Loser in the End

Author's Note: Many thanks to Angel Mischa.

Loser in the End

Snape sat alone in his office marking papers early one Saturday morning. It was mid-December, and through his window, he could see Hagrid trimming the huge Christmas trees intended for the Great Hall and securing them in their ceramic stands. The sun, low in the sky now that the winter solstice was approaching, cast a dim, cold light over the school grounds, turning the lawns and the pine trees of the forest to silver. A thin coating of frost etched fractured patterns on the glass near the bottom of the window. Snape hated this time of year; despite constant fires, wool robes, and his down duvet, he never seemed able to shake off the throbbing ache of cold in his bones. Even now, situated at his desk directly in front of the fire, his fingers were so stiff that he could scarcely write on his students' papers.

Giving up for the time being, he made himself a pot of coffee and wandered into his personal quarters, collecting his duvet from the bed and arranging it over his legs as he curled up in his favourite armchair. The coffee was deliciously bitter, and the heat from the mug helped to warm his hands a little. Beneath the comforting aroma of his drink, he could smell faint, lingering traces of Miranda on the bedclothes, a mixture of perfume, shampoo, and the subtle scent of Miranda herself. She had been here last night, teaching him variations of the Enhancement Charm and making love to him. When he had awakened close to dawn, she was gone, and he had been glad of it.

Twisting his mouth into something like a smile, he acknowledged to himself that she was a master of the stick and the carrot. From that first time, when she had cursed him in the Great Hall, she had held to the same pattern: provoke him into losing his temper, then soothe him with a volte-face into tender compassion. He felt almost like a victim of some strange permutation of Stockholm Syndrome. But he enjoyed their time together; the combination of her brilliance and beauty, her brains and sensuality, satisfied him both intellectually and physically and gave him very little cause for complaint.

Nevertheless, he was aware of something seriously amiss with their arrangement, and that was the vast emotional wasteland that yawned between them. They never talked about their relationship, such as it was; they never exchanged words of affection; Miranda had still never spoken to him during sex, communicating her needs and reactions instead through body language and vocalisations that had nothing to do with words. In a way, Snape was grateful for this emotional barrier; he was never very comfortable with his softer sentiments, even at the best of times. He was tempted to consider that the barrier was one of his own making, but his powers of self-delusion were not great enough to permit him to believe this. Analysing his and Miranda's behaviour rationally, he was forced to conclude that it was she who kept him intentionally at arm's length, and while he was happy to acquiesce to this, he knew it was not a circumstance of his own devising. She seemed to want only the most casual of relationships, and he did not object – but, on an academic level, he wondered why she wanted such a rigid boundary between them.

Sounds of laughter and shouting from the grounds below interrupted his reverie; wrapping the duvet around his shoulders, he walked to the window and looked out. The other inhabitants of the castle were waking up and venturing outside now; he could see a straggling line of figures making their way up the path toward Hogsmeade. Some of them peeled off toward Hagrid's hut at the edge of the forest, eager to help him carry in the trees and start decorating. One of these, Snape saw, was Hermione, swathed in her white cloak. He could not make out her face from this distance, but he knew she would be cheery and pink-cheeked from the cold. He had not spent any time alone with her since that night in November when he had gone to her quarters to ask her about music. But she had been at the meetings of the Duelling Club and at Malfoy Manor whenever Draco invited the two of them and Neville to join him for the evening, and never once during any of these occasions had she displayed toward him anything other than open, pleasant friendliness. She betrayed no awkwardness or resentment; it was as if their snogging session had never occurred. Snape, in all his finely tuned perceptiveness, was unable to tell if her pleasant demeanour was genuine or feigned. He hoped it was genuine and hated himself a bit for that hope; he knew that if it was genuine, it must be a result of her ignorance of his affair with Miranda – but, ashamed, he could not bring himself to rectify that gap in her knowledge.

Not to mention that enlightening Hermione might destroy the tentative friendship she was building with Miranda. Snape often noticed the two of them taking long walks together during the afternoon tea break. It had occurred to him once to wonder what they might be discussing together, but this could hardly be a mystery, considering their formidable intellects. They had also apparently reached an understanding about Duelling Club; Miranda had told him one night that she only wanted to go up against Hermione in future; when, astonished, he had asked why, she had laughed and said merely that Hermione, as another woman, would understand the spirit in which she fought. Snape had to admit that there was some truth in this when he saw them duelling: their performance had seemed more like a dance than a duel, and it had delighted the students so much that they had requested repeats of it at every meeting of the club since. Snape came to dread their duels, however. He knew what the students did not: that the gracefulness of their matches was deceptive, that the two women were actually firing lethal spells at one another that put under considerable strain the protective charms he had placed around the Great Hall. Their fierceness and energy awed him; he thought they looked like a pair of avenging goddesses and felt a cold twinge of fear should they ever be on the same side against an enemy.

It was hard to imagine that ferocity now, he thought, watching Hermione struggle under the weight of one of the huge Fraser firs. Nevertheless, he yet felt a fervent determination: he must never become that enemy.

***

The students deserted Hogwarts in droves for the Christmas holidays, as they had been doing since the end of the war. Gone were the war orphans and the sense of fear that had prompted many parents to keep their children at the school under Dumbledore's protection. Snape was used to it by now, but Miranda marvelled at the silence of the corridors, empty of all but teachers. The festive spirit amongst the staff seemed to infect her, and she wasted a great deal of Snape's time forcing him to help her plan and carry out practical jokes on their colleagues. He was a frequent victim of her good humour himself: one morning he stepped out of the shower to discover his entire wardrobe transfigured into a set of nesting boxes, at the centre of which he found a pair of Christmas-themed pants as his only remaining piece of clothing; on another occasion she had laced his Floo powder with itching powder, and he had stumbled into Draco Malfoy's parlour scratching himself uncontrollably, furious at the young man's helpless peals of laughter.

Two days before Christmas, having gotten one over on almost every member of the faculty, Miranda seemed to lose her interest in pranks and spent the afternoon in his office instead, humming Christmas carols and charming his belongings to blink like fairy lights, distracting him from the reports he was trying to write. When they finally went down to dinner, his brain was exhausted, and he didn't notice until halfway through the meal that Miranda was stroking his thigh provocatively under the table.

'Stop that,' he hissed under his breath, unable to continue eating now that he realised what she was doing.

Raising one eyebrow at him, she complied, but left the table soon afterward. Snape remained behind, discussing the Gryffindor reports with Neville Longbottom over coffee. Eventually, they got up and parted ways in the entrance hall, Neville on his way to Hogsmeade to have a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Snape ascended the main staircase to the fourth floor and made his way along the corridor toward his rooms. He had gone about ten yards beyond the door to the staff room when he was yanked into an alcove. Stumbling, he came face to face with Miranda, who pressed her body against him and kissed him deeply.

'Not here,' he murmured against her mouth, feeling his body start to respond.

'Yes, here,' she whispered, pulling his hands against her. She was wearing nothing beneath her long robes, and his hands glided uninterrupted along her smooth skin. Crushing her against the wall, he unfastened her robes at the neckline and kissed her breasts. Impatient, she pulled the garment the rest of the way open and bared her body to his exploration, panting into his kisses.

He slid one hand between her legs and slipped his fingers into her damp folds, smiling when she gasped and rocked against him. He stroked her soft flesh gently and sensuously, bringing her to the edge before raising his hand to his lips and licking his fingers. She kissed him violently around his hand, sucking his fingers into her mouth. Impossibly turned on, he forgot they were hidden in an alcove and allowed her to push him aggressively to the wall. Dropping to her knees, she unfastened his trousers and took his erection into her mouth. Groaning quietly, he rested his head on the rough stones behind him and watched from beneath lowered lashes as she tasted him, her nude body pale in the dim light, her long black hair blending with the robes that still hung over her shoulders.

He had just lifted her up and positioned her against the wall, about to sheathe himself in her welcoming warmth, when the slam of a door nearby drew them both suddenly back to reality. Grinning at him mischievously, Miranda fastened her robes hurriedly and slithered from his grasp out into the corridor. Snape waited a few moments, taking the time to adjust his clothing, then stepped out of the alcove, only to run bodily into Hermione Granger.

She had obviously just seen Miranda and was wearing a small smile of amusement, which dropped off her face abruptly when she saw who had barrelled into her. 'Snape?' she blurted incredulously, gaping at him in astonishment.

He favoured her with his most forbidding stare, valiantly masking the awful sinking sensation in his gut.

'What is this?' she asked him, wide-eyed. 'What were you doing?'

'That's none of your business,' he snapped, humiliation making his voice harsh.

Hermione blushed, drawing the obvious conclusion, and smirked at him. 'You shouldn't be conducting your business in the hallways then,' she retorted, unimpressed at his attempt to intimidate her.

'I'll note that down,' he drawled, relieved that she didn't appear to be upset. 'If you'll excuse me, please,' he said and dodged around her to stride up the hallway toward his quarters.

'Oh, Severus?' she called out from behind him, pausing at the door to her classroom.

'Yes, what is it?' he replied warily, wondering if he was going to get a bollocking now, and turned to face her.

Hermione pointed in the opposite direction with an impish smile and said, 'She went that way.' Opening the door, she disappeared into the classroom, leaving him standing alone in the corridor feeling both stupid and mystified.

***

Hermione did not surface for meals the following day, and when Snape enquired of Neville where she was, Neville told him that she had gone to Malfoy Manor. Snape found this piece of intelligence bizarre: if she were going to leave the school, why had she not gone to Grimmauld Place to spend the holiday with Potter and Weasley? He continued to be puzzled by this throughout Christmas Day, which he celebrated with Miranda before joining the staff for Christmas dinner. Draco was not present for the festivities either, so Snape took himself off to Malfoy Manor later that afternoon.

When Snape arrived at the house, Draco was playing carols on the piano in the lounge and nursing a glass of eggnog.

'Severus,' he said, getting up to shake his hand. 'Happy Christmas!'

'Happy Christmas,' Snape replied.

'Come into the parlour,' Draco said. 'There are some presents for you under the tree. Can I get you some eggnog?'

'Yes, please,' answered Snape, adjusting the bag he was carrying with him. 'I've got some presents here too.'

He followed Draco into the parlour, which was beautifully decorated for the holiday, and unpacked his bag. One of the house-elves came in with a pitcher of eggnog and replenished Draco's drink before pouring Snape a glass.

Draco passed Snape his gifts – a book on Native American hallucinogenic potions and a set of silver cuff links inlaid with mother-of-pearl – and gleefully opened his own. Snape had found it difficult to choose gifts for Draco, whose taste in all things was far more sophisticated than his own. In the end, he had found an old volume about historic Wizarding homes of Britain in which there was a beautiful engraving of the older buildings of Malfoy Manor. He had painstakingly reproduced the engraving in coloured inks and framed it, giving both the picture and the book to Draco.

'Thank you so much,' Draco said. 'I never knew you were such a talented artist!' He set the picture on the mantel. 'I'll have the house-elves hang that in my room later.'

'I'm glad you like it.'

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their eggnog.

'Do you like it?' Draco asked, pointing to Snape's glass.

'It's delicious,' Snape answered.

'I made it myself,' Draco said proudly. 'The house-elves are teaching me how to cook. I used the cognac Neville gave me for Christmas.'

'What else did you get?' Snape enquired.

'Well, not much from my parents, obviously,' Draco commented, 'but they sent me a nice long letter from Azkaban. Hermione gave me a Venus fly trap. Carnivorous plants are so weird, don't you think?'

Snape jumped on this opening enthusiastically. 'Where is Hermione? I've got something for her, too.'

Draco looked uncomfortable and averted his eyes. 'She's around here somewhere,' he said finally.

'I see,' Snape said coolly. 'She's avoiding me, is she?'

'I really have no idea.'

Something about Draco's tone made Snape feel even more awkward. Hermione had not seemed that upset about discovering him and Miranda; was it possible that her removal to Malfoy Manor had nothing to do with him at all? And then he felt like a complete fool for assuming that his affair would bother her. After all, they had shared only one evening together; how egotistical of him to think that she might have become invested enough in him to be hurt by his dalliance with Miranda. Did he really think so much of himself? Or, worse, was he projecting onto Hermione what his own reaction would be were their positions reversed?

Mortified, Snape got to his feet and reached for his cloak, which he had tossed across a chair. 'Well,' he said self-consciously. 'I should be off.'

Subdued, Draco handed him the pot of Floo powder and watched him go.

For several days, Snape avoided any and all thought of Hermione, steadfastly refusing to consider further any of what had occurred to him on Christmas Day. Miranda ignored his mild despondency; he was obliged to conclude that she was either oblivious to his foul mood or completely uninterested in his mental torment. Again, he found himself feeling very grateful to her; had she questioned him about it, he would have been forced to think, and he would rather pretend to himself that nothing to do with Hermione concerned him in the slightest.

He was unable to continue this pretence on New Year's Day when he arrived at Malfoy Manor to find his present to Hermione still sitting unopened beneath the Christmas tree.

'Damn it, Draco,' he snapped. 'What the hell is the matter with her?'

'Don't be an ass, Severus,' Draco shot back uncharacteristically sharply. 'I told you not to let her find out about Miranda. And yet you decided it would be a good idea to conduct your relationship' – he emphasised this word disparagingly – 'in the corridor right outside of the staff room.'

'I will not be blamed for this,' Snape hissed. 'This silent treatment is childish in the extreme.'

'You won't be blamed?' Draco asked incredulously. 'Tell me, Severus – how is any of this not your fault?'

'She didn't even act interested in me!' Snape protested, feeling disingenuous.

'Oh, really,' Draco scoffed. 'I wonder what a woman would have to do to prove her interest. Perhaps Hermione should have practically raped you like Miranda did.'

Taken aback, Snape stood speechlessly and stared at Draco.

'I shouldn't wonder that Hermione wants to avoid you,' Draco stated, speaking more reasonably now. 'You never even gave her the chance to get used to the idea of being attracted to you. It can't be easy for her, you know. She used to hate you,' he pointed out.

'I'm sure she does again,' Snape said bitterly.

Draco shrugged. 'I doubt that. But you're making a big mistake with Miranda. Can't you see that Hermione is worth ten of her?'

'Of course I can!' Snape exploded, provoked into anger. 'Why do you think I didn't go straight to Hermione after that duel? She wouldn't have had anything to do with me, not after I had... sullied myself!'

Draco looked at him strangely. 'You're an idiot,' he said flatly.

'Oh, you think so?' Snape snarled.

'Yes, I do. Are you still sixteen years old on the inside? Do you think everyone is as emotionally crippled as you?'

For a moment, Snape was incapacitated by his own fury. Then he turned abruptly and stalked to the nearest fireplace. 'Happy New Year,' he said sarcastically. 'Give my regards to Hermione.'

When Snape's form had disappeared, spinning into the fire, Draco dropped wearily onto the sofa. He sat there for some time, reflecting unhappily, before snatching a bottle of Scotch from the drinks trolley and making his way out of the parlour and into the gardens.

There he found Hermione sitting on one of the wooden benches, wrapped snugly in her white cloak and the knitted mittens and woolly cap he had given her for Christmas. He passed the bottle wordlessly to her, and she took a long drink.

'Snape's gone,' he said eventually. 'You can come back inside now.'

Hermione shrugged. Her face was pink from the cold, and although her eyes were dry, Draco could see from the shadows beneath them that she was unhappy. The longer she remained silent, the more her air of resignation bothered him.

'Hermione,' he said thoughtfully, 'Snape thinks you shouldn't want him now. He thinks he doesn't deserve you.'

'That's stupid,' she said quietly.

'Why did you give him the impression that you only wanted to be his friend?'

She leaned back and pulled off her cap, running her fingers through her hair. 'I didn't want to rush him. I thought he would come to me when he was ready. And then, when I found him with Miranda... I didn't want him to know I was hurt. I didn't want to seem pathetic.'

'He probably would have come to you, if not for Miranda,' Draco observed ruefully.

'She didn't know,' Hermione said reasonably.

'That doesn't matter,' Draco snapped, suddenly angry again.

'Why do you say that?'

'Listen, Hermione,' Draco said, taking a swig from the bottle. 'You know the parable of the rich man and the poor man, don't you? The rich man had many flocks of sheep, and the poor man had only one ewe lamb. But when the rent came due, the rich man took the poor man's only lamb.'

Hermione regarded him askance. 'What on earth?'

'I read it in a book somewhere,' Draco said dismissively. 'But think about it. Miranda's done the same thing to you. She's got a man – she's got a husband, for God's sake. She doesn't need Severus, but she took him anyway.'

Hermione cocked her head pensively. Draco watched her closely and was gratified to see her expression change gradually from resignation to something like determination. When she finally turned to him to take the bottle again, her eyes had become fierce.