Seven: No Life I Own, No Liberty

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

For Sempra and Mimi, who told me that something is right for me to do, BECAUSE I am afraid to do it.

Where Lagan stream sings lullaby, there blows a lily fair

The twilight gleam is in her eye, the night is on her hair

And like a love-sick leannán sí, she hath my heart in thrall

No life I own, no liberty, when love is lord of all

Severus and Hermione walked up the path towards the castle without exchanging a word. As they reached the steps, Harry and Ron appeared, heading down towards Hogsmeade, in the direction of the Shrieking Shack. They took one look at Hermione's pale, rigid face, along with Professor Snape's stony scowl, and concluded the worst. It was only later, that Ron confided to Harry, that Snape and Hermione looked a little alike when they were both pissed off.

"Hermione? Is everything alright?" Harry said, his eyes challenging Professor Snape.

Hermione looked up at her professor, her eyes thunderous. "I can't come with you – right now. I - I have to go with Professor Snape. I've asked for some help on a Potions project, and this is the only time the Professor has." She knew it sounded clumsy, even to herself, but it was the only thing she could think of.

"Why?" The boy's insolence was intolerable, but Severus didn't have the time, nor inclination, to call him on it. Instead, he glared at the boys as if they were somehow to blame for his inconvenience.

"Unlike your esteemed godfather, Mr. Potter, my spare time is rather more limited," Severus growled, inwardly cursing the girl for forcing him to play the villain yet again. "I actually do have matters to attend to. I do not feel the need to justify my actions."

"Hermione, are you okay with this?" Harry persisted, as he and Ron blocked their path into the castle. Potter looked up at his professor challengingly. "Why can't you help her during the week, instead of making her miss out on her weekend time?"

Hermione was so angry by now, she felt like exploding. "Harry, it's alright! Just – " She huffed. "I'd like to get this done so I can finish the project. I'll see you later, yeah?"

Harry looked at their professor with impotent rage and hatred, and Severus merely sneered in reply. Blasted little toerag, having the nerve to question him!

Hermione pushed past the boys, and Severus followed her closely behind. As they entered the castle, she turned to him, her eyes snapping with fury. "I think we need to talk, don't you, Professor?"

Severus, bristling at the young witch's tone, said, "If you insist, Miss Granger."

Hermione's eyes grew wide, and she visibly crackled with anger. "Where is the most private place you know, Professor? Because I have a feeling this will not be fit for first- and second-year ears."

Severus pulled his cloak around him, as if pulling his dignity together. "Shall we go to my study, Miss Granger?"

Through gritted teeth, she said, "Lead the way, Professor."

Without another word, Severus turned on his heel and strode down the hall; Miss Granger's shorter strides forcing her to almost trot beside him.

By the time they arrived at the professor's study, Hermione's head had cleared of her blinding, humiliated rage, leaving only a chilling anger behind. They had walked (Professor Snape had walked and she had galloped beside him) in a silence that was churning with repressed emotions.

Hermione was still stunned at the conversation she'd overheard, and her mind was reeling at the implications of what both wizards had said. It was clearly a case of each trying to piss higher up the wall than the other, but it gave her a sickening feeling to know that it was all about her, and nothing to do with her academic prowess.

When did anyone start giving a monkey's about Hermione Granger? Even after her disastrous date with Viktor Krum during the past year, no one noticed her, beyond her grades. It was true, she'd filled out quite a bit in the last year, and she'd changed, but so had everyone else. She had grown up, pure and simple. Why on earth did these two wizards (three, if you count Remus) feel the need to posture and snarl around her? It was baffling, and frightening. It was also exciting, and she felt guilty for feeling so flattered that these three powerful wizards seemed to be increasingly interested in her.

That's sick, Hermione, she told herself. The very idea of Sirius, or even Remus, showing some sort of romantic interest, is just... oh, no, No, NO.

On the other hand, Professor Snape... why did he seem different? Of the three, he certainly wasn't the most handsome. It would be like calling Remus the least ugly. But Hermione was, if nothing else, completely, sometimes brutally, honest with herself. Professor Snape excited her. There was an energy, a restless knowledge within him, that called to her. She admired his brilliance, his precision, his strange, compelling physical attributes, which, taken individually, never quite summed up the whole.

She had felt it when he'd made Lockhart look like a complete berk during their 'duel' in Second Year DADA. He'd thrown himself in front of her to protect her from the transforming Remus, and he'd held her back when she'd tried to chase after Harry during that mind-bending night that she'd helped Sirius escape. Professor Snape had been so angry when he realised what she and Harry had done, she thought he might hex her. She certainly deserved it. She'd already knocked him out in the Shrieking Shack. She still burned with shame about it.

And last year, when she'd gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor, and everyone had whispered behind her back (What's SHE doing with Krum? Bugger that, what's Krum doing with HER?), she'd gone off and stood in the snow outside, fighting tears of humiliation. For the first time in her life, Hermione had felt pretty, but after all the snide remarks, she felt the the callow awkwardness of being too young to be old and too old to be young.

As she stood on the steps, carefully trying not to cry, Professor Snape had passed by, glowering, angry, and she'd looked up into his eyes, and saw the same humiliation and helplessness she herself felt. He hadn't spoken, but had given her a formal nod, and resumed walking. She had replayed that nod over and over in her mind, and she still didn't know what it meant. She only knew that someone knew how she felt.

She tried to stem her rising feelings. She reminded herself of his contempt toward her, his sneering, hurtful remarks in the past... then she would feel his large, warm hand caress her cheek, and call her name in that stunning, sensuous voice... The Dark Lord knows I desire you, girl...

Hermione might have been a virgin, but she wasn't exactly innocent. She had kissed several boys, and she had touched herself. She'd read her parents' The Joy of Sex, and had dreamed tremulous dreams afterward. But this was off the map here. She felt her inexperience as if it were a character flaw to be ridiculed. Would he ridicule her? Or would he be just as fearful as she?

She had just entered the hallway of the Shack, when she heard Sirius taunting Professor Snape (Who do you think Harry will believe, Snivellus? A randy little witch, or the man who was his mother and father's best friend?). She had purposefully contacted Sirius to meet her at two-thirty, because she wanted to talk to him privately, before the boys came at three. Feigning a trip to the library, she'd told Harry and Ron she would meet them at the shack.

What on earth was Professor Snape doing there in the first place? She had gone cold when she heard Sirius taunt her professor. She'd been so sick with anger and humiliation, she wanted to hex Sirius' bollocks into another country. France wasn't far enough away for it. Then Professor Snape had said - oh, gods, he'd said he would be...

She was still angry enough to be furious with his quip about 'popping her cherry', to be sure, but why did she feel her body traitorously respond in a way that was nothing like anger?

Once she and her professor were in his study, he warded the door, and placed a Silencing Charm on the outside. Together, they walked into the somber room, and Professor Snape set the fireplace ablaze with a flick of his wand. "Tea, Miss Granger?"

Tea's not going to do it, she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, "No, thank you."

Professor Snape's back was to her, and she could see the tensely drawn muscles of his shoulders, and the severe bearing in his posture. At least he knows he's ballsed this up, she thought.

"Would you mind explaining to me what that little exchange was all about?"

Severus turned and faced the little witch. She was standing still, arms planted on her hips, looking at him with unwavering eyes. He said, coolly, "That was a private matter, between Black and myself. It is none of your concern."

She rolled her eyes. In a voice pitched low and angry, she shook her head and replied, "Are you really listening to yourself? Don't you dare try to bluff me, Professor Snape!"

His eyes narrowed. "I do not care for your tone, Miss Granger. You forget, you are speaking to one of your professors – "

"Who just informed his 'rival' that he was going to take my virginity during the Easter holidays! Oh, please, Professor! Self-righteous indignation at this point is not only superfluous, but extremely bad taste!"

Severus stood, fuming, knowing the little chit was right, and there was nothing he could do about it. She had him dead to rights. He slumped, and he could feel colour suffuse his face.

Once again, he had been goaded into saying the exact wrong thing to the wrong person. All his life, he'd managed to push away everyone who'd befriended him, tried to care for him, or needed him. He'd just done it again. When he was younger, he'd blamed others. He'd blamed James Potter, he'd blamed Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, his parents. Everyone but himself. Now, he knew better.

He was so tired of feeling badly made, like an ugly doll, pieced together with mismatched parts. He didn't seem capable of fixing it, either. He closed his eyes.

When he spoke, his voice sounded devoid of any life or colour or tone. "Of course, Miss Granger. I cannot explain the whys of my behaviour. I scarcely understand it myself." He ventured a glance at her. She was still standing there, fuming, ready to pounce. "I fully accept responsibility for my words."

When she didn't move or speak, he sighed, and sat down in his chair. "I understand that you would rather not speak to me again, outside what is necessary. I accept this. I must ask, again, for your discretion." He pulled himself together. "I trust you can see yourself out."

Hermione stood, watching him, looking for traces of manipulation, and couldn't find any. He looked defeated, embarrassed, and tired.

"It's the curse, isn't it? You still feel its effects, don't you?"

He glanced at her, then shrugged. "Perhaps. And, perhaps, I just wanted to rub Black's nose in – in something."

"Why?"

He shrugged again, and it was a strange gesture, full of defiance and discomfort. He thought of Potter during their last Occlumency lesson, rushing past his defenses, watching his boy-self in all of his gauche, ill-bred, humiliated glory. He wanted to kill Black. "Payback, perhaps? If there are other reasons, I don't want to explore them."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Well, I think you're going to have to, Professor." She looked at the man who'd just boasted he would be her first lover. The strange thing about it was that she wasn't all that sure he wouldn't be. Alright, Hermione, you wanted to grow up. It's time to grow up.

"You and I are going to spend a little time talking about this."

Professor Snape looked at her strangely, as if he were unsure he'd heard her correctly. "My reasons for my behaviour are not important. I said some incredibly unforgivable things. And I said them to Black, of all people." He stared at the fire, and his long fingers gripped the chair, as if holding on to his own life. "My pride, my fear, my life, Miss Granger. I have nothing." His eyes glittered in the flickering firelight. "For a moment, I just wanted to have something."

Hermione stared at her professor and sat down opposite. She was breathing heavily, as if she were about to cry. Severus hated crying females. As with most men, he felt foolish and helpless and pointless when they cried. Especially when he was the reason for their tears. He'd made more than one student cry. There was a fleeting satisfaction in it, but soon he was left with the empty, hollow feeling of just how cheap the victory had been. It was like fucking a whore. A brief, passing contentment, then a sliding, fading diminishment of his own humanity, and that of the woman's.

He ventured a glance at her face, but her eyes were dry.

When she spoke, his eyes widened. She sounded like a girl who had decided to put away her childish things, and as she spoke, a woman emerged.

"Severus Snape, for the past few weeks, you and I have danced this little dance. You have allowed me to comfort you, you have suffered, you have pushed and pulled and turned my emotions inside out.

"You have treated me like a woman, but you've talked to me like I'm a child. You say you want me, and you brag to Sirius that you'll have me, but you won't even talk to me."

He stared at her, feeling the same, sick feelings when Lily walked out on him. Hermione was going to do it as well. He felt his heart falter, and the loathing and anger he felt for himself built to such a pitch that he lashed out, rather than implode.

"What are you and I going to talk about, Miss Granger? Dumbledore's Army? Oh, yes, I saw it in your mind," he sneered, as the colour drained from her face. He pressed on, knowing he had to, or buckle. "You're a child I'm responsible for. It doesn't make me a saint. That's Potter's domain. I'm just trying to survive here until I'm no longer of use, and then neither you nor anyone else can claim any hold over me again.

"Are we going to talk about the Dark Caress? About sex? What's the point? You're a virgin, and I'm twice your age. Get out, Miss Granger. I have nothing further to say to you."

He rose, waiting to hear the door slam. He deserved it. He needed her hatred, her contempt for him. It was the only thing he had come to expect from anyone.

A small hand closed over his arm and spun him around. Hermione was looking up at him, her expression unreadable. "That would be easy, wouldn't it? For me to just walk away, to leave you with your self-pity and loathing, to justify to yourself why you aren't worthy of anything good? It would be so easy to Obliviate me, so that I wouldn't remember your cries in the dark, and your pleas, and your hurt, and your bravery, and your fear." She took his hands in hers. "And your desire."

"Miss Granger," he growled, and behind the warning tone was fear, and hope, and they were equally as strong as the other.

"Are we going to talk about sex, Professor? Being a virgin doesn't make me dull or stupid, any more than being experienced brings wisdom." She could see him wavering, and she pressed her advantage. "Honestly, Professor, what do you expect? You've known me since I was eleven. Do you honestly think I'm going to leave this alone?"

"Bossy witch," he barked, against his will. He was looking off to the side, and Hermione thought she heard a trace of pride in the insult.

She nodded. "We are going to talk about you, and what has brought you here, now, and this bond between us that neither of us fully understand."

Severus closed his eyes, feeling as if he were drowning underwater. "What do you want from me, lass? Are you trying to take every last scrap of dignity from me?"

Hermione gave an exasperated little grunt. "No. I'm trying to convince you to trust me, and to believe in me." He gave her a searching look, and she smiled. "You're trying too hard to get rid of me. Well, I've got news for you, Professor. It won't work. You and I are going to try to figure this out, and we are going to do it together."

He scowled, and gave her a puzzled look. "Figure what out, Miss Granger? Do talk sense."

For the first time since they'd arrived, Hermione smiled. "Sit down, please, Professor."

"You really ARE the bossiest little witch," he reiterated, but he reluctantly obeyed her, his eyes never leaving hers. She resumed her seat opposite.

"It's true, I am. But I only boss those I really care about." He snorted, and shifted in his seat, but something like a smile prinked the corners of his mouth.

Hermione rose, and stood above him, looking down like a little inquisitioner. "I want the truth, Severus Snape. From the beginning. From the day you arrived at Hogwarts as a first year, to five minutes before I walked into the Shrieking Shack."

Professor Snape scoffed. "Oh, so not too much, then? And what else do you require, Miss Granger? The Sword of Gryffindor on which to impale me, should my tale not be to your liking?"

She pretended to consider. "I don't know about that, but some tea might be nice." She waited quietly. He hadn't agreed, but he hadn't refused her, either.

"Do tell, Miss Granger. And if I comply with this Scheherazade fantasy of yours, what then?" He sneered. "Going to make me your pet project? Another S.P.E.W.? Plan on knitting me a hat?" His voice grew more clipped, more like his teaching voice, as he struggled to regain control of the situation.

Suddenly, Hermione was in his face, bearing down on him. Severus was stunned that she could move so quickly. Her wild hair flew around her, and she stared down at him like an avenging Valkyrie.

"What do you want out of life, Professor Snape? Do you want to push me away so you can tell yourself you weren't worth knowing? Do you want to seduce me, so you can rub Sirius' nose in it?" She moved infinitesimally closer. "Or do you want a friend, who can help you, who knows you enough to keep your secrets, who can be there for you right under Dumbledore's nose, under the nose of your Dark Lord himself? Where no one can find you?"

They were too close, Severus thought. He could see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the slightly greenish specks in her amber eyes. He could smell her scent, and he realised he was closing the distance. He leaned forward, breathing in the breath she'd just exhaled.

"What do you want from me, Miss Granger?" The silkiness of his voice was purposeful, as if brought to bear as a weapon. He was staring so hard his eyes were watering, and he blinked.

She looked down on him. "The truth, Severus Snape. From the beginning to now."

She turned and resumed her seat, looking at him like a queen to be entertained. "Now, Severus."

His breath left him in one large gasp. Insolent little witch! He felt rage burn within him, then dissipate. He felt contempt, which bled to nothingness. He felt fear, and it was wicked away. He tried to summon every emotion in his arsenal to fight this young woman and her imperious command, and they danced away from him like smoke.

It was then he realised he would do whatever she asked. And the agony and ecstasy of it was that he wanted to. His shoulders dropped slightly.

He closed his eyes. "I'm – " He panted like an animal, the words forced from his lips almost again his will. "I'm afraid." He looked into her eyes, and he saw fear there, too. In fact, he saw everything he'd ever felt, mirrored in the eyes of this young, untried witch.

"It's alright to feel afraid, Professor. When you're afraid, you know you're doing what you need to do to survive." She leaned forward and gave Severus a smile overlaid with a delicate lace of irony. "Nowadays, I know something is right for me to do BECAUSE I am afraid to do it." She sat back and gave him an encouraging nod. "I'm going nowhere. I'm right here."

He took in a long, shaking breath. It was several moments, as he gathered his thoughts. He looked like a child; he looked like an old man. He looked like the poor boy he was, thirsting for love and acceptance. "My parents were Eileen and Tobias Snape. I was born in Spinner's End. It's a small town in Manchester." He drew his robes around him, and looked off in the distance. "A Snape is less than nothing in that town." And so, he began.

It was an evening that Hermione never forgot, and later, when her world crashed down and threatened to crush her and everything she knew, she remembered sitting in her professor's study, hearing his beautiful, beguiling voice. It had the barest hint of Northern inflection, rising and falling, spinning his tale into the night. He cast it over her like a spell in and of itself, and she remembered that, within this man, was her hiding place.

Severus talked through the next hour. Hermione made tea. He talked through the late afternoon. A house-elf brought them sandwiches.

At one point, he stood and paced, telling his tale. He spoke of his parents, and their neglect and abuse. He told her of Lily and Petunia, and learning about magic. He spoke of the Marauders and the bullying misery they spawned. The rage of the telling overwhelmed him. Hermione stood with him, feeling that he needed her to do so. At one point he wept, remembering the humiliation and fear. Hermione held his hand.

The evening shadows crept upon them, and still Severus talked. He was beginning to sound hoarse and exhausted. And still Hermione pushed and pushed him, like lancing a festering wound. The horrible accountability weakened him; they met it together. He spoke of Sirius, and the horrible trick he played that almost cost Severus his life; of James, his rival, of Lily and his unrequited love, of the horrible day he pushed her into James Potter's arms forever.

He spoke of the Purebloods of Slytherin, who accepted him, and cultivated him into leaving his weedy Manc roots behind; how they taught him how to walk and talk and dress like a man of breeding. He told of his initiation with the Death Eaters, the heinous things performed on him, the hideous things he was required to do. He tried not to shock her, but as Hermione listened, she was so appalled at what he'd been through, she wanted to hide him in a cupboard and never let him out.

They drank innumerable cups of tea. There was even laughter at some point, and wistfulness. And at some point, Hermione wept for him. He spoke of his betrayal, the plea for Lily's life, the loss of friends, the death of his first, his only love. He spoke of his hatred of James Potter, and why he hated the son for looking like the father. Hermione did not try to contradict, or come to Harry's defense.

Severus told of pacts made with Dumbledore. He spoke of the return of the Dark Lord and Severus' gruesome re-entry into the world of the Death Eaters, where he was, like with the Order, neither liked, nor trusted. He spoke of his hurt, his wish that he were not so different from everyone else, his belief that he was not destined for anything other than death and unhappiness.

Severus left out nothing, including contacting Black and arranging to meet him in the Shrieking Shack for the sole purpose of telling him to leave Hermione alone. By the time he'd finished, it was dark. He was exhausted, almost voiceless and cleaned out.

Hermione stood unsteadily, and knelt down beside her professor. He looked so drained, his skin was almost transparent. His large, dark eyes were red-rimmed and bleak. "So now you know, Miss Granger. I have told you everything." He shook his head, and sighed. "They say confession is good for the soul. I cannot say I agree with them, but there you have it."

Hermione felt as it she'd been punched in the stomach. Every time she tried to respond, nothing was adequate. Finally, she spoke her heart.

"I have one question. It is a very selfish question."

"Ask." His husky voice was wary, and he looked at her like she was about to deliver a physical blow. Hermione fervently hoped Tobias Snape burned in hell for hurting the boy that became the man before her.

"This whole thing with Sirius isn't really about me, is it? It's about Lily."

He looked resigned, as if he had expected her to come to that conclusion. "Perhaps it was in the beginning. It isn't anymore."

"How can you say that? You said Lily was the love of your life."

"She was the love of my youth. She was my first love and she broke my heart. And yes, I'll admit I thought of you as being similar. At first. In reality, you are nothing like her."

"Why?"

He sighed. How could he explain without hurting her? How could he tell her that Lily was stunning and beautiful, and Hermione was merely physically pretty? That Lily was a bit shallow and vain, and Hermione generous and complex and kind? That he had sworn to protect Lily's son, and ended up wanting to hide Hermione away for himself?

The only truth he could confess was perhaps the least useful. "Lily – Lily wouldn't still be here talking to me. She would have walked out long before this. Lily... had no staying power."

"Then why did you transfer your feelings from her to me?"

"I didn't!" he answered, suddenly angry. Angry and tired of having to explain himself over and over in the thousand different ways that life had shit on him. "You are different because you are different, witch!" He ran a distracted hand through his oily hair. "I wasn't the only one who saw it. Oh no."

He gave her a malicious little smile. "Why do you think I let it slip that Lupin was a werewolf during your third year? Because of Black? We had already discovered Pettigrew was the traitor! It was because I saw how he looked at you, even then!"

Hermione was stunned. "And you were jealous?"

He huffed. "It has nothing to do with – "

"And were you jealous?"

"Think, girl! I thought Sirius had betrayed Lily to the Dark Lord! I wanted to see him punished – "

"Were YOU Jealous?" He whirled around.

"Yes! Yes I was fucking jealous!" he shouted, suddenly ready to put lies and subterfuge behind him. "Yes, I wanted you! Clever little swot, who could do anything she set her mind to! Strong, brave, tough lioness, full of loyalty and potential! Barely bleeding, witch, and I fucking wanted you for myself! WE ALL DID!"

He wiped the fleck of foam from his mouth, and faced the young woman. He snarled, "Merlin's balls, witch, I don't know why! You're the biggest pain in the arse I've ever met and I still want to get down on my knees and worship you! You make me so furious I want to tear you out of my heart with my bare hands and obliterate you from my mind and I know I'll die if I do!"

He turned away from her and threw his teacup against the wall. It exploded with a horrific noise that was frightening and satisfying."Gods, why was I born? I have done nothing but suffer and want and rage and hate and covet and it's all for NOTHING because I can never have what I want!" He collapsed, sobbing, his cries horrible to hear. "Leave me be, witch. Leave me be, you demanding, maddening, bloody-minded succubus."

And suddenly she was holding him, and he was holding onto her for dear life, weeping for everything that he'd lost. Everything he'd wanted, sifting through his grasping, clutching, useless fingers. His parents, Lily, his secrets, his lies, his fear. Hermione rocked him and soothed him, until they were sitting on the floor, his long robes pooling beneath them. "I hate my life," he sobbed. "I hate knowing I've lost you as well."

Hermione's answer was to hold him closer. "Don't be daft, Severus! If you've lost me, why am I still here, holding on to you?" She gave him a little shake. "I chose you, Severus. Not Sirius, not Remus, not the boys, I. Chose. You."

"You'll tire of me. You'll come to hate me as well."

She smiled, and rocked the troubled man. "I've tried hating you. But the reasons I like you far outweigh the desire to hate you." She almost laughed when she felt his breath hitch. "And as far as growing tired of you, well, you'll just have to make sure I don't."

Slowly, his tears subsided, and he found himself leaning back against her, in an unconscious imitation of their position on the night she found him wounded at Grimmauld. He was exhausted from talking and weeping. He felt like a flannel that had been wrung out, and left on the ground. The arms around him were strong and sure. If it had been anyone else on earth, he would have Obliviated them right now. But he couldn't. He wanted her to admire him, even love him, too much. For once in his miserable life, Severus Snape thought he might have found his true prize, but like always, it was too little, too late.

Quietly, he confessed, "I once thought Lily was perfect, but we let each other down. I insulted her, and she turned her back on me forever. I turned to the Dark Lord for vengeance, and damned my own soul in the process. I've spent the last twenty years living a half-life, telling myself it was what I deserved."

"You don't have to live that life anymore. I'm here."

He moaned. "Hermione, you are too young to know what you're committing to!"

"I've known for the past five years what I'm committing to. I've got thick enough skin for both of us."

For a moment, they both were silent, considering her words. Severus felt an unfamiliar, almost frightening tug of emotion. It felt like hope.

Hermione suddenly giggled. "Hermione-flavoured cherry! Oh, Professor, I'm never going to let you forget that!" Severus could feel her laughing against his back, and the absurdity of it all caught up with them, and he laughed as well, albeit reluctantly.

"I'm sorry. It was the crudest thing I could think of."

She sobered. "It - it made me feel wanted."

He could feel her tremble. Softly, he said, "You are, witch." He felt her take a deep breath, and settle a little more comfortably. He thought that, for the first time in his life, he may have actually said the right thing.

For several moments, neither spoke. Finally, with a groan for his protesting limbs, Severus rose. His back was killing him, and he was sure Hermione's legs were numb from sitting in the same position for so long. He stood, and offered a hand to help her to rise. She stumbled, and when he caught and steadied her, she looked up at him with an expression akin to regard. It broke his heart open, and he knew something had happened that would change their lives forever.

As she stood, he moved closer, until they were holding each other, lightly; the way old friends will hold one another. Gently, he put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She was a warm, comfortable, solid weight. The type of weight that feels good, that the bearer feels privileged to carry. He sighed softly, and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her mad hair, pathetically grateful that this infuriating little witch was still here with him, would be with him. He had been right. She was finer made.

He wouldn't touch her. Not now. He would wait, and hope and pray to those indifferent gods to keep him alive long enough to give her something decent of himself when she came of age. And in the meantime, he would have to shield his true thoughts from The Dark Lord, from Dumbledore even. And he would have to teach her. She may have been his student for the past five years, but he had not begun to truly teach her until now.

"Severus?" she asked, his name sounding sweet in her mouth.

"Hmm?" he breathed, enjoying the feel of her warm, soft body against his. Now that he had drained himself of his emotions, he felt sleepy, almost sated.

To his secret disappointment, she quietly moved away from him."I won't care for you any less if you say yes, but I have to ask." She took a deep breath and stiffened, as if preparing for a blow. "When you took me in your arms, were you thinking about her?" She faced him with immense dignity, as if she already knew the answer. "Were you – were you wishing I was Lily?" She gave him a look that was patently pragmatic, but there was something behind her eyes that was preparing for death.

Severus swallowed. He owed this child this much. He owed it to her to tell her the truth. They were locked now. He had set this course in motion; he would see it through, and see her safe.

He looked into her mind, and opened his to hers. It was an incredible sensation, but it wasn't frightening or sordid. She could feel his desperation, and his fear, and his longing. And she could hear the soft, emphatic, honest, No.

He looked down at her hands. They looked like little birds, enclosed in his large palms. Softly, without guile, or intent, his voice nearly drove her to her knees with its beauty, its depth and colour and music. "For the first time in my life, lass, I find myself exactly where I wish to be."

Hermione took his large hand in hers and pressed it against her left breast. He gasped, until he realised she was pressing his hand against her swiftly beating heart. He looked into her eyes, and the child behind the man shone through. Almost outside of himself, he whispered, "I have placed my heart with yours now. If you break it, or give it away thoughtlessly, I will have nothing left. I fear I will not survive that."

Hermione looked up at her professor, and her voice filled the room with power. It was a beautiful, almost mystical sound, pre-erotic, female; it was the voice of the goddess. "I swear I will never allow another to take what belongs to you. By my blood oath, I swear it."

He took her in his arms, crooning, his eyes closed, an expression of bliss briefly lighting his face and making him beautiful. Hermione felt as insubstantial as a dandelion on the wind, and when he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her face up to his, she felt her hips grow spongy and hot. He leaned down, and Hermione willed herself to keep her eyes open, to watch his liquid eyes close as he leaned down to touch his lips to hers. Her arms moved up on his shoulders, and she slid her fingers through his black hair.

His mouth was soft, and slightly swollen from crying, and as it moved against hers, it was warm and tasted of lavender tea. He smelled delicious, and he felt like home. Her belly swelled against his; she wanted to stay here forever...

The flame in the fireplace blazed up and they almost jumped apart from one another. From the flames, Professor Dumbledore called, "Professor Snape? Are you there?"

Putting a finger to his lips to keep Hermione silent, Severus walked over to the fireplace. "Yes, Headmaster. How may I help you?" A familiar, unwelcome face appeared in the embers.

"Ah, Severus. Yes, dear boy. Have you, by any chance, seen Miss Granger this afternoon?"

Severus felt his stomach lurch. They'd been talking for hours."We spoke briefly, but I haven't seen her for quite some time. Is there a problem?"

"Quite probably, no. But I would appreciate if you could meet me in my office in, say, ten minutes?"

Severus' heart sank. "Certainly, Headmaster. I'll join you shortly."

"Thank you, Professor. Would you, perchance, check by the library? If you see Miss Granger there, where she no doubt is ensconced in one of the study areas, would you ask her to accompany you?"

Severus had heard that tone before. It was the tone Albus used to convey that, yes, I think you are lying, and yes, you'd better be able to cover your tracks and yes, you're in trouble.

Resignedly, he heaved a resentful sigh, and replied, "Certainly, Headmaster. I'll go and find the girl."

"Good man. Thank you, Severus."

Severus turned and looked at the young witch, and she rolled like quicksilver into his arms. He could still feel her soft lips upon his, and his body wanted more of her. Instead, he kept himself in check, remembering his promise to himself. He grew solemn.

He leaned forward, until their foreheads were touching."We have roles to play, Miss Granger."

She nodded. "I know that, Professor Snape."

"Starting tomorrow, Occlumency lessons. Do not look Dumbledore in the eye. He is a more skilled Legilimens even than me."

Hermione nodded. "I understand that you will continue to treat me the way you always have. Understand I will still act indignant."

Severus smirked. "Well, Miss Granger, let's see if all those years at Stage School will pay for themselves." Impulsively, he kissed her smooth forehead, and they parted.

Roughly ten minutes later, they were ascending into the Headmaster's study. To Hermione's surprise, Harry was waiting. Professor Dumbledore was sitting with him, and looked as grave and unsmiling as she'd ever seen him.

"Ah, Miss Granger. I see that Professor Snape found you." He cocked an eye at Severus, who felt his hackles rising. Hypocritical old poofter...

"Yes, Headmaster. She was precisely where you thought she would be. Buried with her nose in a book in the library, oblivious to all." He gave Hermione a rather disdainful scowl. The Headmaster looked at Hermione as well, and she pretended to study a book on his desk.

"Your diligence will no doubt pay off in your exams, Miss Granger. I am sorry I had to take you away from your revising, but Mr. Potter asked to speak to me on a grave matter concerning you. And, unfortunately, Professor Snape, as well."

Hermione glanced at Severus almost indifferently. "Professor Snape?" She turned to her friend. Harry was watching Severus with angry, accusing eyes. "Harry, what's this all about?" She pretended to relax. "If this is about earlier, I told you it was nothing. I just needed to have a word with Pro –"

"Hermione, you don't have to cover for him! If he's threatening you – "

"Potter, what exactly are you insinuating?" Severus growled, his anger rising.

"Please, everyone. I must insist on calm." The Headmaster held up a placating hand. He turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley had a clandestine meeting with Sirius Black today in the Shrieking Shack, and were given some rather... unsettling news."

Hermione felt her lips go numb. "What sort of unsettling news, Professor?"

Harry, unable to restrain himself, blurted, "Sirius said when he arrived in the shack..." He swallowed, embarrassed. With a look of pure hatred, he directed his words to Severus. "He told me what you did."

Severus turned to Harry with narrowed, threatening eyes. "Did what, Mr. Potter? If I'm to be condemned, I would like to at least know what Black has accused me of doing."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Sirius told me. How he saved you from being molested by him." He pointed an accusatory finger at Severus.

A/N: The title of this chapter and the opening verse is from the folk song, Lagan Love.

From Wikipedia: In Celtic folklore, the Irish: leannán sí "Barrow-Lover" is a beautiful woman of the Aos Sí (people of the barrow or the fairy folk) who takes a human lover The name comes from the Gaelic words for a sweetheart, lover, or concubine and the term for a barrow or fairy-mound.

The leanan sídhe is generally depicted as a beautiful muse, who offers inspiration to an artist in exchange for their love and devotion.