Seven

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

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For what felt like the fourteen millionth time that afternoon, Hermione crushed a piece of ruined parchment in her fist and tossed it over her shoulder. It wasn't really ruined, certainly, but it was unsatisfactory. Every letter she'd attempted to begin thus far had been unsatisfactory.

She was profoundly grateful for the fact that the others were spending the day at the Burrow. Lavender's arrival had been as uncomfortable and stressful as she'd feared, with the other girl sashaying into Grimmauld Place as though she owned it and everyone in residence. She'd wasted no time in establishing her position beside Ron, and the two had instantly become as inseparable as Harry and Ginny were wont to appear.

With the holiday rapidly drawing to a close, Hermione had set about busily finishing with Snape's medical reports, completing her equations and, as a result, spending as little time with Lavender as possible. All in all, it was as close to an ideal situation as Grimmauld Place could possibly have offered her.

Now if only she could manage to write Professor Snape with her results.

You're acting like a pathetic little girl, she snapped at herself. She was being too self-conscious...she knew it perfectly well...but she wanted to ensure that her missive was professional and adult. In short, she wanted it to reflect more maturity than she currently felt she possessed.

Tossing the stack of blank parchments to the floor beside the couch, Hermione flipped over onto her back and released a low groan. Tiredly, she rubbed her fingertips across her closed eyes. The entire situation was becoming ridiculous. She'd spent the past hour dismissing attempt after attempt for stupid, superficial reasons that were doubtful to even cross the man's mind. She knew from past experience that she tended to invest too much time and thought into analyzing the subtleties of language, and, Slytherin though he was, Snape wasn't likely to do the same.

He didn't have the time, she told herself firmly. He had class curricula to prepare, papers and exams to grade, and personal research to conduct. He had staff meetings to attend and dinners in the Great Hall to endure with his usual saturnine stiffness. The very last thing he would be tempted to do was thoroughly dissect the simplistic letter of a seventh-year and question her motivation in helping him. After all, it was he who had volunteered. She hadn't approached him to solicit his involvement.

Despite these assurances, Hermione couldn't seem to calm herself. She felt confident that she'd moved past placing too much stock in his opinion of her academically, but this was a different matter. Her worst fear was the possibility that, upon picking up her letter and reading it, he would just know. Something in her diction, something about the way in which she communicated her choices and concerns, would betray her true feelings. She had to seem interested and compassionate but still sufficiently clinical.

It was the realization that she was once again allowing herself to fall prey to inconsequential opinions that finally bolstered Hermione into moving. He could believe what he wanted, and it wouldn't alter the fact that she was committed to the project. She was committed to helping him and to securing an apprenticeship with Professor Vector, and if along the way she revealed the deeper nuances of her interest, then there was nothing to be done about it.

Besides, could she really imagine him confronting her about the fact? Was he really the type of man who, if he suspected ulterior feelings, would force her into a confession she wouldn't have willingly given? Hermione had suffered cruel treatment at his hand in the past, but she didn't want to believe that he would do such a thing. As bizarre as it was to imagine, he, above all others, would have been likely to empathize with the suffering inherent in unrequited admiration.

She picked up her quill and a fresh piece of parchment and forced herself to write out her thoughts in a professional but considerate tone. She'd initially wanted to aim for utterly detached, but that just didn't seem like her.

Professor Snape,

Enclosed you will find my choice of potion and a detailed list of my reasons for the choice, along with the completed equations pertaining to the spell work I have planned. I hope everything is satisfactory to you. If you have any concerns or wish me to alter my outline in any way, please let me know and I will revise it immediately.

Hermione grimaced. She'd wanted to express some degree of personal concern, but embellishing the letter further seemed inappropriate somehow. She shook away the notion and added her signature with a tightly controlled flourish. Overall, it wasn't quite as professional and adult as she had hoped, but it also clearly illustrated her respect for and consideration of his expertise.

Sighing and sealing the letter, Hermione grudgingly left the comforting four walls of her sanctuary and went in search of Hedwig.

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If Ginny, Harry, Ron or Lavender noted her discomfiture at supper that evening, none initially chose to show it. They all sat down to a delicious and surprisingly civilized meal by candlelight to enjoy Ginny's cooking, one of many talents she had undeniably picked up from Molly Weasley. They gave Ginny well-deserved admiring murmurs, and she smiled and served them their food.

Hermione, though she despised being in Lavender's presence as a general rule, had to admit that the other girl was keeping herself under better control than in months past. She had become accustomed to a Lavender even more vain and coquettish than she'd witnessed when they had shared Gryffindor tower, but thankfully, Lavender seemed to have mellowed somewhat.

She was still Lavender, of course, Hermione thought wryly. She was perfectly coiffed and far too made up. She ate little and clung possessively to Ron, mothering and smothering him, but that had become a fairly commonplace sight. For the first time since finding the two of them in bed together, Hermione found their behavior predictable, bordering on the normal state of affairs. It was almost effortless to simply be herself in Ron and Lavender's presence, and the others didn't seem to be verbally treading on careful ground for her benefit.

The conversation vacillated between Lavender's tales about working at Madam Malkin's...heavily emphasizing her employee discount, naturally...and the boys' self-aggrandizing accounts of their Quidditch progress. For nearly half an hour, Hermione remained quiet and thoughtful, enjoying her food. What internal fretting she found herself doing was concentrated wholly on the lack of response from Snape.

She'd believed she was concealing her impatience well, if only because it seemed unlikely that any of the others knew she'd sent Hedwig off to Hogwarts hours earlier; but eventually she began to suspect that Ginny did know about the letter, for the redhead kept darting assessing glances in her direction. Finally, she broke down and asked Ginny whether there was something on her mind.

Ginny dove right in. "Did you send Snape the letter about your potion choice?"

Lavender ceased nuzzling Ron's left earlobe and looked up sharply, perhaps scenting possible gossip.

"Yes. He hasn't responded yet." Hermione kept her eyes trained on her soup bowl.

"He's probably just busy," Ginny assured her, kindly but a little too casually. "I'm sure you'll get a reply by tomorrow. Merlin knows McGonagall's not as Christmas-obsessed as Dumbledore always was. Maybe he actually went on a vacation."

Hermione attempted to envision this possibility and failed.

"What's this about Snape and a potion?" Lavender inquired sweetly. Ginny ground her jaw shut. She had an infamously low level of tolerance for Lavender.

Hermione said simply, "I'm doing an honors Arithmancy project with Professor Vector, and Professor Snape volunteered to be the subject. Someone has to ingest the potion I'm attempting to modify with charms and spell work so I can study any changes in its effectiveness."

Lavender nodded, and Hermione found herself wondering if her apparent interest was merely feigned. "Sounds fascinating." Beside her, Ron snorted. She elbowed him roughly in his side, and he yowled. "What? You don't believe I find it interesting?"

"Lav, you hated Snape," Ron exclaimed, rubbing gingerly at his ribs through his most recent Weasley Christmas sweater. "Weren't you the one who told me after he was released from St. Mungo's that you wished he'd died in the battle just so you wouldn't have to see his ugly face in the papers every day?"

Hermione regarded her fingers as they clutched her soup spoon, willing them not to turn too white. Harry shot her a probing look, and she put down the spoon instantly.

"Just because I don't like the man doesn't mean I'm not happy for Hermione. Vector's probably thrilled to have her." She shot Ron a dismissive look and then turned back to Hermione, her tone more sincere. "Are you thinking of going into Arithmancy, then?"

Hermione nodded and inhaled. Lavender's interest was unexpected, but if there was any type of discussion she could handle with equanimity, it was an explanation of her project. She lifted her spoon to her lips and sent a light stream of air across the hot soup."Yes. I'm hoping that if my honors project goes satisfactorily, Professor Vector will agree to take me on as her apprentice next year." She sipped at the soup, watching Lavender's understanding nod.

"And you'd get to live at Hogwarts full time while you're an apprentice, too, right? That would be nice. I can't tell you how ridiculously expensive it's been for me and Parvati to keep up our flat..."

"Yes, it would be nice," Hermione said abruptly. They didn't need to be treated to Lavender's complaints about her financial situation for the umpteenth time that evening.

Silence reigned once again.

"You know," Lavender began hesitantly, tracing patterns in her bowl of uneaten soup while Ginny watched venomously, "one of Parvati's ex-boyfriends works in Arithmancy at the Ministry of Magic. I think he went to Durmstrang or something, but he was an exchange student. I met him once. I'm fairly certain he's originally from London. If you want, I could perhaps arrange something..."

Ron groaned. "Lav, stop."

"What? I'm just offering..."

"Hermione doesn't want a date, Lav. She's too busy with school work. You know her. And besides, what do you really know about this bloke? How do you know they'd even get along, let alone like one another?"

"He's worth a chance, isn't he?" Lavender replied defensively, her spoon clattering back into the bowl and splashing soup on the tablecloth. Hermione thought she could now see the irate tendrils of steam exiting Ginny's ears. "Hermione, have you ever even been on a blind date? He's really smart, and Parvati said he was very attractive. You two might really hit it off."

Ginny rose and began to collect their dishes in preparation for the next course, carrying them to the sink. "I think Ron's probably right, Lavender. Hermione's been very busy with her project the past couple weeks, and once she returns to Hogwarts, she's not going to have much time to devote to dating.

"But we should let her decide, obviously. Hermione?"

Hermione certainly didn't want to be set up on a blind date, but a part of her was trying to appear receptive to Lavender's suggestion. She found Lavender as flighty and irritating...and, Hermione thought, tasteless...as ever; but, like Ron, she was at least making a concerted effort to release some of the mutual strain between the three of them by maintaining a friendly conversation.

"I appreciate the offer," Hermione finally told her in as sincere a tone as she could manage, "but Ron and Ginny are exactly right: I simply haven't got the time. Maybe after school wraps up and my schedule opens up a bit more I could consider it, but right now it's out of the question, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Lavender nodded, forcing a smile. "Okay. I understand. Well, I just thought I'd offer. If you ever change your mind..."

"You'll be the first to know," Hermione assured her.

"Well, good luck with your project and Snape and all that, anyway."

"Thank you."

Ginny returned to the table, dishes piled high with the boys' favorite meat course. Hermione dug in, relishing the silence.

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Lying in bed that night, her brain having exhausted its supply of vitriolic thoughts about Lavender, Hermione turned her attention toward pondering Snape's schedule. She knew from his medical records that he had an unrelenting history of insomnia and chronic nightmares, which led one to infer that he spent as little time sleeping as physically possible. It made the cause of his hollow cheeks, frail frame and perennially foul temper that much clearer, in any case. In what manner did he spend his evenings? She'd always envisioned his personal rooms as dark and warm, a sanctuary to which he gratefully fled every evening to escape his students. She wondered if it was in those mysterious quarters that he did the majority of his grading and organizing of lesson plans. Perhaps grading student papers occupied him at that very moment.

She'd spent a fair amount of time that night pacing back and forth before her bed, finally giving in to the desire to rest around midnight. Consequently, she found herself lying in a frustrating and interminable state, mentally alert but physically exhausted. Her brain's ability to overrule her body's demand for the escape of sleep was maddening.

Evenings for Hermione had always been the most difficult periods. She was by nature a productive and busy person during the earlier hours, passing her days by moving from one task to the next, largely preoccupied with her lessons. Even the early evenings were considerably more bearable as she spent them revising, reading, or chatting with friends, varying her routine but always managing to keep her mental faculties focused on the outside world.

The rules altered once she retired to bed. Inevitably, she would find herself facing an uncontrollable need, unable to contemplate anything but him. Whereas during the daylight hours her violent resistance was upheld by the need to be productive, she found herself surrendering in the darkness. She always did.

Though she would never have admitted as much to Ginny, Hermione had developed somewhat of a routine where her bouts of Snape contemplation were concerned, and she'd grown to find it oddly comforting. It was as much a form of relaxation for her as meditation, as escapism. It was a means to exchange her daily reality for a universe in which she controlled each and every aspect, action and reaction. The Severus Snape who stalked the corridors of her mind remained every inch the nasty and demanding instructor she'd come to admire over the years, however,...Hermione wouldn't have had it any other way...and thus it had taken her some time to become comfortable considering him in a different light.

She still had momentary twinges of inexplicable embarrassment, times in which she would find herself flushing furiously in the privacy of her bed as though expecting him to appear before her and employ his considerable skills as a Legilimens to catch her in the act. The Muggle in her longed for a picture of him, something to secret away and cherish for herself, but Hermione honestly doubted that she could have handled it. The thought of looking at an image of him...confronting without distraction or protection his dark, steady gaze, focused unwaveringly on her...made a flash of heat course through her entire body.

If he came to know what she thought of him, Hermione often wondered, what would he feel? Would he be enraged? Mortified? Or was there some chance, however infinitesimal, that he would find the vision of the two of them together as breathtakingly addictive as she did? It wasn't simply that her fantasies stole her breath away. The degree to which she'd begun to rely upon them as a regular indulgence was positively dangerous.

It had begun years ago, innocently, with the idea of a simple kiss. She'd wanted to be objective and consider with impartiality what kind of kisser he might be. Within seconds, she'd totally abandoned any hope of impartiality and found herself uncomfortable beyond description. It had taken her months to move past the conviction that imagining her professor in such a manner was nothing short of unethical.

Gradually, her mind as well as her body had matured, and she'd found that suddenly her thoughts, the same visions that had once confused and frightened her, grew to arouse her. She loved to picture in her mind from a third-party perspective the way he would bend slowly before her, his frame being so much taller, and firmly capture her lips. She'd kissed Ron and Victor, both of whom were taller than her, but she felt in her gut that he would be different. The way in which he would touch her, the friction of his lips passing across hers, would be an entirely new sensation. The sheer physicality of his presence would render her incapable of thought. It always had.

She shifted in her bed, staring forlornly out the window. She knew with the ease of second nature the direction in which her fantasies would progress. Her bolder alter ego would grasp roughly at his shoulders, dragging her hands down his arms to the sleeves of his frock coat, pushing back the heavy fabric to reach his fingers. He would in turn press his body fully against hers, placing his palms on her shoulders and caressing her with infuriating slowness, his hands tracing her body to settle at the exquisitely sensitive small of her back. His kisses, always mutable, governed by his mood and by the atmosphere of her dreams, would progress from persuasive to demanding, driving her crazy with the need to both rival and please him.

Something tore her from her reverie. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled painfully, cringing at the light sheen of perspiration slicking her limbs. As her eyes adjusted to the shadowy surroundings, the rest of her body was reluctant to part with its delightful fantasy. Rhythmic breaths slowly forced the image of his lips on her throat, his voice warm and resonant in her ear, to fade away. At times, it shocked her to find how deeply she could lose herself in that other reality.

Glancing up, she was thrilled to note that Hedwig had returned. Leaping from her bed and fairly flying to the window, she let the owl in and thanked her profusely, accepting the letter she carried. Hermione slammed shut the window against the cold gusts and gave Hedwig a biscuit, one she'd brought up from the kitchen expressly for that purpose. As nervous as she'd been, it was a minor miracle that she'd managed to keep from eating it herself.

She tore eagerly into the letter while Hedwig looked skeptically at the biscuit and shot her an annoyed glance, probably wishing instead for meat.

Miss Granger,

I have found your reasoning to be sound and your equations satisfactory. I trust you have also provided Professor Vector with a copy of the completed equations for her approval.

Hermione mentally slapped herself upside the head. How could she have forgotten to send her equations to Vector? She'd been expending far, far too much energy concentrating on Snape.

The necessary ingredients will be waiting and properly stored for you upon your return. Professor Vector has informed me that she and Professor Flitwick will assist you with the necessary spell work. I shall likewise assist you with the base of the potion and will expect to see you in my office at eight o'clock sharp the evening after classes resume.

Professor S. Snape

Exhaling after what felt like a period of hours, Hermione sank onto the mattress with satisfaction. Her theoretical reasoning had been deemed sound, and the potion ingredients would be waiting for her. She was suddenly and immensely proud of herself for the short time in which everything had come together so neatly, and the desire to return to Hogwarts without further delay was unbearable.