Chapter 5: Teacher's Pet

CHAPTER 5: TEACHER'S PET

Hermione called in sick to work. After the evening with Snape, hearing about his life in the aftermath, she couldn't possibly sit at her desk and pretend as if the world still revolved in the same way as it had the day before. Just thinking about moving on and slipping back into her routines made her feel like she was suffocating.

Instead, Hermione stayed in bed most of the day. When she finally let her feet hit the floor, it was to rummage through her bookshelves. She ran her index finger along the spines of her beloved books, stopping every so often to pull out a volume and place it on the floor at her feet. Once she had finished, she boxed the twenty-three books up and shrunk the box to fit into her pocket.

At five o'clock, she trotted down the stairs to stand on the pavement in the misty rain. Slowly, she made her way down the street to the café, wondering if he would show up at seven o'clock and determined, if he didn't, to pay him a visit at his flat.

The boy was scuffing his shoes on the floor when she walked in. Hermione realized she didn't even know his name. She asked while he poured her a cup of coffee, and he told her his name was Robbie. He asked about the man she got into a row with a few days before, but she brushed off the question and took a seat at Snape's table.

The clock by the door read six fifty-eight when he walked in the door. She watched his step falter just the slightest bit when he saw her sitting at his table. Hermione heard Robbie make a sound of surprise, but he covered it up well when Snape stepped forward to place his order and pay for his coffee.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, sitting down across from her a moment later.

"I don't mean to intrude..."

"Yes, you do," he replied.

Hermione smiled and watched him through her lowered eyelashes. "Fine, I do. Margaret said that she took you to the hospital shortly after you moved here. Why?"

"How should I know why she felt the need to take me to the hospital?"

"I meant, what was wrong with you? Why did you have a seizure?"

"I was still sick from the venom. It happened every so often; my body would convulse and shake. It's been three years since that last occurred." Snape took a sip of his coffee before putting it down on the table and turning the cup in circles with his elegant fingers. "Did you have more questions with which to assail me?"

"I'd be happy to hear anything you'd like to discuss, but I suspect that wouldn't be much."

"I knew there was some reason you were my star pupil."

"Was I?"

Snape snorted. "Don't act coy. You know very well you were my best pupil."

"So, it isn't too late to make a try for the coveted title of teacher's pet?"

He took another drink while Hermione clenched her hands tightly together in her lap. "So, you brought me an apple or some such clichéd nonsense?" he muttered.

"It's not an apple," she replied, placing the small box on the table between them.

He peered at the miniature cardboard box and raised a single brow. "A box. How touching."

"It's filled with books."

This time both his brows rose. "Very tiny books?"

She leaned across the table, only inches from his face. "You know good and well that I shrunk them."

"And you seem to have forgotten that I don't have a wand."

Hermione sat back in her seat. "Oh," she mumbled, cutting her eyes back to the box on the tabletop. She had, indeed, forgotten that the man who had been so good at spell casting was unable to perform the simplest magic now. "Stay here. Don't move."

Jumping out of her chair, she snatched the box from the table and ran out of the door. After finding an empty alley nearby, she enlarged the box and the books inside. With no small amount of effort, she managed to carry the heavy thing back to the café.

All eyes turned to her when she came back, waddling under the weight of the box. "These are for you," she said, dropping the overloaded box back onto the table.

"You could use some lessons in subtlety, Miss Granger," Snape whispered, glancing around at the other patrons watching them.

Hermione shrugged and sat down again. "They're yours. I thought you might like something else to read. I didn't include Wuthering Heights in there. I never liked Heathcliff anyway. I thought he was a selfish arse."

Snape dropped his eyes to the floor and chuckled. "Touché, Miss Granger."

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She did not try to go back to his flat again, but she did make it a habit of going to the café each night at seven o'clock. Mostly, they sat in silence, drinking coffee or tea and sharing a newspaper. Sometimes, Hermione would pry information out of Snape.

She learned that he was working at a bakery in a small market not far from his flat. One day, she left her office early to go to the market while he was working. She bought two biscuits from the bakery just so she could see him kneading dough through the slightly ajar door of the preparation area in the back. He happened to glance up and catch her watching him, but the only indication that he knew her was a slight lift of his right brow before he turned back to his work, a dusting of flour settling across his right cheek. Hermione waited outside for an hour. When he punched his timecard and walked out the door, she handed him one of the biscuits she had bought. He accepted it without hesitation, and they both sat on a bench down the block to enjoy the sweets together.

She looked forward to seeing him each day after work. And he seemed to enjoy her company as well. That is until Hermione did something terribly rash.

In hindsight, she recognized her presumption, but her intentions had been nothing but the best.

Her bi-weekly appointment with Healer Gnecco went terribly. He confirmed what Lavender had told Hermione two weeks previously. Her condition was not improving, and he was unsure of how to proceed. The blood-thinning potion was her only hope, and its effectiveness was diminishing as the curse in her body fought against it. She was nearly at the maximum dosage possible. Once her body acclimated to the highest dosage, she would die.

Unhappy and feeling ill, she Apparated to Hogsmeade and slowly walked to Hogwarts. She knew where she was going, though she did not want to admit it to herself. After a great deal of strolling over the lush lawns, she stopped at the far end of the grounds, just beyond the Quidditch field. A small slab of marble denoted his grave. It didn't stir as much emotion in her when she knew he was very much alive and living in a flat not far from hers.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione gave it a decisive flick and murmured the incantation. Immediately, the ground broke apart and the soil shifted to reveal the coffin caked in dirt. "Accio Severus Snape's wand!"

The lid of the coffin flew up to reveal the untouched white satin lining within. His wand flipped end over end through the air until it slapped into her outstretched palm. Before leaving, she put the burial place back to rights, ensuring no one would suspect it had been opened with a simple charm to grow the grass over the bare earth.

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Hermione met him that night as usual and spent the evening with him in murmured conversation over coffee and one of the books she had given him. It was a volume of Lord Byron's poetry. She could smell the musty odor of the book as he flipped the thin pages to find a particular poem for her to read.

Watching his pale hand smooth the pages and search for the correct piece brought back her memories of his memories...the ones he was still unhappy she had been privy to years ago. She saw him standing on that grassy hilltop in the dark, looking at Dumbledore's imposing form.

"Keep her...them...safe. Please."

"In...in return? Anything."

She focused her gaze back on the man sitting across from her. She could see his dark eyes darting across the page beneath long lashes. His skin was pale, almost sickly looking, but he still took her breath away. Perhaps it was because she knew the depths to which he could love, his undying passion and loyalty. There was no doubt Severus Snape could be as deceptive and self-serving as the best...or worst...of the Slytherins, but there was also that bald devotion and courage that belonged to no other house but Gryffindor. The Headmaster had confessed to thinking they sorted children into houses too early at Hogwarts. Where would Snape, this enigma of a man, fall if he had been sorted at eighteen instead of eleven?

She jerked her mind back to the present when he slid the book across the table and pointed at a poem near the bottom of the page. Translation of a Romaic Love Song. She read the poem, paying it little attention, her thoughts on the man watching her through his lashes.

In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;

I feel my passion and thy power.

Her mind stuck on the stanza halfway through the poem, unable to read any further.

"It was my favorite poem when I was younger," Snape murmured, thinking she had finished reading it by then.

Of course it would be his favorite. His entire life circled back to the same desire...to be loved by someone, to belong to someone, to have someone belong to him. He had made mistakes, of that there was no doubt, but he had paid his dues and made his amends many times over. Surely he deserved such a simple thing, a thing most people had an abundance of throughout their lives. She had been loved by her parents, and then by her friends. Occasionally, a romantic relationship would provide her with that same lightness of heart. She wondered if Severus Snape, who seemed to desire it the most of anyone in the world, had ever felt loved.

Blinking back the tears, she pushed the book away and tried to force a smile. "It's very beautiful," she said in a thick voice. A traitorous tear caught in her lashes, and she knew he could see it when she looked up at him.

Snape watched her silently. His expression was grave, yet somehow very curious, even hesitant. He opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but seemed to decide against it, pressing his lips tightly together.

"I have something for you," Hermione said, brushing away the tear. "I can't give it to you here, though." She leaned across the table and whispered, "Muggles and all," as a way of explanation.

Looking somewhat confused, he nodded once and stood to leave. She followed behind. They usually parted at the door, Hermione going left, Snape going right. This time he waited for her to lead the way. She turned right, indicating that they should go to his flat. Meanwhile, his wand seemed to burn in her sleeve. She had secured it there with her own wand until the right moment came to present him with it.

They made the short walk in silence. A flash of lightening in the distance foretold the coming of another storm, and the clap of thunder that followed made her jerk. She tried to cover her nerves with a slight stumble, but she knew she couldn't fool him.

Finally, they arrived at his flat. He unlocked the door and led the way in, flipping on the lamp sitting on the only table in the room. Hermione stood by the door, wringing her hands.

"What's the problem?" he asked, looking up from the dusty lampshade to watch her.

Hermione dipped the fingers of her right hand under her left sleeve and slid his wand out of the elastic bands she had sewn into her shirts to hold her wand. The ebony wood felt slightly heavier than her wand. "I retrieved this for you."

He remained rooted to the floor, his eyes alternating between the wand in her hand and her face. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

"The Ministry couldn't find your body, but they did find your wand. They buried it in an empty coffin on Hogwarts' grounds. I visited your plot twice a year...the anniversary of your death and Christmas...but it wasn't until recently that Harry told me they never found your body. The Ministry kept it all very hush-hush. They didn't want to appear incompetent," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"And you thought I would want the wand?"

She nodded, stepping forward to hold it out to him. "Yes, it's your wand. You should have it back."

Snape turned his back on her and walked over to the only window in the flat. "I don't want it."

Hermione followed him across the room. "I assure you, I was very careful. No one saw me take it, and I closed the grave properly to ensure any passers-by wouldn't suspect it had been opened."

"That isn't the point, Miss Granger. I thought I made myself clear when we first spoke. I do not have any desire to return to the wizarding world. Therefore, I do not need, nor do I want, that wand."

"But, sir..."

He turned around, a dark storm building in his eyes. "I said, I don't want it. How is that unclear to you?"

She took a step back, surprised at his harsh voice. He hadn't spoken to her in such a tone since the afternoon she paid him a visit to demand an explanation of how he survived. "But you're a wizard..."

"I'm nothing of the sort; I've given all that up."

"But you can't!"

His lips pressed together in a thin, angry line. "I can, and I have. I don't ever want to see that wand again. Get it out of my sight."

Snape strode heavily to the door and opened it. Hermione hung her head, trying to hold back the tears of disappointment and frustration. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? With a fortifying, deep breath, she shoved the wand back up her sleeve and walked past him into the hall. When she turned around to say goodnight, she found the door shut in her face.

Hermione placed a hand on the flaking paint of the door. She had thought he would be happy to be reunited with his wand. Apparently, she had been terribly wrong.

If he was upset with her, then there was a very good chance he would avoid the café and refuse to talk to her. She felt as if she needed to set things right between them before the wound festered. Settling onto the hallway floor, she reverted to her old tactic of sleeping outside his door. He would have to speak with her when he left for work in the morning.

Author's Note: A huge thank you to moonrevel and JenF for being fantastic betas. The bit of a poem in this chapter is, as the text indicated, taken from a poem by Byron called Translation of a Romaic Love Song.