What Is This Thing Called Love?

Chapter Eight: Halloween

Severus and Hermione deal with the ghosts of Halloween. Minerva lends a helping hand.

(i) Please do take the time to leave me a review and let me know what you think of the story.

(ii) The characters and world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this.

(iii) And last but by no means least, a big thank you to my lovely beta, Chelsea.

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The days passed swiftly, and Hermione suddenly realised that it was nearing the end of October. Halloween was nearly upon them. The weather became noticeably colder and frost could be found lying over the grounds on certain mornings before the pale dawn sunlight melted it away.

For Severus, the end of October was a time that brought back to mind his greatest tragedies. He could not but help remember his beautiful Lily and his part in her death. He recalled his loss of faith and trust in the Dark Lord and the ability of Dark Magic to bring him his heart's deepest desire. His nights were filled with memories of how his beautiful Lily had grown to hate him, how her eyes that had once filled with affection became tinged with fear and mistrust. Unable to bear a similar reaction from Hermione, who Severus believed deep down would one day come to her senses and begin to hate him for his manipulation, he began to distance himself. When she came to his chambers late at night to peruse a book, instead of the gentle smile he had begun to bestow upon her, he was cold, unsmiling and aloof. He did not speak; he just handed her the book and raised his eyebrow until she was tongue-tied. He watched her try to read under his dark presence and saw her flee when all her attempts at conversation failed.

Hermione was tremendously hurt by Severus' sudden change in behaviour. She had grown to long for the hours she spent in quiet conversation and reading in front of Severus' magnificent marble fireplace while lying on his plush emerald green Persian carpet. This private study in the headmaster's suit of rooms had become her favourite place in the castle. Some nights she would sit, curled on the window-seat looking out at the Quidditch pitch and Forbidden Forest beyond and listen to his gorgeous voice wash over her. Their Saturday night ritual of a glass of wine or an unusual cocktail that Severus thought she would enjoy were evenings she treasured as she scurried to complete her numerous tasks throughout the rest of the week. This Saturday, as she arrived for their quiet evening by the fire, she could not understand his curt responses, his unsmiling visage. Where had the man she had got to know, to desire, gone? Unable to bear the mocking silence of her little study, where she had not spent an evening in many long weeks, Hermione fled once more, this time to the staff room. It was there that Minerva found her.

Minerva had been a Head of House for a long time. She could see immediately that something had changed in Hermione. Gone was the bright smiling girl; in her place was a sad, pathetic waif. Wondering if Harry or the youngest Mr. Weasley were responsible, she opened her arms to the girl once more. Like before, seeing the motherly understanding in her former Head's face brought Hermione dashing into her embrace. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she held on to the warmth, the security that Minerva represented, and sobbed piteously.

Once Hermione's tears were through, Minerva offered her a handkerchief and then said, 'Now that you've had a good cry, tell me what's wrong.'

'It's Severus,' said Hermione with trembling lips. 'I thought I was getting to know him; that we were friends. We spend every evening together, brewing, marking, reading. But today, it was as if the past two months had never occurred. He looked at me like I was something the cat dragged in. I've lost everyone I've cared about : my parents, Harry, Ron. I don't think I can cope if I lose his friendship. And the worst of it is, I don't know what I did wrong.'

'Oh, my dear girl,' said Minerva gently. 'Severus is such a complicated man. Halloween is the time when he relives one of his greatest sorrows. He's probably just hurting and pushing you away. Severus has never forgiven himself for losing Lily's friendship and blames himself to this day for her death. I've tried telling him that he didn't kill her, that the one responsible was Voldemort, but it makes no difference. He feels it is his doing.'

Hermione nodded. 'But why push me away?'

'I think, my dear, that you remind him of the one thing he has never had: a real friendship. One does not like to speak badly of those who have passed on, but in my opinion it is a pity that Lily died. If she had not, Severus would have learnt to see her for who she really was: a marginally clever, but vain and fickle girl. Now, the Lily who lives in his heart is a figment of his imagination. He never knew her, saw her as a man, as an adult. Lily Evans was not the saint Severus makes her out to be. She was a smart young woman, but one who saw in James Potter a way into pureblood society, money and comfort. Severus had nothing to offer but himself; he had no wealth, no charming good looks and easy access to comfort. Lily was no fool; if she could gain the affections of Potter, the golden Head Boy of Hogwarts, then what was it to sacrifice her friendship with an awkward, unsociable outcast from the wrong end of town? Lily used him, first for his knowledge of the wizarding world and later on for his brilliance and skill. She never applied herself because she had Severus as a study partner who would do all the work and help her along. After their friendship ended, her school work plummeted. No, don't get me wrong, she didn't do badly in her NEWTs, but she didn't achieve the brilliance that had been expected of her after her OWL performance. Lily, of course, brushed it away saying that she was in love, that she had no time to study. But I, as her Head of House, knew better. She was too busy fooling around, being pretty and popular, to study. And James and Sirius were no better. They were both clever and talented and did the minimum to get by.'

Hermione was shocked. 'I had no idea.'

'Well, after their tragic deaths, it made no sense to speak of their failings. And really, in the end, what did it matter? In stepping before Voldemort's curse, she secured a place for herself in wizarding history. She will forever be the saintly Lily Potter. I only tell you this, my dear, in the strictest confidence to forewarn you of what you have to face. Severus Snape is a complicated and difficult man. He has never known real love or loyalty, compassion or forgiveness. If you want to be his friend, if you want to be more than his friend, then you will have to work very hard to get through to him. He has very thick armour around his heart, guarding him from the hurt he is sure the world means to inflict upon him. And much to my shame, this last year, I hurt him with my behaviour more than I can ever know. He pretends otherwise, but I know better. He did not expect me to turn against him as vindictively as I did. I really hate Albus for the way he arranged matters.'

Hearing Minerva's words about Lily and her manipulation of Severus, Hermione vowed to not push him away. When Harry had haltingly told her of what he had seen in the Pensieve and how it was Severus' worst memory because Lily had never forgiven him, Hermione had been appalled. How could one friend not forgive another? She had thought then that Lily had not been a true friend, if one misspoken word could destroy a friendship. The boys had called her all kinds of things, and she always forgave them. She knew that in spite of the strain to their friendship now, if Ron or Harry needed her, truly needed her, she would not ever push them away. Hadn't she even forgiven Malfoy for calling her a Mudblood, reasoning that he was blinded by prejudice and didn't know better?

Hermione promised herself that she would help Severus. She would show him what real friendship meant. Had she not put up with the boys and their carelessly hurtful ways for years? What then were Severus' attempts at distancing himself in comparison to his past history?

When the annual Halloween feast took place the following evening, Hermione watched Severus carefully. She noticed that he hardly ate or spoke to anyone else at the Head Table. Minerva attempted conversation, but she was brushed aside with a snarled reply. Now, though, Severus' behaviour could be put into perspective given the insights bestowed upon her by Minerva. Thus, Hermione observed and tried to understand his dark visage, his continuous drinking from his goblet. But what confused Hermione's musings was the way in which Severus spent most of the meal staring at her in what seemed like confusion, anger and unhappiness. When the students began gathering their things to leave the Great Hall, Severus almost wrenched himself from his seat and, with nary a nod or glance at his colleagues, departed with a swirl of black robes.

'Poor boy,' said Minerva when they had retired to the staff room to share in a late night drink. 'He is like this every Halloween. I did hope that you, my dear, would be able to bring him out of his deep annual depression, but I suppose I hoped for too much.'

'I don't know what to do, Minerva,' confessed Hermione. 'I tried speaking to him this morning when I went to retrieve the marking I had left in his study, but he was so cruel, I could hardly get two words out of my mouth. He seems impossible to get to.'

'Yes,' said Minerva with a sigh. 'He can be so hard to get close to. But I'm glad you're trying.' Minerva reached across and patted Hermione's hand. 'Don't worry, my dear, you're a good lass. You know you're the one person on staff that's not tainted by the last horrendous year and our deplorable attitude and behaviour towards him. That's why I had such hope for you being able to help him. Andromeda, unfortunately, looks so much like her sister Bellatrix that looking at her must remind him of his worst moments with the Death Eaters.'

Minerva did not want to burden Hermione with the prophecy or the knowledge that she was the only one who could bring comfort to the stern Potions master. However, she did want to help the young couple along in any way she could. She knew Dumbledore would be twinkling merrily at her meddling, but even the knowledge that he would approve did not stop her.

Not long after, Minerva said she wanted to have a relatively early night and left Hermione staring into the staff room fire.

Hermione spent some time trying to come to grips with all she had learnt concerning Severus and Lily Potter. Finally, though, she realised that it was growing late, and she made her way to her chambers. There, as Hermione was preparing herself for bed, she continued to think about her conversation with Minerva. As she brushed her hair, she pondered on the conundrum that was Severus. With sudden blinding clarity she realised that the problem lay with the fact that Lily had pushed Severus away. He had gone to apologise, and she had refused his advances. Hermione realised that Severus would never allow himself to be put into such a pitiful position again. If she wanted to speak to him, she would have to go to him and keep going to him until he relented. She would have to be different from Lily; she would have to prove to him that she was never going to walk away from their friendship.

Reasoning that there was no time like the present, Hermione once more slipped on her day robes over her thin cotton nightdress and made her way to the headmaster's chamber. As she approached the tapestry marking the door, she wondered what on earth had possessed her. It was already well past midnight. It would be impossible to pass this off as a mere social call or a visit to collect a reference book. Taking a deep breath and calling upon her Gryffindor courage, Hermione knocked on the door.

There was a long moment of silence. Then the door was wrenched open by a dishevelled Severus. His outer robes had been discarded, his frock coat buttons were undone, and his neck-tie removed. Even the top three buttons of his white linen shirt were undone, showing her his pale throat and his muscular chest. 'What do you want?' he demanded, looming at the doorway. His voice was slightly slurred and it was obvious that he had been drinking.

'I...' began Hermione, only to realise that this was not a conversation she wanted to have out in the corridor. Reminding herself that she was a Gryffindor, she pushed past him to step inside the chamber.

'What the bloody hell are you doing here?' Severus demanded once more. 'Have you come to gloat, to laugh at the poor besotted fool who is still pining over a dead woman who never loved him, who never cared for him?'

Hermione was silent, not knowing how to respond to his tirade. Instead, feeling decidedly foolish and almost regretting her impulsive decision to try and comfort Severus, she stood with her back to the fire, watching him cautiously.

He seemed to not heed her silence. Instead, he went to the sideboard to pick up his discarded tumbler and took another gulp of his Firewhisky. Then leaning against it with his hip in an insolent posture, he asked mockingly, 'What, cat got your tongue? Did you come to look upon the murderer, the man who killed his best friends? Well, take a good look, little lioness. Take a good hard look at the man you've been befriending and spending time with. Look at the man who killed Lily, who killed Dumbledore, and be afraid.' His voice changed then, and he next spoke with a bitter tone of voice. 'Look at me, at the man who will probably be the cause of your death, too, if you continue with your pitiful efforts to be my friend.'

'Oh, Severus,' said Hermione softly.

'What?' asked Severus, 'You don't believe me? You don't believe that I taint everything I touch, everything I get close to?'

'Stop being so foolish,' she implored. 'You're not tainted.'

Severus stalked towards her and grabbed her by the top of her arms. 'Don't you see?' he demanded. 'If I care for something, for someone, that person dies. Run, little girl, run and save yourself while you still can.'

However, instead of the fear he thought he would find in her eyes, he saw compassion, conviction. Furious, he wrenched his hands away and stepped back a step to watch her warily.

'I'm not a little girl, Severus,' said Hermione earnestly. 'I'm a woman and I am not afraid. I care about you. Can't you put it behind you? You know rationally that Voldemort killed Lily. That Dumbledore demanded that you kill him. You're not a murderer; you're a soldier who did what you had to do.'

Severus scoffed. Then looking deeply into her eyes, he whispered, 'How can you care about me, knowing what you do?' Then, as if afraid to hear her response, Severus swiftly turned away to pick up his discarded glass of Firewhisky once more. Gripping the tumbler tightly, Severus took another long drink and drained the last of the Firewhisky. He felt he needed to buy time. In his intoxicated state, he reasoned that he was ill equipped to tease out the hidden meaning that was sure to lie beneath her words. For surely, he thought, she can't mean what she said. How could she care for me? I'm obviously missing something. Perhaps she cares for me as a valued teacher, a mentor. Yes, that must be it, he thought desperately. Slowly he walked back towards his armchair and sat down, his eyes trained away from her and locked upon the dancing flames.

Hermione stood silently, watching while Severus tried to come to grips with her confession of affection. Then, when she realised he was not going to add any more to his anguished question, she approached him cautiously, as one does a skittish unicorn foal. Slowly she raised her hand and laid it tentatively on his left shoulder. 'Severus, how could I not?' asked Hermione gently. Then, letting her hand slide down his arm, she gently grasped his hand, which lay immobile on the armrest of the chair. 'You're so brave, so strong, so passionate, so intelligent,' murmured Hermione. 'I'd be a blind fool to not realise how very special you are. And if nothing else, I am no fool.'

Severus laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. It sounded bitter and hollow. He thought sarcastically that the know-it-all would never accept the appellation of a fool. Quietly, in a voice like rough molten lava, Severus said, 'If not a fool, Miss Granger, you are at the very least delusional. You're building sandcastles in the air. There's nothing heroic about me. I'm a manipulative bastard. That thrice-cursed prophecy Trelawney made on September first spoke of you and me. Did you realise that? When it was brought to my attention, I manipulated the situation to get to know you. Did you never wonder why the headmaster of Hogwarts took so much time instructing a teaching assistant?'

It was now Hermione's turn to laugh. She realised that Severus was doing his best to push her away. She had not missed the way in which he had called her Miss Granger. Knowing that the next few words could either spell the end of their friendship or be the start of something much more precious, she said lightly, 'So what?' She wanted to dismiss as best she could his admission of manoeuvring behaviour. 'I'm glad.'

Hermione glanced at the man sitting perfectly still before her. He could have been carved from stone, so still and rigid was his posture. Tightening her hold on his hand, she said, 'Severus, I would never have gotten to know you otherwise. If Slytherin cunning and manipulation brought me my awareness of you and gave me access to the deeply hidden man beneath your impressive shields, then I am glad of it.'

Severus could not believe she was taking his confession of manipulation so well. Gruffly, he said, 'In the light of day, you'll see your folly. Recall if you will the words of the prophecy. Are you ready to give in to my base desire? I am not an easy man; if you are mine, you will be mine, forever. I don't share, and I don't let things go.'

'Oh, Severus,' said Hermione. His inability to accept that she could care for him tore at her heart. Releasing his hand to sit on the arm of his chair, she carefully draped an arm along the back. 'I'm willing to take the chance. I can't speak about forever, but I do know that I have grown to like you, to value the time we share together.'

Severus was still unconvinced. This was not the conversation he expected to have tonight, of all nights. In fact, if he had given any thought to the end of this miserable anniversary, he would have expected to find himself drunk and asleep in an undignified heap in front of the fire. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Hermione realised that Severus would not make the first move. Emboldened by his admission of desire, she leaned over and gently kissed his lips.

When her lips met his, it was as if a dam had broken. Severus pulled her to him roughly, so that she was half sitting, half straddling his knees, and devoured her. His arms wrapped around her slim waist, moulding her to his firm chest.

Hermione was taken aback at his passion. She had only ever kissed Victor and Ron, and both were teenage boys, sloppy, exuberant in their display of affection. Severus was a man, and he kissed like a man who had been long starved of a woman's touch. She had never expected him to want her. Her fascination had seemed to be one-sided. This demonstration of his carefully guarded passion filled her with hope and worked to increase her desire for the taciturn man.

Hermione responded to his passion with her own, kissing him back without restraint. She matched his questing tongue with her own tentative exploration of his mouth. She mimicked his foray into her mouth, running her tongue along his teeth. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders while his hands were buried in her hair, guiding her head as he directed the progression of their kiss. Gasping for air, she moaned into his mouth as he sucked her bottom lip and thrust his tongue yet again into her mouth. She was swept away by his force, and at the end of a kiss that seemed to go on for eons, they were both panting.

Severus pressed his forehead against hers before gentling his kisses. Slowly, haltingly, Severus pushed her away.

'Leave, Hermione, while you still can. I have had too much to drink tonight and can't promise to be a gentleman for much longer. Soon my darkness will take over, and I won't care that you want me to stop, that you are afraid or pure. The beast within me will be released,' said Severus, his voice thick with passion.

Hermione shook her head. 'I'm not afraid of you. I know you would never hurt me, even if the beast is released.'

Severus growled at her. 'Foolish woman, is this what you came here for? To be ravished and fucked while I'm in my cups with Firewhisky? Up to this moment, we have been acquaintances, friends. Do not make the leap into my bed without giving careful thought to what a relationship with me entails. What it means to your future, your reputation.'

Chastised, Hermione nodded and replied truthfully, 'No, I didn't come here with sex on my mind. I just saw you hurting at dinner and wanted to see you, to comfort you.'

'You have seen me. I am fine,' said Severus, his voice still rough with passion tightly held in check. 'Now go back to your rooms and think about what has transpired. If you still feel that you want to pursue a relationship with me tomorrow, we will speak of this further. If you feel you cannot, we will forget this evening ever happened. Now go.'

Hermione agreed. In her heart she knew that, although she had been caught up in the passion and fervour of Severus' mind-numbing kisses, she was not ready to really take things further. She smiled gently at him and leaned in for another long, breath-taking kiss before letting herself out of his rooms.

After Hermione's exit, Severus spent a long time trying to come to grips with what had happened. He had wanted her to make the first move, and this she had done. Things had progressed much faster than he had anticipated, given his carefully crafted timetable. In truth, he had no idea how this evening's tryst had come about, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that he was glad beyond measure. Still, he doubted that she would want to continue. In his deeply insecure mind, he reasoned, she probably only kissed me out of pity. My display of passion, my admission of desire, is sure to have terrified her. No virgin could want me given how I just ravished her like a sex-starved animal. Hermione is the champion of the down-trodden, the enslaved, even the bloody house-elves, it must only be pity and compassion that had made her comfort me, he thought bleakly.

When Hermione returned to her rooms she couldn't stop thinking about Severus and his heated kisses. She would never have believed that she could feel such desire. She had tried very hard to be aroused by Ron and his enthusiastic fumblings. Even Victor had never really made her feel anything but mild curiosity. But this, this raging inferno of passion, this rather frightening need to feel Severus' touch, his skin, his hard cock... this was something completely unexpected. 'Think about it,' he had said. What's there to think about? Hermione knew she wanted him. If she had been braver and he had not been so inebriated, she would have insisted that he take her to bed this very night. Just thinking about it did things to her.