

While he waited for Hermione to arrive, Severus sat up in bed, trying to read. He had no idea what he was reading, however, because he couldn't concentrate. Despite their earlier discussion, he couldn't shake the idea that the events of tonight were going to ruin everything.

Hermione seemed confident that he could maintain discipline and order in the face of whispers and gossip, but he wasn't so sure. Perhaps they ought to cool things off for a while.

He didn't like the idea, but he got little enough respect as it was, what with his history as a Death Eater. Never mind that he had renounced all that and done at least as much to support the right side as anyone. Most people still thought themselves above him because they hadn't made the poor choices he had when he was young.

It probably wouldn't matter much, if Hermione was really in love with him, as she insisted she was. But Severus knew that was just the fantasy of a young girl who was in love with the idea of love. He should have resisted her, he knew, long enough for her to wake up and realize her mistake, and he should bow out gracefully when she eventually fell for someone worthy of her – like perhaps a younger, better version of Dumbledore.

The sad truth was, he was selfish enough to take this time with her, even though he knew it would eventually end, and probably before he was really ready for that to happen. And it would have been bad enough dealing with her moving on in private, but now, everyone would know. It would be humiliating, and he would lose whatever grudging respect people might have had for him.

He would be back where he started, with nothing and no one.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by Hermione's arrival. She stepped out of the fireplace, brushing the ashes from her hair and garments. She was muttering to herself – apparently Potter had said something that irritated her. Despite his dark thoughts, Severus found himself mildly amused – she seemed fully aware of Potter's more annoying habits, yet she insisted on maintaining her friendship with the dolt.

When she continued for several seconds muttering and cleaning herself off – the hard way, rather than with a simple charm – he finally inquired slyly, "Something wrong?"

She looked up, as though surprised to find him watching her. He had no idea what else she might have expected, considering she was in his bedroom at this hour. She smiled suddenly. "No, Harry was just being irritating, as usual. But everything's fine."

He asked, "Perhaps you would like some help cleaning up?"

Her smile widened, taking on a mischievous quality that had Severus groaning inwardly. Whatever she was thinking, it was bound to be trouble.

He was right. "Actually, I was thinking I might like to take a shower, or perhaps a nice, hot bath." The image of her naked body, with water lapping all around it, flashed into his mind, causing an immediate response in his body, pushing aside the remnants of his dark thoughts.

She noticed it immediately, of course, and began untying her robe. She said, "I see you like that idea. Come on, then. Join me." She shrugged the robe off her shoulders, dropping it at her feet, and headed toward his bathroom. He resisted the urge for several minutes, before he realized the very idea of resistance was an exercise in futility – and that he didn't really want to resist, anyway.

He put his book aside, tossed back the covers, and hurried after her. She had drawn a bath and was just stepping into the steaming tub. She smiled in welcome, and he rapidly shed his pajamas and joined her. They settled themselves into the tub, relaxing with her back leaning against his chest.

She had used a vanilla-scented bubble bath, which she must have conjured or brought with her, since he was certain he didn't keep any kind of bubble bath around. He found it pleasant and relaxing, and he supposed he should be grateful she hadn't chosen something floral. He shampooed her hair for her, massaging her scalp and playing with the curls as he rinsed them. Then he grabbed a flannel and began running it languidly over her body, spreading the bubbles into creative designs on the skin of her stomach and breasts, sometimes sliding down onto her thighs before coming back up and repeating the same path.

He continued to play with her like this for ages, until little sighs of pleasure began to escape her lips. Soon, she began to move restlessly against him. She whispered his name, in a pleading tone. He let the flannel stray nearer to her core, asking in a low tone, "Yes, Hermione?" She responded with a low moan. "Tell me what you want, Hermione," he urged.

She was nearly incoherent by this time, but she managed to answer, "You ... I want you, Severus. Please."

He said, "As you wish," and turned her to straddle him. He kissed her at the same moment that he entered her, and she immediately began to orgasm around him. He waited, kissing her deeply, until she slumped against him, and then he began to move. Her body quickly responded again, and this time, when she came, he was right there with her.

She relaxed into him again, whispering, "I love you, Severus."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he simply squeezed her tight against him, trying not to think about what he would do when she inevitably realized she didn't.

After a long moment, she said, "We should probably get some sleep." Her tone was light, but somehow, he knew it was forced. She wanted him to say he loved her, too, but he couldn't do it.

He wouldn't say it just to make her happy – because eventually, she would realize he had been humoring her, and that would hurt her far more than his silence now. Or, perhaps worse, she would realize that she didn't love him, but would stay with him out of sympathy, or pity, or something equally humiliating, simply because she would think she owed him that after making him love her.

And how could he explain that he would never be free to love her the way that she wanted him to – that, even now, after all these years, he still loved Lily Evans Potter? What he felt for Hermione was something else – something different entirely.

Because he didn't know how to say all that, he said only, "Yes, we probably should sleep." Standing, he silently used a drying charm on both of them and carried her to his bed.

When he laid her into bed, she was shivering from the chill of the dungeon. He absently summoned another blanket and spread it over her before climbing in himself and settling beside her. She lay on her back, not touching him, and the few centimeters between them might as well have been a thousand kilometers.

He lay awake for a long time, aware that she wasn't sleeping either, but unsure of what to say to make things better. He could feel her emotional retreat and thought it would be a matter of mere days, weeks at most, before she left him forever.

At last, he gave in to the urge to touch her. Rather than pull her into his arms and cradle her tightly against him, as he really wanted to, he settled for reaching across the space between them and taking her hand in his.

He had never before thought much of hand-holding, but it was comforting to have tangible proof that she was here with him, at least for now.

Moments later, he felt her breathing slow. Exhaustion had at last claimed her. Soon afterward, he drifted off to sleep himself, still trying not to think about how he would survive when she tossed him aside.