Teamwork

Chapter 6

The beach was deserted at this time of the night, and Hermione was entirely grateful for that, as she let herself sink down onto the wet sand. The waves licked softly at her feet, but the water was warm against her cold skin.

She had found this place on an occasion similar to this one. She'd been arguing with Harry about some petty little thing she didn't even remember anymore. Blindly she had Disapparated, not caring where. It had seemed as if her subconscious had found what she needed. She didn't know where the place was geographically, but she didn't care, and she hadn't done anything to find out. She figured it was somewhere on the shore of the North Sea because of the weather and plants and the salt water and the general climate. If it was in France or Germany or the Netherlands, somewhere in the UK, she really didn't give a damn. As long as she could return here to find the peace she needed. Maybe being able to come here was the only thing that had prevented her from going crazy.

Placing her forearms on her knees, she rested her head on top of them and closed her eyes. The sound of waves crashing and roaring toward her filled her mind and permeated her whole being. It made her feel liquid, as if she herself were water, floating among the waves. She sighed deeply and stretched out on the warm wet sand. The place was beginning to work its own, very special magic on her. Slowly she found her body unwind and her mind clear until she could bear to ponder the things that rapped on the door of her consciousness.

So she had left Snape in London to ruin her career. But perhaps he was right, after all. Maybe people didn't look down on her the way she used to be sure they did. And maybe they would judge what had happened to the waiter as an accident. Panic had induced her urgent need to cover everything up, she realized now. But still, it was a possibility that this "accident" was too much for the Ministry to tolerate from her. She couldn't tell for sure, but she knew Snape was right about her not being able to help the man. She'd always been sensible in her decisions, but he'd proved to her that this time she hadn't been.

Snape. With his perfect potions. His hands. His lips. And his pity. She'd thought he wanted her, but it was only pity. He'd only tried to make her feel better. She didn't want his pity, she didn't need it. She needed someone who really cared for her. Someone who loved her for who she was and not out of pity. Pity for her now-partially-and-soon-completely ruined life.

When she had first seen him after almost four years, it had been scary how different he seemed from the Snape she remembered from school. It all depended on perspective, didn't it? And then she'd been completely startled to find out she was thinking about him that way. And after she had gotten over the strangeness of that, she had been concerned about him being her former teacher. But somehow that concern had vanished from her mind almost unnoticed by her. They were on common ground now, and that had really been easier to accept than she had first thought. But now that she knew he only pitied her for all that had gone wrong in her life...

True, it had felt good to tell him; tell someone who hadn't been entangled in the course of events himself. For a few moments it had actually felt as if a huge burden had been taken from her. But of course it had been too good to last.

Hermione scooted back a few feet to where the sand was dry, and curled up between the ridges of two dunes. A profound tiredness was weighing her down into a deep, peaceful sleep.

~*~

She drew a deep breath and laid her hand on the doorknob, hesitating before she entered the lab. She had awoken completely rested on her secret beach in the middle of nowhere and Apparated back home. Snape and Mark were both gone, just like she had expected, and she had gotten ready for the day that lay ahead. Her head had been clear: she was going to apologize to Snape, and then she was going to give her best for the project again. Take her life in her own hands again, and finally start doing the right things, start making the right decisions.

But suddenly her doubts were back. She had to face him and admit her mistake, and that still didn't sit well with her. Another deep breath and she turned the knob and walked in.

Snape was there, of course. Had she really been hoping he would have just left? Of course not! He'd never do anything halfway. But he wasn't chopping anything and wasn't standing over a cauldron, either. He sat at the small wooden table, surrounded by piles of notes of their work, and was gazing intently on the piece of parchment right in front of him.

~*~

Snape heard her open the door silently and step into the room, cautiously as if not to disturb him. Laying aside the parchment he was reading, he looked up and saw her standing by the closed door. She looked better, he thought. Well rested. Wherever she had been that night, whatever she had done, it seemed to have done her a lot of good.

"Good morning," he said, letting her know by his tone that he wasn't angry.

"Good morning." Her voice was tiny but clear, as if she was just gaining her footing on uneven ground. "Is he...?" she asked tentatively.

Snape nodded. "At St Mungo's. I've provided them with a list of the ingredients and replicated all the notes on the final potion we dosed him with."

"Did they say anything yet?" Hermione asked, and he could hear the minute trace of hope in her voice.

He leaned back in his chair, and had to sigh despite himself. "No. But they'll let us know when they've found out what went wrong, or whenever there's a change in his condition."

She nodded in acknowledgement and came over to sit on the other chair that stood by the table.

"I need to apologize," she started, her intonation asking him not to interrupt. "I have the feeling I made every possible mistake yesterday. And I know that's not true. Things went well until that... incident. I'm sorry; I know it was wrong not to take him to St Mungo's in the first place. It was foolish of me to assume I could handle the situation on my own. And it felt really good to tell you about those... things between Harry and me. It was foolish of me to just walk out, childish. But... I have to ask you something." There she paused again, but he knew better than to say something. "Why did you do it? Kiss me, I mean."

She wasn't looking at him but at an obviously extremely interesting spot on the floor, about two feet away from her toes.

"Hermione, look at me," he insisted, and almost flinched at the pain in her eyes, as she lifted her head to finally look at him.

He hadn't forgotten her last words of the day before. Pity. Did she really think he pitied her for how her life had turned out? Snape figured that what she had told him the day before wasn't everything that had gone wrong in her life. He could feel that there was much more. But maybe she wasn't ready to share that with anyone yet. Let alone him.

But pity? Hermione knew very well what had gone wrong in his life, what kind of mistakes he had made. So why did she think he pitied her? He had thought about it ever since she had left him in her bedroom. Didn't the possibility cross her mind that he understood her? That he knew what it felt like to make a wrong decision and have to live with the result? Knew what it was like to keep hiding what had truly happened for so long that you began to doubt if you knew the truth yourself? But he knew the answer to all these questions: she'd felt alone and desperate, and he knew damn well that in such a condition one really didn't imagine anyone else might possibly understand you.

And obviously the thought that he might have fallen in love with her hadn't crossed her mind either. It had been hard enough to admit it to himself; he wasn't going to tell her. Not now, at least. And if he was completely honest, he was just as afraid of rejection as the next best man. Though he usually prided himself with not being afraid of anything.

"I do not pity you," he said, forcing Hermione to keep looking at him. "You know of my past, you know how I teach. Am I someone who pities people?"

"No." So faint, just above a whisper.

And apparently she couldn't bear to hold his gaze any longer, and stood up to distract her eyes by whatever illusion was beyond the window today.

Quietly he followed her and placed his hands on her upper arms, reassuring her of his presence. Her own arms were folded across her chest, and he could tell she was trying to close herself off toward him. She evidently didn't want him to be there, wanted this whole thing to be over for good. But on the other hand she must know she couldn't have that right now. They both had to see it through to the end, and they damn well would, he thought.

"I've been having dreams about you, Hermione," he admitted, tucking a few curls of her hair behind her ear. "Every night since I saw you again."

He felt her stir slightly under his touch now, but she didn't show any further reaction to his words.

So he continued, "You're so beautiful in my dreams. And in reality you are so marked by pain. It contorts all your beauty." He was almost whispering now.

Snape could feel the tension drain from her body and was entirely grateful when she leaned back into him. Maybe he was going too far, but he slid his arms around her waist and held her close. For a brief moment she tensed again, but then she just let him hold her.

~*~

For the life of her she couldn't have told how long they remained like this. It felt so good to be held, just leaning back into his warmth, enveloped by his arms. Hermione didn't want to move until finally she felt like herself again. The profound feeling of being lost that had threatened to suffocate her was gone. She wanted to stay this way forever. But she knew he was waiting for her to say something, after what he had just told her. Reluctantly, she turned to face him, careful not to dislodge his arms around her. She let her hand reach up to his shoulders, and couldn't resist playing with a few stray strands of jet-black hair.

"Severus, I..." she started, but what she saw in his eyes made her lose her train of thought, and she stood on tiptoe and just kissed him instead.

She could feel him tense upon her sudden move, but just as fast he relaxed again and drew her closer still. Every cell of her being was caught up in him; his hands on her waist, the warmth permeating right through the layers of cloth between them, his tongue sliding against hers. She moaned into his mouth, and snaked her hands around to his front, starting to work on the numerous buttons down his chest. His hands had moved up and under her robes and were just tugging her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, when she heard someone call her name at the edges of her consciousness.

She drew away from Snape far enough to see where the voice had come from, her hands still resting on his chest. Pete stood in the doorway, frozen mid-step, mouth agape. Hermione felt Snape withdraw his hands but, to her amazement, he didn't move an inch.

"Pete?" she asked, walking over to him.

He closed his mouth self-consciously, and waved a few pieces of rolled up parchment in from of her. "Um, I've been to the Owlery and I thought I'd bring over your mail."

"Oh, thank you," she said and took the scrolls from him. They often brought each other's mail down from the PO boxes; it was not at all unusual for him to do so. And she was a grown woman; she didn't need to feel so caught. But Hermione still felt like her mother had just walked in on her with her first boyfriend.

"Pete, I'd really appreciate..." she started and didn't exactly know how to go on.

But Pete laid his hand onto her arm and gave her one of his generous smiles that had understanding written all over them.

"I'm not that bad a gossip, you know," he said, now grinning from ear to ear.

Hermione felt a furious blush creep into her cheeks.

"I know," she asserted, "but if Sybille..."

"Mione," Pete interrupted, "do you really think I'd tell her?"

She laughed nervously and shook her head. "Of course not."

Pete smiled again and turned to leave the room.

"See you whenever you're going to grace us with your presence again," he said sweetly over his shoulder and had left before Hermione could say more.

"Should have warded the door," she murmured absentmindedly, while she leafed through the mail, taking slow steps back to where Snape was still standing by the window.

"Oh, there's one from St Mungo's," she observed and cracked the seal open. "They say he's conscious and they have some idea as to what has happened to him."

Snape met her halfway from across the room and turned her around by the shoulder.

"We should hurry, then," he said, and Hermione almost had to run to keep up with him on the way down to the Atrium with its fireplaces.

~*~

A quick charm cleaned them of the few traces of soot that were clinging to their skin and clothing. Snape led the way up to the third floor, and Hermione followed quickly on his heels.

Mark was in none of the wards on the Potions and Plant Poisoning floor but they had put him in an extra room to isolate him from the wizards and witches in the wards. A nurse showed them to the small, dimly lit room, and they found the Muggle asleep in his bed. The woman said she would get the Mediwizard who had treated him, and left Hermione and Snape to wait. Snape stayed close to the door but Hermione sat cautiously on the edge of Mark's bed.

"Do you think he notices what is happening to him?" she whispered with a worried look at his face.

Snape scanned the room and found several empty phials on a tray on Mark's bedstand. He lifted one and carefully sniffed at the opening. "Looks like they've dosed him with Dreamless Sleep quite thoroughly."

Hermione nodded, still not taking her eyes away from the Muggle's unmoving form. She looked concerned, but Snape thought her posture gave away a certain amount of hope. He turned to stand behind her and dropped his hands onto her shoulders. This simple gesture was all he allowed himself in such a public place but still it seemed to be enough to support her for the moment.

The door sprang open and a tiny fat Healer with a huge mustache rushed in. Snape felt Hermione want to jump up beneath his hands, but he pressed her down lightly, keeping her seated on the bed. He hoped she paused to notice that he didn't move from her side before she began her inquiry about the waiter's condition.

"I spent the entire night with three other highly qualified Mediwizards to find out what was wrong with this Muggle Professor Snape brought here on your behalf," the Healer began to explain. "And I do have to congratulate you; that new potion seems to work perfectly."

"Oh, but how..." Hermione interrupted, but shut her mouth when Snape lightly squeezed her shoulder. "Sorry," she whispered, only audible for him.

"The problems were evidently caused by another substance that was ingested by the patient. Caffeine." He stopped there, a somewhat triumphant look on his face.

Hermione however forcefully slapped a hand against her forehead. "Oh no!" she expelled a frustrated breath, "how could I be so stupid!?"

Snape sighed. Of course it had been her who had administered the potion mixed into coffee. But he should have known better, he should have questioned it then. Anyway, it was too late now. And thankfully Hermione seemed to calm quite quickly after that initial outburst.

The Healer assured her they had dosed him with the potion in its pure form and so she Apparated with the Muggle to return him to his café, and spare him further stress in the wizarding world.

~*~

Upon her return from that awful café Hermione found Snape once again in their lab, stirring a cauldron full of what appeared to be their new potion.

"But..." she started to say and was cut off by him immediately.

"It was relatively easy to change the formula so that it doesn't react with caffeine. The notes are on the table."

"Oh," she said, "okay..."

Something was off, Hermione could sense it, but she went over and scanned his notes anyway. Snape came over to her, having finished with the new batch of potion.

"Hermione," he started, "I got a letter from Dumbledore last night."

She shook her head. No, he couldn't do that to her. Dumbledore couldn't take him away now. Not now that she had finally realized what was missing in her life.

"Don't say it," she pleaded with him, and closed her eyes against the dreading words as if not seeing him would equal not hearing him.

But then she was drawn into his arms, and rested her head against his shoulder. She breathed in his unique scent and let herself feel the heat of his body. It was strangely reassuring to be held by him, to feel him so close to her. An odd sense of calm began to spread through her, and she knew it was useless to try to make him stay.

"The exams are coming up," he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

"I know you have to go," she sighed, "I just wish I had more time with you."

"The school year is almost over. We'll have all summer."

"I know. It's just... right now... how soon will you have to be back at Hogwarts?"

Snape's breath was warm against her neck, and she shivered slightly as he swept her hair aside and dropped a line of tiny kisses along one of her shoulder blades.

"He's scheduled a staff meeting in ten minutes," he admitted, and Hermione groaned inwardly. "I'm sorry, but I'll be late."

He picked up her head from its place against his shoulder and leaned down for a last kiss. Hermione clutched at the fabric of his robes in a vain attempt to pull him closer.

"Bye," she whispered against his lips, as he drew away and headed for the door.

There was a short moment of hesitation while his hand rested ever so briefly on the door handle, but then he was gone.

THE END