Ordinary People

Your lovely awkwardness---

She ran all the way up to the fourth floor, heart drumming frantically. Upon reaching the door she flung it open, seeing Severus calmly perched on his usual stool. "I see you received my note," he said dryly, standing.

Beaming and trying to catch her breath at the same time, she thought for a moment she would pass out. "You found it!" she cried.

He nodded. "I found it. I think."

"Oh, Severus!" Hermione cried, flinging herself at him and nearly bursting into tears of joy. "You found it!" she said into his shoulder.

To her surprise, his arms slid around her, hands warm on her back. "I found it," he repeated. "Would you like to see?"

"That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say," she said with a little giggly sort of hiccup. Disentangling herself from his embrace and not feeling the slightest bit strange about that fact, she pointed at the microscope beside him. "I assume ..."

He nodded again and tucked his hair carefully behind his ears in an affected gesture. She was still standing close enough that she could actually smell the scent of his soap. "Take a look."

She peeked into the scope. It was focused clearly on a single red blood cell.

"Now up the magnification," he prompted.

Curious, she complied. "This is an awfully big build up."

"Humor me, Hermione. Now, you should be able to see something of interest."

She concentrated. And goggled. "There are little gold structures embedded into the walls!" she nearly shouted, tearing her eyes away from the microscope to smile at him again.

"I hoped for a single moment that the obvious Gryffindor colors resulted from the fact that it was your blood," he said distastefully--she wrinkled her nose at him. "But then I realized that, alas, this was one of my blood samples. Someone very important has a horrible sense of humor if the magical strain is a golden organism embedded on red blood cells. Unfortunately, I cannot blame Albus in this case."

Hermione let out a delighted hoot of laughter. "Do you realize what we've found, Severus?" she asked, sobering for a moment.

"Of course I do," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "We've found our proverbial needle. Now all we have to do is find more. It will be simpler, now that we know what we're looking for."

She felt as if her smile were permanently affixed to her face. "I just can't ... I think I might cry; I'm so happy!"

His eyes widened. "Don't cry!" Severus pleaded. "I don't think I could handle that."

Laughing again, Hermione flung her arms wide. "I've got to do something, though. It's just ... too much. Raw magic, Severus! As elemental as it gets!"

Suddenly solemn, he gave her an earnest look. "You're beautiful when you smile like that."

And her smile froze.

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Severus Snape, what the hell just came out of your mouth? his brain screamed. Severus stopped breathing for nearly a full minute. Time stuttered.

"What did you say?" Hermione whispered into the dead silence.

"I said you're beautiful when you smile," Severus confessed, eyes closing and bile rising in the back of his throat.

Her eyes widened. "Did you hit your head or something?" Was that concern in her voice?

He gave her a quizzical look. "No ... why?" There was something here he wasn't picking up on.

"Professor--Severus, you just called me beautiful. I just wondered if you were okay." It was concern in her voice. She was on the verge of checking his forehead for fever. He wanted to laugh and throw up at the same time.

"I ... uh ... I'm sorry? I didn't mean to ... it just slipped out." Yep--Severus Snape, suave and smooth as silk. He almost smacked his forehead.

They regarded each other in silence for a few eternal moments--Hermione with confusion written on her brow and Severus as warily as a spooked cat. Neither one of them was willing to continue this discussion, and it was becoming clear to them both as time ticked on.

Finally, she broke their gaze, eyes drifting toward the floor. "Uh ... I've got to ... class, you know," she stuttered.

"So do I," he said, letting out a grateful sigh.

"And about your ... the cells ... that's great, Severus. Thanks for letting me know," she said, still not meeting his eyes as she scuttled to the exit. As quickly as she could, Hermione was through the door and gone. Severus didn't even have time to blink before she disappeared from his line of sight.

He continued to stare at the door long after she'd departed, wondering what had possessed him. Not six months ago, he couldn't have told anyone what color her eyes were, and now he was on the verge of making love declarations? He'd lost what few senses Dumbledore hadn't already driven from him--that was the only logical explanation.

Admiring Hermione Granger's more appealing qualities (and managing to more or less overlook her irritating ones) from afar was one thing--actually expressing such opinions was quite another.

For one, Severus had never done such a thing before and was justifiably anxious about it. The last (and, incidentally, first) romantic entanglement Severus ever found himself in was as a shy six-year-old confessing his tender feelings for one Miss Lydia Hamilton, also six. The fact that she'd promptly laughed and hit him in the head with a block afterward was not particularly helpful.

It also didn't bode well that Hermione turned tail and bolted right after his most recent untimely confession. Severus resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearby wall with great effort. It was only slightly comforting to know that Hermione had been telling the truth; she really did have class.

So did he, Severus realized with a start. Seventh year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws again. He sighed, walking out of the lab and resetting the wards absently. Life continued despite mangled love confessions. Students still expected their professors to show up for class, even if they didn't particularly want them to.

Shame, really. All things considered, Severus would have preferred to work himself into a respectable blue funk without an audience.

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Hermione's fight-or-flight instinct had kicked into overdrive. She walked through hallways, down stairs, and before she knew what she was about, she was actually running. Running down the corridors, feet beating out a familiar tattoo, comforting her. The only thought in her mind was to put as much distance between herself and the laboratory as she could. Her brain refused to figure Severus into the equation.

She finally slowed to catch her breath near the door leading out of the castle to the greenhouses. Her Charms class was still a stairwell away, but Hermione permitted herself a lengthy pause--she had more than five minutes, after all, and she was going to take full advantage of that fact.

As it was, she slid into an empty seat at the back of the room some thirty seconds before Flitwick actually began his lecture. Hermione drifted--she didn't even know what today's topic was and what's more, she didn't care. All she could hope for was that her professor left her to her own devices. It was not an idle wish; Flitwick was generally very indulgent with his more diligent students.

And Hermione had managed to find a seat away from Harry and Ron--Harry shot her a questioning look as she'd come into the classroom, but she'd deflected it with a small shrug. Today, Hermione would be hard-pressed to deal with either of them.

Severus had lost his mind and that's all there was to it. Either that or he'd gone temporarily blind.

Hermione blinked at the suddenness of that thought--she'd managed to catch herself off-guard.

But there it was, staring her in the face.

Hermione's first impulse was anger. Severus had thrown their entire dynamic off-kilter with a mere seven words. How dare he? They were finally on an even footing. Hermione had even come to think of him as somewhat of a friend. And then he had to become delusional and ruin it.

But, on second thought, that was probably overly unfair to Severus. If the look of horror on his face was anything to go by, he certainly hadn't actually intended to voice his thoughts.

He probably didn't even really mean it, she thought. Yes, and that was why he was so quick to apologize in the aftermath.

Her stomach gave an unpleasant little lurch at that idea.

And it slammed into her consciousness so forcefully that Hermione actually gasped out loud and somehow managed to knock her ink bottle to the floor. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice or care enough to comment even if they had.

So that was why she was terrified.

Somewhere between the sniping and the research and the fighting and the teasing, she'd come to care quite deeply for Severus Snape. More deeply than she'd ever thought herself capable of.

The word 'love' did not actually enter Hermione's mind. That was a vague notion that she still dimly associated with fluffy bunnies and puppies and lacy, pink hearts. Things that didn't even belong in the same universe as Severus.

She smirked down at her quill, carefully refraining from making eye-contact with Professor Flitwick. He was predictable enough to never call on students who didn't meet his gaze. Hermione had often wondered why, but she was not above taking advantage of it, should the need arise.

The fight-or-flight was back in full force. It was taking a great amount of her willpower to remain still.

What she really wanted to do was grab Ron or Harry by the collar (preferably Ron--he had more experience with relationships than the possibly-more-clueless-than-Hermione Harry), drag him into the hallway, and tell him, "I have the strong urge to seek out our Potions professor and give him a hug--please help me understand this." Of course, she doubted that would be a helpful action in the least.

Maybe if she went out into the Forbidden Forest, dug a hole, and hid in it, everything would resolve itself.

On second thought, that was probably slightly worse than her first impulse. Severus had a nasty habit of saving people--it was quite possible that he would track her down and rescue her. Actually, it was that trait that was one of the reasons she rather suspected that beneath the antisocial cynic lurked a decent fellow.

And his eyes, she considered absently. His eyes often betrayed whatever emotion he was trying to suppress with smirks and sarcasm. Do you like it? Vulnerable, dangerous eyes.

Hermione sighed. There was no way around it now. She was definitely ... conflicted concerning Severus. Unwilling to settle on a single word to describe her emotions, she mentally flitted around the subject.

They had to discuss this. And soon; before she gave in to her instincts and holed herself up in the Hogsmeade bookshop, refusing to leave. This continual desire to disappear couldn't be a healthy emotional response to a simple compliment.

Just because Severus had gone insane didn't mean that she had to as well. Hermione resolved to set him straight that evening at their usual meeting time.

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Severus felt his left eyelid twitching. It was tempting to give into the blissful, mind-numbing rage and just go on a rampage, docking points and handing out detentions to any and everyone who crossed his path, but even he realized the flaws in that plan. Not even Severus could justify being that unfair.

His morning class hadn't even been that offensive. A female Ravenclaw had uncharacteristically concocted a brew that burned through the bottom of her cauldron and a large portion of the tabletop below, but otherwise the class had passed without incident. He had no real excuse for his fury.

Except for the obvious, of course. Misplaced frustration at rejection or some other such psycho-babble as he'd come across in the few Muggle psychology textbooks he'd read. And it was probably more confusion than frustration, besides.

There was nothing for it other than to just grit his teeth and wait for it to pass. And pass it would--Severus had become quite adept at dealing with his emotions through the years. He vigilantly avoided the fact that his idea of 'dealing with emotions' generally consisted of locking them in a mental box and tossing them down a mental well.

He couldn't bring himself to attend lunch. The possibility of seeing Hermione in the Great Hall and not being able to speak to her was unbearable, and so it was best sidestepped. Instead, Severus settled for stalking up and down the hallways in the dungeons, mentally seething and trying not to set anything on fire for sheer spite.

A movement down the corridor caught his eye, however, distracting him from his musings. Curious, Severus crept down the hall as quietly as he could--the dungeons were generally deserted at this time of the day.

He was torn between further anger and an odd feeling of delight as the torchlight flashed off blond hair, and an aristocratic shadow flickered on the stone floor.

Draco Malfoy.

In the dungeons when he should be sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

The boy was holding something in his hand that Severus couldn't quite see. Too small and round to be a wand, but he wasn't close enough to further discern anything. Severus decided to interrupt Malfoy's plans. "Mr. Malfoy," he said in his best drawl, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Malfoy jumped under Severus' hand. "Professor, sir," he said, spinning around. There was a slight smile on his face.

But Severus did not permit himself to be drawn. If Malfoy wasn't bright enough to realize after more than two months that he was no longer Slytherin's Golden Child, it was not Severus' problem. "What, may I ask, are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked sharply.

His left hand slid deftly into his robe sleeve. "I was ... looking for you, actually, sir," Malfoy said blandly. He barely even hesitated.

"Really?" Severus asked, beginning to perversely enjoy himself. "Well, then, I would say that you could consider your goal accomplished. Why did you require my presence?"

"I wanted to clarify a few points on the essay you assigned last week on Veritaserum, Professor," Malfoy said, his own drawl very nearly equaling Severus'.

Well, Malfoy could think quickly on his feet; Severus would give him that, at least. "I fail to see what could require clarification, Mr. Malfoy. Six feet on the topic of your choice involving Veritaserum."

"My apologies, sir. I had forgotten the length requirement," Malfoy said smoothly. His hand was still out of Severus' line of sight.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Forty points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. I am not entirely certain what you're up to, but it can't be good or you wouldn't be standing before me lying through your teeth."

Malfoy's jaw dropped, and Severus smiled grimly. "But, sir! You can't ... I mean ... I wasn't ..."

"What, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked. "Do you want to explain to me exactly what you're doing in the dungeons when you should be at lunch? Or maybe you'd like to show me what you're holding in your left hand that you're so reluctant to show?" Swiftly, Severus went in for the kill. "Or perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, you would prefer the more prosaic approach and tell me how you could be so dense as to forget an essay length that I've required every single week since September."

"I--no, sir," Malfoy conceded. Slightly flushed, he all but ran up the nearby staircase.

Severus' smile widened. He was beginning to feel much better.

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Despite her earlier resolve, Hermione found her mind wandering yet again as she sat alone at the lunch table. She'd managed to successfully escape notice in both of her morning classes. Aside from a few curious glances from Harry, she went unquestioned.

Hermione toyed with the idea of pulling out the current manuscript she was translating (an eighth century monk with an unhealthy alchemy fixation--at least it was mostly Latin) but eventually discarded it. If she couldn't even concentrate hard enough to pay attention for more than thirty seconds in classes, there was no hope for serious academic work. Not today, at any rate. It was difficult enough just to maintain control over her boiling emotions, currently varying between terror and confusion. She was certain she'd work herself into hysterics before she saw the end of it.

"Hey, love," Ron said, interrupting her reverie as he slid into the empty seat beside her at the lunch table. "Is there anything good today?"

"Huh?" she grunted, completely disconcerted.

"Food," he said. "You know, the whole reason for lunch?"

"Don't know," she replied absently. "Haven't eaten lunch."

"Then what are you doing with a plate half full of food, Hermione?" he asked pointedly.

Feeling quite stupid, Hermione glanced down at her plate. Apparently she'd been so distracted she hadn't actually noticed what she was eating. Or that she was eating, in fact. "Oh," she said, shamefaced. "Sorry about that. Been busy lately."

Ron studied her more closely and suddenly grinned widely. "Why, Hermione Granger, I do believe that you've finally taken my advice!" he cried.

Startled, she stared at him with confusion. "What?" My, she was eloquent today.

"You've found yourself a man!" Ron said happily. "Or is it a woman?"

"Ron!" she nearly shouted, shocked.

"Must be a man, then," he said matter-of-factly, piling some sort of nondescript meat on his plate. "You're not nearly indignant enough for it to be a woman."

"How do you know?" she retorted, ire rising.

Ron's grin widened. "I know you very well, Hermione. And I know you think I'm just dim old Ron, here for a good laugh, but I pay more attention to things than you think. First point: Miss Granger has spent more than two-thirds of her evenings away from the Common Room this year, and not even she can study quite that much. Second point: Miss Granger has also spent a fair number of classes staring vacantly either at her desk or out the window, mostly ignoring her professors--an action more usually attributed to our fair Miss Brown, when she's on again with Finch-Fletchley, of course. Third point--"

"Okay, okay," Hermione interrupted hastily. "I get the idea. Ron's not as unobservant as we've thought."

"So who is he?" Ron asked after a short pause, stuffing half of a dinner roll in his mouth.

She stiffened. She would tell Ron anything in the world. Except that. "None of your business," she said.

"Ooh ..." he replied. "Must not be some nice, smart little boy you ran into in the library, then."

"Ro-on," she cried, exasperated.

"Fine, fine," he said, finishing off the roll. "You don't want to tell me. I suppose that means you don't want to tell me who's been sending you money either."

Hermione was momentarily confused. "What?"

"This morning? Breakfast? You hared out and ran off at the sight of ten Galleons in an envelope? Is any of this ringing a bell, love?" Ron shook his head and refilled his goblet.

"Oh, yes," she replied, recollecting the events in question. "I won a very important bet, is all. That's nothing to do with ... him. Well, not exactly," she clarified.

He grinned and began digging around in his pockets. "Well, you're lucky that I'm such a nice fellow. I considered keeping your Galleons, but as you won it fair and square, that would be rather cruel of me. Aha!" he cried, pulling the crumpled envelope out of his pocket and dropping it beside her plate. "Although, you've got to promise me you won't go batty at the sight of it again. It's only ten Galleons, after all."

"It wasn't the money, you twit," she said tiredly, stuffing the packet into her robe pocket. "As you very well know, I'm sure."

"Well, I'd hoped," he replied with a cheeky grin. "But you never know ..."

Hermione sighed and pushed some food around on her plate idly with her fork. "Ron, sometimes I'd really like to hurt you."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," he said. "We both know that you can never stay angry at me."

"Though not from lack of trying."

Their banter continued, but Hermione's heart wasn't in it. She was already pondering what was to happen that evening. What would Severus say? For that matter, what would she say?

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Severus tried not to stare at the clock as he paced. Seven fifty-two. Hermione usually came to his office around eight. Either that or the laboratory, depending on what sorts of experiments they were running. He wondered if she would turn up tonight, and if she did, what he would say to her. Desperately attempting not to fidget, Severus seated himself firmly in the armchair beside the merrily crackling fireplace.

His anger was completely spent. And it had been mostly self-directed, besides. Replacing it was a nervous, twisting sensation in his gut not unlike nausea. As the clock hands moved closer to eight PM, the feeling only intensified.

At seven fifty-eight exactly, there was a soft little knock on his office door, and Severus felt whatever it was in his stomach explode into full-blown anxiety. His hands started to tremble with repressed emotion. He cleared his throat. "Come," he said as evenly as he could.

Sure enough, Hermione poked her head through the doorway. She looked nearly as nervous as he felt, but there was a sadness in her eyes that sent his heart even lower. "I'm not," she said emphatically and without preamble.

He cocked his head, absolutely baffled at her cryptic comment. "What do you mean?"

Her hands dropped to her sides in tight fists and she looked practically miserable. Quite possibly, she hadn't intended to say that out loud. "I said I'm not beautiful. I'm not even pretty," she said in a near-whisper.

So that's what she was talking about. Severus wanted to fling himself at her feet and take her hands in his, apologizing profusely for upsetting her so. As it was, he just fidgeted nervously where he stood. "You're beautiful to me, then," he insisted, hoping it was the right thing to say and that she wouldn't hit him.

"But why?" she wailed. "My hair is frizzy, and I'm not skinny, and I'm just plain and mousy!"

"And you're brilliant, and you're kind, and your eyes dance when you smile, and you light up when you work a problem correctly, and you don't mind the sight of blood," and I've fallen in love with you, he almost said but managed to bite that off at the last second. "Hermione ..."

Her eyes were luminous and wet-rimmed. "No one's ever said anything like that to me before," she confessed, a single tear falling down her cheek.

"Oh, don't cry!" he said, finally standing and coming close enough to her to touch her. He put a hand on her arm as tenderly as he was capable of.

Apparently that was her undoing. She burst into loud, wracking tears.

Unthinkingly, unhesitatingly, Severus pulled her into his arms and made soothing noises in her ear, dimly recollecting a dark night when he comforted the same sobbing girl. For a completely different reason, of course.

She pulled away slightly to look at him. Severus barely even noticed her red-tipped nose and flushed cheeks. "I'm sorry," she sniffled. "You must think I'm horrible."

"Never," Severus said, tucking some of her hair out of the way.

"You just said the most wonderful thing to me that anyone's ever said, and I go into hysterics," she said, swiping at her nose and laughing a bit. "I just knew I wasn't any good at this."

"Any good at what?" he asked, baffled.

She waved a hand in the air. "You know. This. You and me ... relationship kind of stuff."

He finally released her. "Oh," he said after a pause. "If it's any consolation, I don't think I am either. Apparently I make women cry with my attentions. Lucius Malfoy did always say I was the worst-looking fellow he'd ever run across." He tried to smile at her.

Severus' attempt at a joke fell flat. Her eyes rounded again, and for one awful moment he thought she was going to start crying once more. "Oh, Severus, don't say things like that. It's not you. It's just ... well, I've had the whole day to work myself into a fit," she said with a self-deprecating smile.

He shrugged. "I am aware that I am not an attractive man," Severus said in a low tone. "Although," he continued thoughtfully, "I don't think I am ugly exactly."

"You have the most intense eyes I've ever seen," she said absently, dream-like. Her cheeks were instantly spread in a deep blush as she realized what she'd said.

"So I'm not allowed to tell you how I see you, but you can?" he asked her with a smirk.

She laughed shortly. "I'm not the one living in a fantasy world, Severus."

"I have no idea where you received the impression that you are plain, as you say," he told her, "but I plan to correct it. And," he added as an afterthought, "you may also feel free to tell me how wonderful my eyes are at every given opportunity."

Hermione giggled again. "May I also pay you other complements?" she asked sweetly.

"I find I am quite at leisure this evening," he said with a slight smile, perching himself on a corner of his desk.

"You're one of the best men I know, Severus," she said earnestly.

Incredulous, Severus snorted. "Now who's living in a fantasy world? Do not get the impression that I am a nice fellow, Hermione."

She shook her head. "No, you're not very nice. I will concede that. But you are a good fellow. Despite your protestations." She continued to give him that same earnest look.

"Well," Severus said after a moment, "at least we're both delusional."

Hermione cocked her head, gazing at him in silence, lovely in her awkwardness. "So this ... this ..." She waved her hand at him. "Between us ... is ..."

Severus nodded, feeling awkward himself. "I think so. I have little experience in such matters."

"Really?" she asked artlessly.

"Hermione, really," he said, exasperated. "I am a teacher of children who dislikes people so intensely that I actively avoid talking to my co-workers in the halls and at meals who also, incidentally, owes a life debt to the headmaster of this school for sheltering me after I betrayed the most evil wizard alive. Do you really think that somewhere in the interim I had torrid affairs with numerous women, or men, as the case were?"

There went the big, round eyes again. "I just ... I didn't know what to think," she admitted.

"And how about you, then? You're a nubile young woman surrounded day after day by hormonal teenaged apes. I would think you would be overflowing with offers." He folded his hands behind his head and gazed at her steadfastly.

She looked down at her feet. "I've never actually ... I mean, during my fourth year there was the, ahem, incident with Viktor, but ..."

He smiled. "Ah, yes. Your Quidditch lug. You were gossip mill fodder for quite a while, weren't you?"

Blushing again, she met his gaze. "I've never even been kissed," she confessed, looking vaguely ill.

His stomach gave a sickening lurch. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that I hadn't either?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'd call you a liar."

Severus shook his head. "I'll take Veritaserum. Cloistered academic Death Eater's honor," he said, holding up his right hand.

Hermione breathed in sharply, although whether at his confession or his final remark, he did not know. "We're still going to fight," she eventually said.

"Probably," he conceded. "And we'll have misunderstandings. And we'll probably continue to not be 'any good' at ... this."

She nodded. "Severus, I think I'm going to kiss you now," she said softly, an uneasy look on her face.

He swallowed once, going still. "Really?"

"Uh-huh." Nodding, Hermione moved so close to him that he could smell the shampoo she used.

Hang the shampoo, Severus thought as she sweetly pressed her lips to his.

It was awkward, just as the entire encounter had been. Their noses bumped, and he noted that her lips were slightly chapped.

It was perfect.

Severus wrapped his arms around her almost as if she would break if he held her more tightly and pulled her closer.

Perfect.

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