Whom Do You See With Those Eyes?

16 - Whom Do You See With Those Eyes?

"I wouldn't insult you by I saying I do," Hermione replied quietly, moving to sit on the windowseat. "I don't think I ever could." She crossed her hands uselessly in her lap and stared at them. "The pain... the rage... the guilt... Nothing I've experienced could give me more than the faintest glimpse of what you've been through. All I can do is feel anger at my own helplessness."

"Why should you feel so?" he asked, watching her with expressionless eyes.

"Because I wasn't there. Because I couldn't be there," the girl answered tightly. "When you needed someone the most, when 'the smartest witch of her age' could have been of some fucking use, I wasn't even born! There's nothing I can do! I can't even pick up a damned Time-Turner and... All I can do is sit here, with magic practically sizzling in my veins, and do nothing." Her hands twitched and stilled, as if to prove her point. "If only... Damn." Hermione shifted her gaze to the window, but Severus could see its strangeness in the candlelight. He knelt before her, lifting a hesitant hand to cup her cheek and turn her face towards his. The girl looked at him and the tears in her eyes began to spill over. "Oh, damn," she choked out just as she began to cry in earnest.

"Hermione..." Severus watched, helpless, unsure how one was supposed to handle crying women. How he was supposed to handle this one crying woman, who was crying because of him. Perhaps it isn't surprising that his reaction ended up being classic Snape. "Oh, do stop blubbering, you silly child," he grumbled, turning away. "I wouldn't have wanted you there, anyway." It was enough to make Hermione blink owlishly at him, then began to giggle.

"Always a mot juste." She smiled at him, though it was still a little watery. "Thank you, Severus," she said, following it with an embrace. "You're right," her voice was warm and resonant next to his ear. "It doesn't do much good to 'blubber' about what can't be helped. But," and here she held him even more tightly, "it still hurts to think of how you've been hurt. As much as I love the man before me, I can't help but mourn the Severus who was lost. The Severus who could have been such a happy... mind, I didn't say energetic or outgoing... "she added quickly and he could almost hear her grin, "such a happy child. What you ought to have been with love and a home."

"It was never a possibility, Hermione, he replied. "We are either blessed or damned by our circumstances, which are beyond our control. The years have taught me that; despite anything we do, we are constantly overmastered. No amount of power... of any kind... can prevent that. Perhaps wizardry is not so much a blessing as a curse, that, given powers above those of Muggles, we come to see ourselves as gods."

He felt her head give a quick, denying shake. "Humanity, the universe, doesn't change, Severus. Wizards have magic, Muggles have science. There is little difference, in the end, between the Killing Curse and a pistol, in whether a man decides to use Dark Magic or fists on the helpless. Muggles have no less of an ability to consider themselves gods merely because they have the power to destroy.

"We may be..." the girl's words took on a hesitant, thoughtful character, "circumscribed... by our situations, Severus, but we are not defined by them. Everyone has a choice: to fall under their weight or to rise above them. You have risen above them. You may be your father's son, but you are not your father. You are Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and member of the Order of the Phoenix. And you have my respect because of it."

He broke away from her, regarding her soberly. Her face was red and splotchy from crying, but her eyes shone with emotion. "I wonder," he said, "who you see when you look at me. I do not recognize the man you see with those eyes."

She smiled, the genuine warmth still startling, confusing, frightening. "I think you will, one day," she told him, reaching to take his hand in her own, her fingertips caressing the skin, then holding it fast. "In the meantime, you will have to trust that the man I see is truly there."

Severus turned to the window. "The sky is becoming lighter," he commented.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, standing beside him. "The sun is about to rise."

Knowing her family's habits, Hermione retired quickly into the washroom to bathe her face, removing the tell-tale signs of a good cry. By the time the rest of her family had awakened, she was comfortably settled with a blanket, a book and Crookshanks in an oversized easy chair. Severus had returned to the window, though his expression had gone from grim to merely thoughtful. The expression was not to remain in the face of Genie's assault. The child was armed with the disgustingly energetic enthusiasm of the young at Christmas and she was quite ready to tear into every package under the tree, whether it bore her name or not. The elder Grangers possessed a quieter, more bearable cheer as they settled into their own chairs and began the opening. As many are familiar with such holiday orgies, we shall focus on a few specific instances only.

Perhaps unsurprising were Hermione's and Snape's gifts to one another. The former recieved an entire crate of parchment, no piece of which was more than three feet long. "So that you might be encouraged to actually follow assignment guidelines," Snape remarked dryly. Hermione, in turn, replied that such a gift only meant that he would have to keep track of more rolls. "It is your responsibility, Miss Granger, if your assignment is too unwieldy to be properly attended to," he told her in a final tone. Hermione privately resolved (with, it must be confessed, rather Snape-ish glee) to introduce him to the wonders of staples.

Severus himself was the recipient of a gross of red Sharpies. "To spare the population of birds that have to supply the quills for your grading pens," Hermione told him impishly. He raised an eyebrow, but said little after testing them, the merest hint of a wolfish grin attesting to the his satisfaction with the thick red lines.

Hermione's mother had taken Snape's measure over the past week and had purchased gifts accordingly. He blinked as he removed the wrappings. "They're films. Muggle moving pictures," Amelia explained, "I know you don't have video players in the wizard world, but I imagine you and Hermione can sort something out between you. At the least, you can view them while you are here."

"There are synopses of the stories on the back of the boxes," Hermione added, sounding subdued. Snape did not realize why until he read them, summaries for two films called "Schindler's List" and "La Vita e Bella."

Genie was, of course, the most enthusisatic of the group; her wrappings flew far and wide, landing everywhere (which was the reason everyone checked to make sure the candles were out before Genie reached the tree). She cocked her head at one particular present, wrapped in plain, dark green paper and labeled in a spiky hand. "Oh! This must be yours, Professor!" She tore into the package with the ferocity of a half-starved hippogriff and remained unfazed by the well-sealed box inside, which didn't last much longer than the paper had.

"Oh!!" Genie's eyes widened until they threatened to escape entirely. "I... oh!" A large plush snake slithered out of the box winding around her forearm, tongue flickering. It was patterned in the same colours as Snape's own Agrippina, though smaller at four feet instead of Agrippina's six. It bumped noses with Genie in what was obviously a serpentine kiss and she giggled at the fuzzy feel.

"I assumed other Muggles would think it mechanical," Snape explained awkwardly, "and there would be no problem in that respect. I saw several such items in the store Hermione took me to." This statement caused raised eyebrows to be directed the girl in question, who shrugged as she cuddled Crookshanks on her lap.

"It's a pretty amazing piece of enchantment, Professor," she remarked.

He nodded in recognition of her comment. "In addition to the animation," he added in a low voice, "the toy has been imbued with a number of wards and defensive spells keyed to your daughter. Too little attention has been paid to protecting the families of the Muggle-born."

Amelia smiled at him, her eyes glistening suspiciously, while her husband thanked him quietly. The slightly somber moment made it all the more startling to Severus when Genie's attention finally turned away from her new toy and back to the giver. When she leapt on him, her arms practically choking him in her ferocity, he never knew what hit him.

"Thank you, Professor Snape! Thank you thank you thank you thank you!!" She let go with the same suddeness and beamed at him.

Snape could only blink for a moment, superbly conscious of the grin Hermione was hiding behind her hand and the blood that wanted to rush to his face. "You are quite welcome, Miss Imogene," he managed to reply in a reasonably even tone. Did that child ever turn off that abominable level of energy? He should probably be grateful there was only one witch in the Granger family; he shuddered to think of having to deal with two of them at Hogwarts. Imogene would probably have the entire place in chaos within days. As it was, he was quite grateful enough when she disappeared upstairs to "phone her friends."

The rest of the day was surprisingly... and blessedly... quiet. There were no drunken revels to be forced into, no house elves singing "Rudolph the Bread-Nosed Reindeer" off-key outside his door, no eye-smarting decorations. There were the traditional crackers, but overall, it seemed a small price to pay for a Christmas dinner that did not include a dozen miniature wizards on sugar highs or Albus twinkling at him. The holiday in the Granger house shone with a quiet joy that was far more convincing than any of the overblown festivities he had been forced to attend in his lifetime. And perhaps it was even contagious.

It seemed to Hermione that her own Christmas was spent watching Snape, hoping he was... content, at least, if not happy. Comfortable, maybe. She kept glancing at him to make sure that Genie's overwhelming cheerfulness wasn't irritating him, that the festivities didn't make him feel left out or trapped somewhere he didn't want to be. It made her edgy and annoyed with herself and irritated at how pleased she felt that he seemed to be... content.

Still, she couldn't deny that his good spirits made her happy.

"Mynie." Her mother's quiet voice cut through her introspection. "Mynie, it's time for the dishes." Hermione rose automatically, before she remembered what that phrase meant in 'mother-speak'. It meant, 'We need to have a chat.' Oh, dear.

"It would seem your professor had a nice time today," Amelia commented idly. "Do you believe so?"

"Prevarication is not your style, Mother," Hermione reminded her as she hauled out containers to put the leftovers in.

"True." The older woman tested the temperature of the water. It was true they had a dishwasher, but Amelia rather enjoyed the chore. It kept her hands busy and the men out of the kitchen. "It's a rather touchy subject, dear, and I was trying to work out the best way to handle it. But you've always been a direct soul. I'd like to know how things stand between you and that professor of yours. And don't ask me what I mean, child."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed several times as she searched for an appropriate answer. Her hands continued with their work until she found... something... to say. "I don't know, Mum," she confessed. "I think I've fallen in love with him. And he hasn't thrown me out on my ear, yet."

"I see." A moment of silence. "What does your school have to say about such... situations?"

"Well, they're not against them." She'd finished emptying platters and had moved on to lids. "But they don't allow just anything, either. A student must be at least in sixth year. The... couple must be open and aboveboard... with the Headmaster and other faculty, at least. No sexual intercourse until after the student graduates. I think there is some magical means of enforcing that. The student may continue taking classes with the professor, but all marks are given by an independent evaluator, normally the Headmaster."

"I see." Her mother was being entirely too neutral, which was frightening in and of itself. "And are you thinking of invoking these rules?"

"Oh, Mum, I don't know." Hermione stopped her work to collapse in a chair. "I don't even know his mood from one minute to the next, let alone his opinion of me. And why aren't you going nuts over this? Why didn't you go nuts when you found us together?"

Amelia looked over her shoulder at her daughter, then set things down and took her own seat across from her. She smiled, pulling her feet up on the chair and looking more like a teenager than her daughter did. "I didn't say too much earlier, love, because I know you," she explained. "If anything... inappropriate was going on between the two of you, you would have made very sure not to get caught in a compromising position. And if something had happened," she grinned mischievously, "you would not have been wearing a full set of clothes."

"Mother!" Hermione turned red.

A small chuckle escaped before Amelia sobered. "I can't say I'm... pleased... with the situation," she continued, "but I can't say I don't understand, either. You've always been far beyond your contemporaries mentally and... barring a few years during puberty... emotionally. I've always sensed... dissatisfaction from you when you've tried having relationships with them and I've been afraid that that would put you off the idea entirely."

Hermione frowned slightly. "I think I see what you mean. The boys... well, they always thought of me as 'The Brain', which is a rather androgynous creature, it seems. Even when Ron did realize I was female... It never worked. He would be jealous or ignore me completely or act like I was supposed to help him with his work just because I was his girlfriend. And I didn't like having someone whom I had to be after all the time just to get him to do what needed doing. As for Viktor... It was flattering to be treated like a desirable girl for once. But I think the greatest thing I inspired in him was relief, to be honest. I approached him as a person, not a Quidditch star. But it wasn't enough for a romantic relationship."

Amelia nodded, letting her feet swing to the floor. "You're a sensible young woman, Mynie, which is what is going to bring you problems in relationships. Most young men... and older ones, I might add... want a girl who will fall all over herself for him, preferably one equipped with large breasts and a nice face. A brain is neither desired nor required. It only gets in the way and manages to intimidate. And you need a man who is capable of challenging you... not dominating, Mynie, challenging. I rather think you might have found one, which is why I'm not making as much of a fuss over the age difference... and the teacher-student factor... as I'd like to. But I want you to take things slowly, my dear."

"Why?"

"Because you're just eighteen. Now," Amelia held up her hand to stop Hermione's protest, "I'm not saying you're too young to know your own mind; I wouldn't dare." She grinned again and her daughter grinned wryly back. "What I am saying is that you need time to make sure you know your own heart. You're also going to change quite a lot over the next several years as you make the transition from teenager to adult. It's inevitable; we all do. Your professor won't change nearly as much. You need to give yourselves the time to change and adjust to those changes and decide if you still fit together after that. Keep that in mind, will you, Hermione?"

The girl nodded. "I will, Mum."

Somewhat later, Severus found her in the front room, staring out the window. "You appear rather grim, Hermione," he commented.

"Not grim," she corrected, "just pensive. My mother said a few things to me and I wanted to mull them over a bit."

"Trying to figure out whether I'm challenging or domineering?" he asked mildly, taking a seat across from her.

She gaped at him. "You were eavesdropping!" Somehow, she was more surprised than she realized she ought to be.

"That is what I do, child." Snape was enjoying her reaction immensely. And calling her 'child' seemed to rile her even more.

"But not in my mother's kitchen!" Hermione protested. "That... I... Oh! I wish I could hit you."

"Violence, my dear?" He smirked at her.

The sheer and utter gall of the man! "You should be proud," she informed him. "You're one of the few people who can drive me to it." She paused a moment. "And you're provoking me deliberately."

"Very true," he agreed. "I might say it's because you're beautiful when you're angry, but that's a very tired cliché and not precisely correct. You're not beautiful, though the term 'handsome' might apply. And I don't 'provoke' you, as you say, for that purpose, but to be amused by your temper."

She looked at him incredulously. "You find my temper amusing?"

He nodded once... rather like a condescending emperor, she thought. "I also find it... refreshing, you might say. Very few people are strong enough to stand up to me. Fewer still like me... or appear to. It's an... intriguing combination."

"You're a strange man, you are," Hermione informed him. "So does that mean you'll like me better if I call you a bastard to your face?"

The corners of his mouth curled up. "Under certain circumstances. Though I would prefer if you made use of the extensive vocabularly I know you possess and not in front of the other students, or I shall be forced to give you detentions from now until your children enter Hogwarts. I would then transfer the detention to your first-born."

She salaamed him like a character from an Arabian Nights movie. "Yes, O Great and Magnanimous Professor," she intoned. "So what did you 'overhear'?"

"Everything," he replied blandly.

"Ah." Hermione paused to swallow that particular pill of information. "And?"

"I fully understand her feelings on the matter," he continued meditatively, "though I am surprised at her... liberal judgment. I would have been less surprised to find you father hexing me out of the house."

"They're non-magical, remember? It would have been a shotgun. Or maybe my great-grandfather's cavalry sword," Hermione said drily. "And it may happen yet, since she hasn't said anything to Dad."

"I bow to your superior experience. In any event, I rather believe she's right. You will change... greatly... over the next several years. Your mind is certainly capable of a great deal of dynamism and we are due for several life-shattering events, not the least of which is the final... encounter, shall we say. I know you've been through quite a bit already, but that doesn't lessen the effect... or the trauma."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed, and he watched as she started chewing her lip again. She would never be able to play Wizards' Ten-Card. "So what are you saying?"

He shrugged eloquently. "Merely that we should make no permanent commitments." Severus rose to his feet. "I know that you will change; I rather look forward to seeing the woman you become. I will change, as well," he shot a glance at her. "I rather hope your influence will inspire improvement, whatever that may be. We are limited in our options by the school rules... which you stated quite correctly, I might add... so our progress in intimacy will be limited, in any case."

"You make your case quite clearly," she noted calmly. "Now will you kiss me again?"

Silly girl. Obvious, blunt, and direct, as always. And comfortingly warm and honest. And quite surprisingly desirable.

Had she been born knowing how to kiss like this?