Obsidian Butterfly

Chapter Two

How can I forget you,

Disregard how I feel,

Silently listen,

To the words I can't see. - Portishead, Seven months

-------------------------------------------

(1996)

She couldn't pretend that she didn't imagine what Professor Snape looked like underneath all of his clothes. His eyes were what made her want to take his head into her bosom comfortingly and just be there for him. She was chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully when he called on her.

"Miss Granger, maybe you are so confident of your skills in my classroom that you cannot pay attention. Five seconds . . . what is the most powerful truth serum available?" He narrowed his eyes quizzically, wondering if he could intimidate the Gryffindor genius. She'd been staring off in to space since the beginning of the year and it was getting on his very last nerve. Longbottom had broken yet another vile of crushed snake fangs and he couldn't get Draco, Potter, and Weasley to stop harassing each other with hexes when they suspected he was not watching.

Hermione looked into his eyes and stuttered. "Uh, ver-" She shook her head and furrowed her brow, trying to remember the potion she knew she had read in a book somewhere. She shut her eyes. She had read tons of books; there had to be the right answer in there somewhere! Answers don't just disappear into thin air!

Harry, beside her, was shuffling his notes and whispered, "Veritaserum."

"Time, Miss Granger. Haven't got an answer for me today? Don't have your hand shot up in the air waving it like a lunatic now do you, Miss Granger? Does my class bore you so completely now that you have chosen not to bury yourself in my potions books?"

"Why are you being so mean?" Hermione whispered.

Professor Snape ignored her, "Start your work on the potions we've been going over, class. There will be no talking or horseplay of any kind -- Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Potter." Hermione watched him as he proceeded to his desk and sat down to grade papers with furious strokes of his infamous red quill. Harry took her by the elbow and gently led her to their cauldron.

+++++

Hermione knew she had to get this over with and tell him. She had the feeling she was getting obsessed. It was interfering with her schoolwork. She knew he wasn't as bad as everyone else had him out to be. In fact, Professor Snape was a very fit man. She admired him for shutting him off from the rest of the world, but at the same time she pitied him. What damage could loneliness bring upon even the strongest of people?

She went over her speech five times before she knocked softly at the door of Snape's office, and when he muttered, "Yes, what is it?" she opened the door just enough for her to squeeze in and shut it behind her. He looked up from his desk and barley kept his cool exterior. "What?"

Hermione stared at her feet as she made her way to the chair in front of his desk and sat stiffly while she fiddled with the end of her robes. "Yes, a surprise. Um, Professor, I-" She had forgotten her speech that she had scribbled on parchment in her robe pocket on the way to the dungeons after dinner and she wasn't about to whip it out and recite it like a Shakespearean lady. Harry and Ron thought she was talking to Professor McGonagall. She felt bad for lying, but she felt that the privacy of the matter was not only hers in this situation.

Snape stared at her and leaned back in his seat. It was most amusing, what could possibly be wrong with this silly girl? He watched her face redden with embarrassment before she whispered something he barley heard, and once he deciphered the meaning of her hushed words, he wasn't so sure he was lucky to have heard them in the first place.

"Pardon?"

"I'm attracted to you," she repeated, still staring at the floor. She bit her lip, clenched her eyes shut, and lowered her head down on the edge of his desk hard enough to make him jump.

"Sorry?" Snape asked, leaning forward.

"Damnit, don't make me say it a third time! I know I shouldn't have these feelings, but I do and I was supposed to be rid of it when I came to tell you but I find myself wishing that you would just take me in your arms and kiss me," Hermione murmured into her arm. She knew she would regret this, but she felt lighter and lighter as the words left her heart.

"Are you aware that I'm twenty years your senior?" Snape asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his cushioned chair. In all honesty, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He wanted to send her away, be as mean as possible to get her away from him, but he didn't want her to go.

"Erm . . . yes?"

"You can't answer a question with another question, Miss Granger," Snape said softly, staring at the tip of her head, which was still on his desk. "You don't find our age difference a bit unnerving?"

"No, sir." Hermione shook her head. Snape smiled, actually smiled, at the shyness in the girl before him. He had to admit that she had grown up rather well. He shook his head and sighed; the professor in him was telling him, "You can't possibly have a relationship with this girl. She's your student." The man in him whispered, "You haven't touched a woman in years. What the bloody hell are you waiting for?" He could see them both on either side of his shoulders, arguing like devil and angel, though he could not figure out which one was which at the moment. They were driving him mad.

"Look at me," Snape ordered gently. Hermione lifted her head so that she could rest her chin upon his desk with a cautious expression. "Hermione Jane Granger, there are so many reasons why this is wrong."

"I can give you an equal amount on why it is right." She almost kicked herself right there. I sound like I'm quoting from a goddamn romance novel.

Snape got up from his desk and took her arm, pulling her from the chair to lead her to the door. The man in him was winning. Oh, it was winning and he didn't like it at all. Well, the professor didn't like it; the other half liked it just fine. Snape shook his head in an attempt to ward out his intrapersonal battle. He was getting irate.

Hermione tiptoed and brushed her lips against Snape's. They both gasped and stiffened.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione gasped and backed away, but before she had a chance to make a mad dash out of the room, Snape pulled her against his robes. They stared at each other, both afraid to make the first move, until she kissed him on the chin and again on the mouth.

She kissed him. Snape had only imagined what the lips of a woman would feel like against his, and he had never thought to consider the fact that they would be feathery soft. She let her hands roam up his back and through his unwashed hair. It didn't matter how many clothes he was wearing, he could feel her hands through his robes and underclothes as if he were wearing only a thin cotton layer. He pressed his lips harder against hers and followed her as she moved them to his desk.

"I'm not a good kisser," Hermione said as she eased his back onto the desk over parchment and unused quills. He was not a very organized person.

"You're doing fine." Snape nuzzled her neck, sending chills down to her toes and gooseflesh rising on her skin. She moaned softly and nipped at his ear. Snape let his hands sneak under her robes and beneath her uniform. They both jerked away when Hermione cried out. "You should go. This was wrong. I'm sorry for touching you, Miss Granger." Snape panted, combing a hand through his hair.

Hermione wanted to tell him that she liked it, but nodded, touching her stomach where his warmth still lingered on her skin. He was looking at her with such disgust that she wished she could crumple into her robes and disappear. "But-."

"Get out!"

She bit her lip to taste what was left of Snape on her mouth and dashed from the room, almost unable to stop the tears from running down her eyes. If she was going to cry, it was going to be in the safety of her own room with a silencing charm.

***************

(2003)

Luna Lovegood sighed and slouched over the counter and sipped at a cup of promised orange tea. "My mother once told me after I kissed our next door neighbor's son on the mouth, 'If you truly love something and let it go, and it comes back to you that it was truly meant to be yours.' It's kind of like a butterfly."

Both Hermione and Severus had turned their full attention to the blonde, equally gobsmacked. Severus wanted to tell her to shut her mouth, but recalled that during his time with her, she'd been known to say thought provoking things.

"Have you ever noticed that the sight of a butterfly on the finger of a friend or stranger is extremely rare, almost unheard of?"

Hermione and Severus looked at each other.

"Well, what say you? It wasn't a rhetorical question."

"I don't Adam and Eve this," Severus sighed, turning for the door.

"Don't leave," Hermione said, with an edge of panic in her voice. She had waited years for him to come into her door, and when he finally came, Luna was driving him away with her malarkey.

"Yes, please don't leave. I'm not through yet. You don't even have to answer the question!" Luna said, using a set of chopsticks to perfectly match her words with. She was making the whole story up for the benefit of both Hermione and Severus, because they were both smart people, if not a bit slow when it came to their feelings. "Okay," She started again once Severus leaned against a shelf of salves. "Love is like a butterfly. When you let the butterfly go and it comes back, it was truly meant to be yours. It's funny though, because I've never seen a person with a lovely butterfly perched upon their shoulders as if it were a parrot." Luna was twirling a piece of her long blonde hair thoughtfully. "It's rare that a butterfly, or love, would come back to the one that let it go; they usually die first or become lost."

Hermione and Severus looked at each other, and back to Luna, who cleared her throat loudly and grabbed a newspaper. "Well! I'm off to Diagon Alley to pick up a new pair of robes from Madam Malkin's. Nice to see you again, Severus. I love the shop, Hermione. Bye then!" Luna smiled and skipped out of the shop with a newspaper over her head to shield from the rain that had dwindled to a soft shower.

"Would you like a tour?" Hermione asked after several moments of uncomfortable silence. Severus wore his usual black robes. He always did look good in black. She took his arm, dismissed his frigidness, and led him around the tables of powders and oils to the shelves of various books and pamphlets. Before Hermione could ask anything of him a short old woman with a large black handbag walked in and smiled at her. "Mrs. Underwood, how is your arthritis?" She grabbed her reading glasses from the counter and took the old woman by the hand. Severus lingered to the back of the store. Hermione had always been a people person, something he never really understood, but secretly highly admired.

Mrs. Underwood smiled sweetly and clutched Hermione's hand in her own. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Grandmum or at least my first name you daft child? Now, where is Crookshanks, dear?"

"I actually have no clue. . . ." Hermione said slowly while turning around to scan the store. She called his name thrice before shaking her head, dismissing the cat altogether. "What can I do for you?"

"Erm . . . alfalfa, willow bark, and aloe vera," Mrs. Underwood read off of a list she had produced from her pink jumper pocket. "And a bit of that lovely green tea if you have any more left."

"Run out already? You need to cut down on the alfalfa; if you need to go to the doctor's again I'll pay for it," Hermione said gently as she tried to reach the willow bark on the top shelf. Severus sighed and made his way to the shelf and grabbed the vile. "Wrong one. Left, other left. Thank you, sir."

After Mrs. Underwood left with her herbs and a box of green tea, two young ladies had walked in followed by a rather skittish bloke. The rain had finally ended, bringing in a swarm of customers. Severus was quite enjoying the run-around Hermione was going through. He had to let himself barge into her living quarters after watching her play with a customer's child. He didn't realize how tired he was until he sat on her couch and fell asleep, inhaling peppermint oils and listening to her laughter downstairs.

***************

(2000)

Hermion's favorite customer was an old short woman with white hair and black glasses with thick frames, they were old-fashioned but they looked natural on her. There were many wrinkles on her kindly old face but it was what Hermione thought made the woman so pleasant to look at. Each wrinkle had sort of a personality of its own.

When she first opened the shop Mrs. Underwood had been the very first customer and it had been on pure mistake, for she had thought it was the stationary store that had been there the year before. They began to have afternoon tea and then confiding to the old woman seemed only natual, she reminded her of Professor McGonagall at times with her sharp intellect and kind nature.

One afternoon when they were out on the roof underneath a floral umbrella with Earl Grey tea and fresh scones baked personally by Mrs. Underwood, she cleared her throat delicately and smiled, "Hermione dear, do you have someone you fancy? Why don't you date?"

At this inquiry, Hermione choked on her tea, scalding her throat and coughed violently. Mrs. Underwood tensed, but refrained from patting her on the back. She wasn't going to die.

"Alright then, drink your brew before it gets cold!"

"Young lady, don't you dare try to change the subject. I have had many children and they have had many children. I will not let you get out of this conversation just because you're not technically my child," It was true, Mrs. Underwood thought of Hermione as her surrogate daughter. She had even gone to Mr. Underwood's funeral last fall and that had meant more to her than anything she could ever think of.

"Sorry Nora," Hermione began her story about Severus Snape, Hogwarts, Harry and Ron, and the whole wizarding world in that whole afternoon. It was dusk when she had finally ended with what had happened graduation night. They had both missed dinner and their stomachs were growling.

"Well, well. I do say that it sounds to me that you're not just caught in a fancy," Hermione stopped gathering their empty dishes from the cold table and gave the woman she loved so dearly a suspicious look. "Old-fashioned love, my sweet. " She pat Hermione's smooth young skin and winked, "When you wait for someone that long it's either fear or love."

"Fear? Fear of what?" Hermione was very curious because in a matter of speaking she was afraid of Snape in the sense that he would never leave her alone, or that he would. In her mind he was there waiting for her to liven up her dreams at night. Sometimes she woke up uncomfortable in the middle of the night and wonder what was wrong with her. Did girls in their twenties really fantasize over men twice their age? Grumpy men twice their age?

Mrs. Underwood adjusted her black dress and folded her hands over her large belly, smiling and giving Hermione the impression of a bear. "Fear of moving on and losing that image of perfection of which you grew so comfortable with. I've seen his picture, the one where he scowling and making a potion?"

Hermione laughed and nodded, reaching back into a drawer and pulling out the still moving picture. Severus was frowning at a vial of a very nasty looking potion which bubbled and fizzed madly, it obviously wasn't what he had wanted in the first place. No potion to her knowledge bubbled and fizzed with quite that much enthusiasm. Potions Master, pff!

"I asked the headmaster, Dumbledore to take this one for me. He has this little invisible network all around the school that takes pictures for our year books. You've seen most of them,"

"I always wondered how you had such good shots in there."

"Hungry?"

"Always!" Mrs. Underwood pat her belly and smiled, just like a bear indeed. Hermione, who was glad to get the subject away from Severus, took out her best cooking ware and set to work while listening to Mrs. Underwood complain about the next door neighbors who insisted that she teach their daughter how to play the piano. Among the many things the old woman was good at, it was the piano. Best in the Muggle world and maybe even the Wizarding world.

+++++

Severus burst into the classroom, immediately demanding silence due to the dull ache that his head had set itself in. Be it the lack of sleep or the odd meal scheduele he wasn't sure of, but it was tearing his very last nerve. He took roll with a quick sweep of his black eyeballs and frowned when his most mischevious Ravenclaw sat there with a faint smile on her face and no essay infront of her as her classmates had so obediently made sure to place infront of them.

"Miss Voight, where is your paper?"

"Ravenclaw girl's dormitory, in my room by the bed, on the nightstand next to my two books on Muggle artifacts, underneath my favorite nightlamp-"

"Enough!" Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and gave her a glare that even Voldemort would have been proud of, "Why don't you have it?"

"Forgot."

"But you know where it is?"

"Exactly, but you didn't let me finish-"

"I don't wish to hear anymore of your ridiculous malarkey, Miss Granger." He winced and regretted it the instant he said it.

"Sir-"

"EVERYONE GET TO WORK ON A RANDOM POTION. IMMEDIATELY!" Severus barked. Almost straight away he had wished he had an Exploding Fluid right in hand. Stupid daftness! Of course Miss Voight didn't bring back the heated arguments he and Hermione had during classes over her work and why he always chose to pick on Neville and almost murderously harassed Harry, her best friend. "Miss Voight, detention after dinner. If you're late, you will serve all week."

Dreams about the graduated Gryffindor made him nervous to sleep at night. They were so realistic that he felt sometimes he would wake up making love to a cold wall instead of a warm curvacious body. So, he prowled the halls in search of students out of bed. She was a newborn by the time he was twenty! The cliche, "Love knows no age." was probably written by a flock of foolish and fancy-strucken teenagers who didn't know what the hell they were talking about or getting themselves into if that quote was written from personal experience.

Maybe they were just one of the lucky ones.

Why after all this time was he still thinking about her? What was it about her lips that made him wish that he didn't scare her in his office that night during her sixth year? He was trying to be logical about this and push her away but that didn't seem to work.

"Can't sleep, Severus?"

The man jumped and whirled around, his loose robes twirling around him like a protective wave over an invisible lover. "Dumbledore?"

"Cheers." The man smiled, making him look at least twenty years younger. No wonder he was always cheerful. Severus thought about giving it a try but then he reconsidered. He had no one to impress.

"What do you want?"

"I'm concerned for you. Is something the matter?"

"Absolutely not."

"Sleeping draught?"

"Sorry?"

Dumbledore chuckled and rested his elbows on the railing to stare down at the moving staircases. His eyes followed each staircase from it's first home to the second destination. "Do you notice how the staircase always goes back to where it was in the very beginning?"

"Please just answer my question straightforward for once, Albus. My head hurts and I miss her." Severus growled at his foul-up and turned to leave.

"Severus don't leave unless you want to be stunned. I know that would be the only way you would stay to listen to me." Dumbledore said the last sentence with a touch of sadness. It always got him what he wanted because everyone was so loyal and loved him so much that no one could help but give the old man what he wanted. The old man who loved sweets so very much. "Why must you have to be so stubborn, even to yourself?"

"Because it's a feeling that I don't desearve."

"Everyone desearves love-"

"I never said anything about love, Albus."

Dumbledore's smile grew even wider, "You didn't have to."

"What do you-"

The headmaster cleared his throat loudly, not leaving any room for interruption, "As I was saying about the staircases, Severus, they always go back to where they were in the beginning no matter how far they tend to stray from where they were originally built."

"They're magical staircases, Albus."

The old man carried on as if he'd never been interrupted. Severus hated being ignored. "The Greeks believed that there was no male being or a female being. They thought that when you found the other half of your soul, that person would be the perfect lover." Severus began to blush. "Right then, I think you should see Poppy and take a spot of Sleeping Draught if the dreams are bothering you so."

"How the-"

"Carry on!"

Severus was seething. He stood there in the dark with his fists clenched so tightly that when he let go he could feel where his fingernails were dug into the skin. It hurt to take them out. He respected Albus Dumbledore, he really did but there were times, like these, that he wished he could give him a good hexing.

Did any of this really matter?

Did he really care or was he so lonely that he was bringing back memories of a past romance, if you could call it that, to give him a good pleasure every now and then?

***************

(2003)

Hermione sighed, locked the door, and turned off the lights. Turning in early in the evening usually left her for an early day but it was how she liked it. She dragged herself up the stairs and flung herself over her table in the small kitchen with a frustrated sigh.

"Tired?" Hermione screamed and fell over the side of the table onto the cold tile floor. Severus cursed and ran into the kitchen. He couldn't see where she had fallen because it was a moonless night and she had failed to turn on the lights when she entered, interrupting his deep sleep. "Miss Granger?"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Does that mean you're okay?" He asked, arching a brow into the direction of her voice even though he knew she couldn't possibly see it.

"It means I'm absobloodylutely fantastic!" She groaned in pain, and while trying to reach for the switch on the wall, she knocked over a glass of water. "Shite!"

"Graceful," Severus commented with a smile. He'd seen her dance on one occasion when he had walked into an abandoned tower to stretch his legs after grading a mountain of papers. He liked to watch the owls come onto school grounds with parchment tied to their legs over the invisible curves of the wind guiding them as though by a leash to safety. She was graceful always when he saw her; now she was an absolute mess and he didn't know why he had an urge to help her up into his arms and dry her with a towel.

"Shut up!" Hermione rubbed her head and shivered with cold as she finally touched the prized outlet and flicked on the light. "I forgot you were up here. I was so tired and it just slipped my mind." Wet ringlets of her brown hair clung to the side of her cheek, teasing him unintentionally. Surely a woman wouldn't go through the physical hazards to have a man swoop to her rescue. No, this was a feminist age he was living in and he didn't like it in the least. At one minute they were warm and pliant in his hands. . . in a man's hand, and in the next they were cursing a man's language of: SHITE!, FUCK!, ARSEWIPE!, DYKE!, and many other words that he had not said himself but surely heard the students uttering under their breaths. A lady was taught in his day to be polite, quiet unless spoken to, and a faithful woman, and she certainly didn't chase after the man.

Severus nodded, trying to keep his eyes above her chest. She was cold and wet. He shouldn't have come at all, not if he was going to think about things that he shouldn't be thinking in the first place. "Maybe I should go."

"No!" Hermione grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye. "You just got here, and I've been too busy with customers. I'm sorry, the shop is closed tomorrow. Sunday is a holy day in the world of Muggles. Do you have a place to stay?"

"No, I-"

"Stay here. You can conjure the couch into a mattress." Hermione patted the couch as she strode by.

"Miss Granger-"

"Hermione!" She shrieked, causing him to jump. She smirked and tried to hold in a giggle until she cleared her throat and looked at him with a grave look upon her face. "Why are you really here?"

"You've got a bump on your head," Severus whispered, kneeling and taking her head into his hands to inspect the wound. She didn't pull away as he thought she would; she merely asked again. She watched his coal black eyes sweep over her skin and linger over her lips before he cleared his throat and turned away. "I don't know. Ah, I didn't want to come, but I did. I couldn't keep myself away."

"Well I daresay that it has been what, six years?" Hermione counted on her fingers and nodded, confirming her calculation. "Are you going to let me touch you?" Severus winced before he nodded. "You don't have to say yes-"

"I nodded."

"It looked painful."

"It was."

"I have herbs downstairs for that. Free of charge," Hermione said, grinning. "Or should I take you to a hospital?"

"Merlin, no!"

"Then what's all the fuss about? You can't let yourself be loved by anyone? Always have your guard up like the bloody Azkaban fortress."

"I'm not-"

"Bollocks!" She grabbed a brown bottle from the refrigerator. "Do you want one?"

"Pardon?"

"Ale, Severus. It's an ale," She thought for a moment and laughed. "I don't think you've had ale, have you? You look more of a wine bloke to me." She slid the brown bottle towards Severus, who caught it with both hands and watched her open it at the side of the table which he had noticed had a chunk of wood missing.

She didn't know why she felt so cold inside. The cogs in her brain were trying to go backward when she wanted them to go forward. She, Harry, and Ron usually had drink binges on Saturday evenings. She grabbed the phone and dialed Harry's mobile. "I'll just be a moment," she said, before immediately saying, "Harry! Hey, not tonight . . . nothing's wrong. Yes, the cat's still alive." She laughed and cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, head cocked to one side.

Severus smiled and sat at the table, his own ale unopened. He didn't want to damage her table even though it seemed to have a chunk taken out at each side for the simple task of opening an ale. How very cosmopolitan. He studied her home from his seat. The place was warm, but cluttered with novels, notebooks, herbal dictionaries, and magic studies. Severus reached across the table and grabbed the first book his fingers made contact with: Leonardo da Vinci's Notebooks, definitive Edition in One Volume . He arched a brow and flipped to the very first page, which held a picture of a rather sad old man, which reminded him very much of Dumbledore when he was lost in thought. The page was entitled Self-Portrait, yet it was not creative or nearly looking finished at all.

He grunted and tossed the book back on the table away from him, staring at it as if it would bite his fingers off.

"What?" Hermione asked, sitting next to him and leaning over to look at what book he had been looking at.

"It's not 'what', it's 'pardon' or 'sorry?'. And it's this da Vinci bloke. He's vile."

"Well I can't imagine why. He's been dead for quite some time now, Severus. What could he have possibly done to get your knickers in a twist?"

"He didn't complete this piece and he's going to call it a portrait? What kind of person would leave such a thing unfinished and dare to take credit for it? Surely the man has no pride in who he is?" Severus, at this moment, was getting very much into his patronization of the dead Renaissance artist, started to rise from his seat and clasp his hands behind his back as he had done when Hermione was in his class.

"It's a goddamn sketch, Severus."

"And he's recognized for a goddamn sketch?"

"Yes, he's recognized! He's a well respected artist of the -- no!" She grabbed his hand and moved the book away with the other. "No distractions! I want to talk about us."

"Sorry?"

Hermione shook her head and looked into his eyes. "Don't 'sorry' me, Severus. Did I disappoint you when we first-"

"You cried out, Miss-"

"HERMIONE!"

Severus jumped and grabbed the bottle of ale from her hand while juggling his own to throw in the sink. "I think you've had enough of this for one night, Hermione."

"Are you implying that I'm a lightweight?" Hermione asked furiously.

"Not at all."

Hermione grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely on the mouth. Snape was shocked when he found himself kissing her back as desperately as she was him. Her soft hair smelled of tea rose and peppermint. There was burning incense in the corner that clouded a thin blanket overhead.

"Does this remind you of something?"

Severus turned his head and almost laughed with irony as he found himself bent over backward with Hermione on top of him as they had been several years back. Hopefully things would go far better than they had back then. "Aye, it does."

"You can touch me under my clothes. I promise when I cry out it won't be because you're scaring me," Hermione said with an edge of laughter in her voice.

Severus wanted to touch her, but the situation was not something of familiarity with him. He had only bedded one woman and that had been in his seventh year at Hogwarts. His sex drive was roaring, but he was so hesitant at loving a woman twenty-one years his junior. She could very well be his child!

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked holding his face in her hands. She searched his eyes for a clue. What was he thinking? Was he going to back away at the very last moment as he had years before? Those obsidian eyes had frightened more people away than they had invited. It was like tar waiting to suck one in and never let them out. She understood why students had preferred to look at his ear when they had to talk face to face with him. He had looks that would indeed deal death, or maybe even worse. "Severus?"

"I can't do this."

"Then we won't sleep with each other," she said, smiling and kissing him on the mouth.

"Hermione. . ." She was leading them both to the couch. ". . . what are you doing?"

"Sitting down on the couch with you." She didn't move to touch him. He almost wished she would. "I know how hard it is for you to be intimate with someone. Especially someone who could very well be your bloody daughter." Severus winced. She had worded it perfectly.

He wanted her beneath him wriggling and moaning his name, but it wasn't right. He wasn't going to play the stoic gallant hero as he would have expected in a bloke such as Harry Potter. Always was the one to sweep the lass from her feet and kiss her senseless until she would have been glad to leave the famous Harry Potter if it would have made him happy. He knew he was not what the girls would call, "a heartthrob", but he didn't care. He had never gone out of his way to impress anyone and he wasn't going to go out of his way to protect a relationship between a silly girl and her infatuations. "You were too easy."

She froze. He could see it in the way her back stood up straight, and her hands stopped moving on his flesh like many little worms on the warm earth, lying there, still as dry twigs in a silent dark night. "What?"

"I'm an old man and I couldn't possibly have feelings for one as young as you, Hermione. You are a very intelligent young woman with a future ahead of her." Every breath he took was like a string constricting itself around his chest, making it harder and harder to tell her these lies. Of course he loved her; this was why he was doing this. He was using his sick leave to come see her and get this off of his chest. Nothing would ever happen between them if he got his way. He couldn't give her everything she needed and in all honesty he couldn't really stand her.

"You don't kiss like that . . . respond like that unless you mean it, Severus."

"And you know this from experience?" Severus snapped. Hermione jumped and stared at the floor as if she were in a trance. He watched her blank gaze dig holes into the carpet for what seemed like hours, but he knew were only mere seconds. She looked beaten. He got up from the couch and almost tumbled down the steps; his legs were trembling with the rest of his body as he tried to push himself from the little shop. "How do you open the bloody door?" He snarled as he shoved his body against the glass.

"You have to unlock it first."

Severus whirled around, back flat against the door. Her deadpan voice wrapped itself around his throat; her wet eyes seemed to bore into his soul. The white streetlights outside made her skin look deathly pale. He cleared his throat, "Thank you."

"No problem."

Severus turned from her and ran out the door, robes flying behind him as if they had a life of their own and enjoyed the rough caresses of the wind beneath its cloth. He didn't know how, but he could hear a woman's cries ringing in his ears growing louder with each step he took. All he had to do was wave his wand and the Knight Bus would take him back to Hogsmeade so that he could return to his dank quarters in the Hogwarts dungeon.

He felt so empty. The stoic gallant hero he was trying not to be was molding itself into his soul. He wanted to run back to the shop and take her into his arms as if nothing would ever part them again but he knew that she would never forgive him. He had taken a piece of her heart from him knowingly to protect her from him. Why did it bother him so much? He had to admit it; Harry Potter was a man to respect if he did this on a month-to-month basis.

***************

To Be Continued. . .