Unloved

Unloved

A/N: 10 new drabbles, which means I’m more than halfway to 100. Thanks to everyone who is reading this and reviewing – I might not have time to personally respond, but I can tell you I do appreciate all your comments, whether you like my story and my writing style or not. For those of you who like it, I hope I don’t disappoint you. For those of you who don’t, I’m sorry I did.

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Her declaration leaves him reeling. Safer with him than everyone else? He finds it impossible to believe she’s being entirely honest. Some of his skepticism must be showing on his face, because she nods adamantly and reiterates. “It’s true.”

“Be that as it may…” he begins.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” she interrupts. “I understand your fears, but they’re unfounded. If I’m a target, it’s because of what I’ve done. I could be attacked regardless, and if that happens I’d rather be with someone who can help me fight back.”

“And your boyfriend?”

“Ron? He doesn’t own me.”

* * * * *

Somehow, she manages to convince him. He suddenly finds himself with an apprentice again. Despite the niggling worries he still has, her arguments have been valid. He knows he will protect her with his very life – he’d done so already, before he had any feelings for her except those of annoyance.

They seal their new understanding with a handshake. “So, that’s settled then,” she murmurs, “and from now on if you have concerns about this arrangement you must talk to me about them, agreed?”

He finds himself unable to do anything but when she presses her hand into his own.

* * * * *

She arrives at his classroom the next day. She will work as his apprentice after hours and during her free periods. Any work he assigns will be on top of her regular homework, something she’s readily agreed to. He introduces her to his third year Ravenclaw / Hufflepuff class, despite the fact she needs no introduction.

“Ms. Granger is my new apprentice and will be providing teaching assistance in this class every Thursday morning. I expect you to treat her with the utmost respect. Anyone doing otherwise will answer to me. Ms. Granger, if you would please instruct today’s lesson…”

* * * * *

The first two weeks run smoothly. Hermione easily fits in to his routine, seamlessly taking over whenever he needs her, marking essays, meting out discipline when required. It surprises him how readily her age-mates accept her tutelage, despite the fact she’d been helping out random Gryffindors since her first year. The younger students especially love her, and he marvels at the easy affection she doles out to the ones that seem most to need it.

“Easy,” she murmurs to one, placing a firm hand over the child’s and helping him find a rhythm to his dicing methods. “Gentleness is required.”

* * * * *

“She’d make an excellent teacher,” Minerva remarks to him one evening. They are enjoying a late-night tea in her office – it’s become somewhat of a habit – while Albus watches from his portrait. “She’s got even the more challenging students eating out of her hand.”

“The children do seem to love her,” Snape agrees.

“They’re not the only ones,” Albus offers. Snape doesn’t respond to this, not really knowing how to. The remark seems pointed to him, but that could just be because he’s worried he’ll somehow give himself away and his colleagues will discover what a fool he has become.

* * * * *

The explosion the next day catches him by surprise. A fire salamander had been dropped into a potion simmering on his desk and, while Hermione had seen it from across the room, he hadn’t. Her shouts to take cover catch him off guard, as does the feel of her small body tackling his as the cauldron explodes. She catches the majority of the boiling substance across her back and the left side of her face and is rushed to St. Mungo’s for emergency healing. Potter and Weasley arrive at the hospital together. “I was right!” Weasley’s accusation is viciously triumphant.

* * * * *

He decides to return to the school a dozen times before he’s finally allowed to see her. Her face is swathed in gauze and she’s lying on her stomach, her back bared as the skin begins the painful process of magically healing.

She looks relieved when she sees him. “Are you alright?” Her tone is raspy and worried.

“Don’t ever do that again!” His reply is fierce. “Of all the stupid, ill-advised…” His voice trails off when she reaches for his hand. He grips hers tightly, brings it to his lips, kisses her knuckles gently. “Never again,” he vows. “Never.”

* * * * *

“Why are you still here?” Weasley asks a while later, still upset that Snape was allowed in to see Hermione before he was.

“Ron!” Hermione protests, but the younger man ignores her.

“It’s your fault she’s in this situation, probably scarred for life! I told you…”

“…and I told you that it’s my decisions that count in my life, Ron – not yours!” Hermione hisses angrily. “You’ve no right…”

“I’ve every right,” Weasley shouts. “You’re my girl, Hermione. When we’re married…”

“We won’t be married, ever. I don’t love you that way, Ron. Not anymore; maybe not ever. We’re just friends.”

* * * * *

Snape almost feels sorry for Weasley as he watches the younger man gape at Hermione in honest astonishment. His face pales, before turning a blotchy red. Snape is stunned himself, but manages to hide it rather well, despite the sudden pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Fine,” the younger man finally manages. “I don’t need you, not even as a friend. But I’m telling you now, Hermione – when you realize you’ve made a mistake, don’t come crawling back to me. I wouldn’t have you now if you were the last woman on earth. Especially not after you’ve had him!”

* * * * *

Later that night Snape allows himself to remember the shock of it all. Weasley, in his ignorant and none-too-subtle way had implied that Hermione’s interests lie in him. Hermione had turned an alarming shade of white at this, her fingers tightening in his own spasmodically as Ron had stormed from the room.

Angrily shaking her head she had turned a stricken look on him.

“Sir…Severus, it’s not…I don’t want you to get the wrong impression…” The tiny spark of hope in his chest died a sudden death as her words doused his wild imaginings. Ron’s words hadn’t meant a thing.

~fin6~

Another song for you that I feel evokes the image of perfect sadness and longing I can only hope this chapter conveys: Unloved, by the great Canadian singer-songwriter Jann Arden.

There will be no consolation prize

unloved....unloved