Four: Encounters
"Hermione, are you all right?" asked a concerned voice.
Dazedly, Hermione looked up at Ron, who was sitting beside her on the bed. His red hair was messy, she noted, as though he’d spent the last hour with a fan blowing it around. He must have been playing Quidditch before he had come to wake her up, she guessed, although she didn’t know whether she’d already been awake for the past hour or not. She remembered only sliding in and out of sleep, too reluctant when she woke up to actually get out of bed.
She glanced briefly around as she returned to the moment. They were alone in the dormitory, she noticed. She was also aware of the brightness of the sun, a little too bright for the early morning. How long had she slept?
"Yes," she lied after a long moment, having suddenly realised that at some point she would have to answer his question.
"No, you aren’t," Ron said, as though he had expected her to say that and already didn’t believe her. "You slept right through breakfast. You’ve got to be slightly less than all right, at the least."
"I’m just a little down, that’s all," said Hermione, sitting up and leaning against her headboard.
"Is it because I ignored you yesterday?" asked Ron, discreetly taking her hand from where it rested in her lap. "I’m sorry I did. Really."
Don’t flatter yourself, Ron Weasley, Hermione thought bitterly. When had she become this bitter? She certainly was at a loss, though how it was possible she didn’t even know about herself she didn’t know. In fact, it was rather pathetic.
"It’s all right," she said finally. "I’m just a little tired, and I’m supposed to sleep, anyway. This is vacation, you know." Why doesn’t it feel like it? Aren’t vacations supposed to be fun and happy? Hermione wondered distantly.
"Okay. But you’re not sick, right?" Ron asked, the concern returning to his voice.
"No, I’m not," Hermione replied, forcing what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but was probably more of a grimace. She might have looked sick, but instead of sick she only felt sad. "Why don’t you go play chess with Harry. I’ll be down in a minute." She felt as though someone else was doing her duties as Hermione while she sat there and moped.
"All right, love," said Ron. He brushed her forehead with cold lips, and then departed. Hermione wondered about him for a minute. Did he feel obligated to worry for her, since they were a sort of half-item, or was he genuinely worried about her? It would have been nice to have someone to care about her for once, even if it wasn’t the specific person she wanted caring about her.
"Good God, when did I get this morose?" Hermione thought aloud, heaving herself quickly out of bed.
She grabbed a green, long-sleeved tee shirt and a denim skirt from her bag, probably just because they were the first things accessible from the suitcase rather than because she had a strong desire to wear them. She threw them on quickly, and slipped her bare feet into her tennis shoes, not caring about fashion, blisters, or much of anything regarding her apparel at the moment.
She had to do something to get her mind off of that stupid dream. It was just a dream, and no reason to get excited about. Hermione reminded herself of this as she hurried down the stairs to the Common Room, forgetting, or perhaps not bothering, to even pull a comb through her hair. Harry and Ron looked up from their game simultaneously as she strode by, questioning.
"’Mione?" called Harry as Hermione reached the portrait hole.
"I’m going to the library," she said, not turning to look at Harry and Ron or waiting for their response as she swept out of Gryffindor Tower.
The truth was, she hadn’t originally had intended to go to the library, though that didn’t mean she didn’t want to go. She hadn’t actually had any place she wanted to go, in fact. She supposed she had been planning to simply wander around the castle and become so delirious with memories that she couldn’t walk straight, but the library was an all right destination, she surmised.
She paused as she raced down the hall, the clicking sound of her footsteps on the marble lingering in the air of the giant place for a moment. She thought on her decision a moment, looking out of a nearby window as she did so at the lake, which was frozen over and reflecting the pearly sky. Snow whirled past, but she didn’t notice it as she surveyed the grounds of her old school, a school that was like her old home, she was proud to say.
Perhaps she should walk more slowly, so she could look around as she walked and both become delirious with memory and finally end up at the library, a good compromise, she thought. Starting again at a slower pace, she wandered down the corridor, pausing once or twice to glance out of windows as she passed them, smiling at a snowball fight on the lawn, or the tiny, white flakes that were spinning lazily past the window.
Reaching the library, she quietly entered, and cringed when the heavy door boomed closed behind her, despite the fact that she had tried to let it fall gently. It was just something about the library door, it could never close quietly. Slowly, she meandered down an aisle, trailing her fingers lightly along the spines of the numerous library books, all different in ways ranging from the colour of their covers to the subjects they were about.
Golden titles embossed on dark leather spines, black, blocky lettering on old, dusty cloth spines, large books and small books. So many books, a lot of which she had actually read, each one with its own purpose and place. She touched each one with fond memories, remembering being the bookworm of the class, and being very proud of it in later years.
While she had still been at Hogwarts, however, she had always wished for a purpose or a place. Hermione had thought then what she wanted was friends, but now she realised that more than anything she wanted a time in life when everything would feel right. She still had yet to find either a purpose or a place, though at the Ministry she thought she might find her place as Ambassador of the British Ministry of Magic. Maybe she was wrong, but for now it would have to do.
As she came to the end of that aisle, her eyes happened to fall on the dark, hunched form at one of the tables in the centre of the library. She froze, and then withdrew some into the aisle, watching the person, who she could immediately identify as Snape. In the back of her mind, she wished she had brushed her hair this morning.
She leaned against the bookcase to think, ignoring her less-than-lovely appearance at the moment. More than a hairbrush she needed to formulate a plan, try to figure out what to do. Should she talk to him? Yes, her irrational romantic side yelled. Yes, go talk to him! You know you want to!
That part of her was carrying her closer to him, making her feet move, each step falling with an almost deafening sound in this silent library. However, her sensible half didn’t stop her, so she continued walking to him. She walked around the table and sat down across from him. He didn’t look up from his book for a moment, though he was obviously quite aware of her presence since his lips were suddenly pressed together in a thin line. Finally, his eyes lifted and met her gaze.
"Miss Granger, are you following me?" There was no specific tone to his question. It was unemotional and aloof, like he always was.
"No," Hermione said, attempting to use a similar tone, since it just seemed the correct thing to do at the moment. She folded her hands in front of her on the shining, wooden surface of the table. "We are staying in the same building at the moment, Professor. It is quite inevitable that we might have an encounter." Hermione had no idea in the world how she was staying this composed, but somehow she was managing to gaze evenly at him without shaking uncontrollably.
Snape gazed suspiciously at her for a moment, guarded, as though he expected her to suddenly bite him. "True," he murmured. "Yet, it seems that we have had a few more ‘encounters’ than would be usual, in such a large castle. And I wonder if some of these ‘encounters’ are intentional." He loved stressing the word "encounters" as though it were a word come from some sort of foreign language, the Hermione Granger Language.
She stared at him for a second, measuring his words. She didn’t want to believe what he was saying, but in truth it was very obvious. He was actually accusing her of stalking him! Though she would normally have thought this stupid beyond all words, and though she still did think it slightly idiotic, she wasn’t surprised that he was a bit paranoid after all that he’d been through. Still, she wasn’t following him around. He was simply arrogant to think that she would want to follow him around.
"Of course not," Hermione said finally, keeping her smooth tone. "Why would they be?"
"Well, there could be any number of reasons. For instance, you may want to ask me something." Snape paused. "Do you?" he asked carefully.
"Yes, I do," Hermione wanted to say, but instead it came out as, "No, sir."
"All right," Snape said, guarded once more.
"But," Hermione said, and Snape looked at her once more, clearly vexed but not in the current position to say so. Hermione went on, "But, sir, we’ve known each other for seven years before now, and now that I’ve long finished school, we needn’t have such a formal relationship as that of a student and her teacher, I was hoping… I don’t know. Perhaps we could be friends."
Her suggestion sounded so stupid when she heard it aloud that she wished she hadn’t spoken it, or even thought of it in the first place. Of course, she wanted much more than friendship from him but if she knew anything at all about this man, it was probably the most he would afford her. It was obvious that he didn’t show his emotions, or allow anyone else into his life. But, oh, if she could see his true self. In all honesty, his true self may not be pretty, but she was willing to help him forget that.
Snape’s eyebrow ascended slightly. "Well, that is an interesting proposition." His words were sarcastic without actually being so. His tone was even and unassuming, but the sarcasm behind it was clearly implied by his eyes. "However, we will have to continue this discussion later. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Granger."
He stood, but Hermione did at the same time. He managed to walk a few steps before Hermione caught up and placed a hand on his shoulder. She felt him tense under that light touch, and looked up curiously at him as he turned to her.
"Miss Granger," he said quietly. "I don’t think –"
"Sh," Hermione heard herself whisper as she touched his lips with a slender finger.
Her rational mind was wondering what the hell she was doing, but at the moment her romantic self had taken over her body. She moved closer to him, pressing her body deliberately to his chest, feeling a wave of muted desire and intoxication flow over her. She slid her hands slowly over his chest to his strong, broad shoulders, wanting to memorise his body as much as she could. She glanced up, tilting her face up just a little.
Her eyes were half-lidded in bliss as slowly, and seemingly almost reluctant, Snape moved his hand to just below her shoulder, at the same time bringing his face down to hers. His supple lips grazed her mouth briefly, allowing for the beginnings of a fireworks display to explode in her mind, but unexpectedly the sound of the library door closing startled them both into reality. He stepped quickly away from her, a dark look in his eyes.
"Hermione!" the word echoed through the library in Ron’s voice as he searched for her. Hermione looked away from Snape finally, and walked to Ron, who had appeared nearby just a second ago.
"W-what are you doing here, Ron?" Hermione asked haltingly, still tingling all over from her encounter with Snape.
"I was looking for you," said Ron, in hushed tones as he noticed Snape nearby. "What were you doing talking to Snape?"
"I… left a book in his class room when we finished school, and it was very important to me, so I asked him if he had burned it yet," Hermione said, making up that particularly poor fib as she went.
"Just like you to remember where and when you lost a book," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, we’re going down to Hogsmeade for a little while, if you want to come."
Hermione knew it would seem suspicious if she wanted to remain in the castle, but she didn’t want to leave and go to Hogsmeade, not when she was sure she had just gotten to Snape. She glanced back at the dark professor, and realised with a pang that he was gone. Damn, she thought as she turned back to Ron. She nodded silently, trying not to look disappointed.
"Great!" Ron said, and he took her hand and dragged her out of the library.
After grabbing their cloaks from the Common Room, they went down to meet the others in the Entrance Hall. Lavender, Dean, Seamus, Harry, and Parvati were all there. Hermione noticed for the first time since she had gotten there that Neville was strangely missing. She wondered why he hadn’t come.
They walked down to Hogsmeade and went to all the shops, Honeydukes, Zonko’s, and even Dervish and Bangs just to see if there was anything interesting about. Later that afternoon, Harry, Ron, Seamus, and Dean went off to investigate Quidditch Supply Shop.
Meanwhile Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati went to Gladrags to fawn over dress robes. There was one particularly lovely set of robes that Hermione saw, deep scarlet satin with golden trimming. She could only imagine wearing something like that, though where she could possibly wear it she didn’t know.
So, she didn’t buy it, despite her longing to, and then she walked to the Three Broomsticks with Lavender and Parvati to meet the boys. They all talked and laughed over a couple of butterbeers, and Hermione secretly thought it a little stupid that they were all nearly twenty-two and still drinking butterbeer. Still, the point of this holiday was to get reacquainted with the past, wasn’t it? Besides, she rather liked butterbeer. Ah, hypocrisy, she mused with a smile.
The rest of the afternoon passed lazily, dinner came and went, and the evening comprised of Parvati and Lavender sitting on the carpet in front of the fire and Parvati showing her sister, Padma’s wedding photos to Lavender. They were alternately laughing and ooh-ing and commenting on things, while Parvati explained what each picture was.
Briefly Hermione looked up from where she was curled up in one of the overly large armchairs to ask if Padma was with her husband instead of here, and when she was answered yes, she returned to reading again. Harry and Ron had picked up their game of chess once more. Harry was losing. Dean and Seamus were watching, and Seamus was going to play the winner.
Hermione finally put down her book and sank deeper into the armchair, draping her legs over one large arm and a fluffy cushion supporting her head on the other. She stretched her arms and legs out to their fullest, and yawned widely before settling back and staring out of the darkened window, a contemplative look on her face.
She thought about Snape, obviously. After all, what else had she been thinking about all week? Now she only had two days to make him realise what she wanted, though in all honesty, he probably already had. Considering that he had almost kissed her in the library, he could very well want the same thing. That bastard!
He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, but he wasn’t willing to let himself want her. And why the hell not? Was she not good enough for him? Was he too high and mighty for emotions? What could possibly have stopped him from telling her what he wanted?
Of course, Hermione didn’t realise that she was being arrogant, herself, and thinking that everyone should think like her, getting what they wanted through communication. She didn’t realise that it was awfully childish of her to think so, and that she didn’t know the half of what Severus might have been feeling, and so she didn’t think of it, only of how angry she was with him for not telling her.
In fact, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
She stood, and began walking to the door, but Ron looked up. "Where are you off to?" he asked. Hermione glanced at him.
"I’m… going for a walk. I need some air. It’s really hot in here," said Hermione vaguely. Ron hopped up, almost knocking over the chess pieces in his haste.
"I’ll come with you," he said quickly.
"No, Ron darling, that’s all right," Hermione said distantly. "I’ll be fine."
Ron cast a concerned glance at her, and then slowly he sank back down. Hermione left the tower, and walked through the stone silent school in the virtually black hallways that were lit only by squares of pale blue moonlight falling on the gleaming marble floors. Her footsteps were loud and echoing in the huge castle, and she felt so small, like this castle went on forever and she was lost in the labyrinth of its hallways.
She finally reached the dungeon, and her feelings quickly changed from being tiny to being constricted. She felt suddenly huge, as the corridors underground were much smaller than those of the rest of the castle. They were darker, too, at night, and only a few torches ensconced on the wall here and there lit them. Hermione couldn’t help but feeling as though something was going to attack her out of the darkness.
It’s Hogwarts, remember? You’re safe, she told herself, but still she couldn’t help being just a little afraid of the dark. She supposed she’d seen one too many horror films. Plus she’d been afraid of the dark since she was a child, and old habits tend to die hard, especially habits that old.
As she came to his office door Hermione couldn’t help but remember her dream. She raised her hand and rapped on the hard wooden door. She lowered her hand and balled her fists nervously at her sides. Looking up as the door opened, she met his liquid black gaze. He looked shocked at first, but then annoyed and angry.
"You are following me," he said indignantly. In any other situation Hermione would have laughed, but for now she was simply too much of a nervous wreck to do so.
"Professor Snape, you ought to have told me," she said.
"Told you?" asked Snape, as though he had no idea what she was talking about.
"Yes. Why didn’t you tell me that… that you felt something, too?" Hermione was shaking, her composure gone. Perhaps it was that it was nighttime and she was still feeling the lingering effects of her fear of the dark.
"I…" Snape paused. "Come in."
The door closed behind them, and Hermione felt that she was in for a very long conversation with Professor Snape.