Survivors

CHAPTER 17

A Little Awkward

The next morning, Hermione entered the Great Hall through the staff entrance and was greeted by the low drone of a couple of hundred students eating breakfast, or at least sipping drowsily at the contents of their cups. A quick reconnaissance of the staff table showed the back of Severus' head, next to a long line of empty chairs: Professor Sinistra and Angelina were either not there yet, or had already left, and Remus would still be recovering from the full moon. Making a quick decision, Hermione took the one beside Severus.

"Good morning," she murmured, reaching for the coffee.

Severus paused with a triangle of toast topped with a fried egg halfway to his mouth. "Good morning," he replied in a low voice.

Hermione poured herself a cup, feeling that he was watching her. She set the pot down and turned to look at him.

He nodded slowly once, dark eyes fixed on hers, and then resumed eating his toast.

Hermione felt a little awkward. She almost felt like she should make conversation, but that had never been received well before, especially not during meals. Had something changed between them, or not? Severus did seem to be acting a little differently; more attentive, perhaps. She decided that she'd done enough by sitting beside him again, and that if he wanted to converse, then he should say something.

She took a piece of toast and was just buttering it when someone sat down on the other side of her: Professor Sinistra. The haughty-looking woman with the severe hairstyle that would give Minerva a run for her money glanced curiously at Hermione. "Have we altered the seating arrangements then?" she asked, not impolitely.

"Oh, erm, I just had something I wanted to, erm, discuss with Professor Snape," Hermione said quickly.

Professor Sinistra shrugged and reached for the coffee pot.

"So," Hermione said, casting about in her mind for a cover, "Severus, what are you going to be working on with your N.E.W.T. class this week?" She turned to him, hoping he would play along.

He raised an eyebrow. "What concern is that of yours?" he asked, appearing very interested in what Hermione might answer.

Hermione jerked her head in what she hoped was an inconspicuous manner toward Professor Sinistra.

Snape pressed his lips together. "Invisibility potions, if you must know. I was inspired by the hellebore samples you brought back. But there is another matter of more...immediate concern." He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Will Lupin be recovered enough by this evening to resume his duties as Head of House?"

Hermione found Snape's sudden concern with Remus' well-being to be slightly disconcerting, but responded nevertheless, "I assume so; he usually takes a 24-hour leave. He'll sleep all day, maybe take dinner in his room, but he should be available tonight. Why? Is there a meeting?"

"No--" Snape put his napkin down on his plate. "--not for the House Heads at any rate. I will see you tonight after curfew in my quarters." He stood in one smooth motion and exited the room without looking back.

Hermione's heart started hammering. She looked to her left, but Professor Sinistra was staring straight ahead, her elbows resting on the table, holding her coffee cup with both hands. She didn't give a sign of having heard their exchange.

She was just getting up to go to her first class, her knees a little weak, when Angelina rushed in. "Hey, Hermione, how were your hols?" she asked, slightly out of breath, as she leaned over the table to snag a piece of toast.

"Fine, I suppose," Hermione said. After all the emotional ups and downs, she wasn't sure whether she would characterize them as 'fine'. Not entirely unpleasant, either, however.

"Anything happen? Hey, why're you sitting over there?" she asked around a mouthful of toast. She had crammed the entire piece in in one.

"Oh, I erm...nothing. It was all empty when I came down." What did Snape want to see her for?

Professor Sinistra looked askance at Hermione, but didn't say anything.

Angelina, still standing, had finished her toast and now reached over to pour herself a large glass of pumpkin juice.

"Hey, how's Reem. Full moon last night, eh?"

"Haven't seen him yet." Hermione shrugged, forcing herself to put Severus out of her mind for the moment. "You got back late."

"Yeah, I flew in just now, to tell you the truth. Gotta squeeze every last drop of goodness out of the time Dougal and I spend together." She grinned cheekily. "Hey, you want to come by tonight? I've got some gorgeous shots of him in action...on the pitch, obviously!"

"Er...some other time, all right?" Hermione begged off. "I've got a meeting already set up." She hoped Angelina wouldn't ask who the meeting was with!

"Ah, Hermione, always with the nose to the grindstone. You need to get a man." She started gulping her pumpkin juice.

Hermione laughed, rather more nervously than she might otherwise have, had she not just had that very interesting encounter with Severus. "Oh, Angelina, you know me. Books are my one true love."

...xOxOxOx...

What to wear? The eternal question. Complicated by the fact that she had no blooming clue as to what the point of this meeting (date? rendezvous? tryst?) was. The possibilities ranged from him reading her the riot act and telling her in no uncertain terms to get out of his life once and for all, to a round of deviant sexual acts. Honestly, she hoped it was something in between. She didn't want to look too eager (to avoid embarrassment in case of the first scenario, to avoid giving the impression of willingness in the second), but she did want to look nice, just in case...

Witches' robes for certain, as he had made it clear that he detested Muggle fashions. Something voluminous and somber? All she had that fit that description was what she wore to teach in, and she did want to at least make the point that she'd cared enough to change. Not that he'd probably notice anyway, she grumbled to herself. Men! Well, the red one she'd worn to the reunion was out. That had clearly been too suggestive. The dark brown velvet one with the narrow skirt? Maybe. Although it was hard to move around in, if she had to-- Oh stop it! Just pick one, it doesn't matter, she scolded herself. All right then...the midnight blue with the flared, floor-length skirt and the silver trim. It was matte, high-necked and had long sleeves with triangular mitons extending over the backs of her hands. The trim made it a touch too formal, perhaps, but at least she had chosen something.

On to hair. Her eternal nightmare. She'd cut it all off one of these days. But tonight...plenty of Sleekeasy's, although it did tend to leave a residue on one's fingers-- Come off it, Hermione! He won't be touching your hair. He'll probably torment and humiliate you for a while, as usual. Maybe get in a good Curse or two. So, hair in a thick braid on one side over her shoulder.

Makeup? It's dark down in that dungeon anyway. But all right, just a little something to even out her complexion. A touch of Neverfade lip colour. An accent on her eyes.

Nearly ten o'clock. It's now or never. Hermione felt for her wand in her pocket and headed out the door.

...xOxOxOx...

"Good evening." Snape opened the entrance to his quarters and allowed Hermione to enter. He was wearing a black waistcoat and trousers, having removed the caftan.

Well, well, she's put on a dress that says 'no touching'. Perhaps she is having second thoughts. I certainly am. This will never, never work. She will expect some sort of give-and-take, devotion, sharing. She will want to become a part of my life, require me to take an interest in hers. She should have stuck with Weasley, left me to my own broodings.

Hermione walked in and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "You've tidied up since the last time," she noted.

Last time? Ah yes, the play. I was in a bit of a temper.

"House-elves," he said tersely and walked over to the fire, his back to her.

What now? I ordered her here, like some tart, and now? If she were nothing more than a tart, I would take her now; the memory of how she looked at me, breathed, 'Give me Severus'... Every night I am kept from sleep by those words.

She waited for a moment, but he didn't say anything, didn't even look at her, staring instead into the fire. She was beginning to feel a bit foolish.

"So," she broke the silence.

Snape started, as if he'd forgotten she was there. He turned halfway toward her, a frown on his face. "So."

"Erm...Did you have a nice day?" And next we can discuss the weather.

"It was no different than any other Monday."

"No, then." She smiled nervously.

Snape half-smiled. Either send her away or play along. He sighed. "And you?"

"I took two of Remus' Defense classes today. We put the third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs together in the first hour and the second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs together in the second hour for Defense, and the same in the afternoon for my History classes."

Snape was watching her with a blank expression.

"But you didn't want to see me for a discussion of course schedules, I assume."

He frowned, saying, "No," but did not elaborate.

Hermione took a couple of tentative steps toward him. "Severus...?"

He stiffened. "Hermione, I-- This is quite awkward."

She stopped. "Shall I help?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"You..." She tried to choose her words carefully, so as not to embarrass him. Or herself. "...feel there is a certain...interest between us, but you aren't sure what to do about it. If anything."

Snape did not respond, so she figured she couldn't be all too far off. Otherwise he would have already laughed in her face. She took a deep breath and continued, "I don't know, either. We don't really know each other, do we. I mean, we saw each other every week for six years, but you probably didn't take more notice of me than any other snotty half-wit you taught." She smiled in spite of herself, and noticed that the corner of his mouth twitched, too.

"You forget that you were not just Hermione Granger, know-it-all, you were the brains of Potter's operation." Somehow, he made it sound uncomplimentary.

So she was indelibly associated with Harry in his mind. She knew how he felt, personally, about Harry. Rather than go into that at this point, she turned the conversation back towards him. "And you were--"

"I was the Greasy Git, the evil bat of the dungeons," he interrupted, somewhat bitterly.

Hermione waited a moment before continuing, gently, "That's not what I was going to say. I know, that's what a lot of students thought of you." Still do. "But I recognized that you were trying to teach us something, and you didn't have any patience for students who weren't serious about learning what you had to offer. I can completely sympathize with that, teaching a mandatory subject." She smiled again, more warmly this time. "Do they have a nickname for me, by the way?" she asked out of sudden curiosity.

"Pouffe."

Hermione frowned. "Pouffe? They think I'm a gay man?" She looked down at her body. Breasts, check. Hips, check. Of all the--

Snape actually snorted. "No, I shouldn't think so. I would imagine it refers to...this--" He waved his hands around his head, indicating her hair.

"Oh." She crossed her arms over her chest and continued to frown. When would everyone stop harping on her hair?

"And perhaps History of Magic being a 'soft' subject."

"Mm," she grumped, slightly mollified.

"I suppose it might also refer to your magical ability. Being a bit lacking," he drawled.

OK, now he was getting personal. "My magical ability isn't lacking!" she protested. "I'll have you know I got Os on ten out of eleven O.W.L.s and seven out of eight N.E.W.T.s, and Es on the rest!"

"Which shows you are skillful at studying, nothing else." It actually looked like he was having fun putting her down.

"There were practical bits on those tests!"

"Anyone could pass those tests with a good enough memory and a bit of wit."

"Oh yes? I'll bet I did better than you did anyway!"

"And yet who has the greater power at their disposal?" A sneer was beginning to form on his lips.

She was on the verge of drawing her wand, and in fact her fingers twitched over her pocket. If this had been back in her student days, she would have done it. She knew now, though, what terrible destruction, both physical and psychological, the improper use of magic could cause.

"You're older than me. More experienced," she said stiffly, flexing her fingers at her side.

"Yes." And now he was the old scornful, sour Potions master again.

This was deteriorating, Hermione thought despondently. Once more, true to form, they were reverting to the old pattern of insult and defense. She drew herself up, put her chin in the air. "Is that why you asked me here tonight? To insult and belittle me?"

Snape seemed to struggle with the answer before finally admitting through gritted teeth, "No."

Hermione's stance relaxed slightly. "Why do you do it then? Do I threaten you in some way? Me, with my feeble powers and immature mind?" she taunted.

Merlin help me, yes. You do threaten me. You stir up memories...ones I've worked so hard to forget. And feelings...ones I'd forgotten, or perhaps never had before.

He stared at her, a mixture of resentfulness and intensity. "Why do you persist in encroaching on my life?" My intricately compartmentalized existence, my hard-won peace of mind?

Leaving aside the fact that you're the one who invited me to come here tonight, she thought, and said aloud, "I don't mean it as an imposition, but I guess I've come to appreciate you more since I've been teaching here. I admire your knowledge and your achievements. I respect your teaching." And you make my whole body respond in the most delicious ways.

"And you wish to learn from me?" His tone was a contemptuous sneer.

"I'm sure I could learn many things from you--" She shrugged. "--but I don't expect that."

"What do you expect, then?" He seemed hungry to know the answer.

Difficult. Hermione thought for a moment, looking down and fingering her sleeve. "I suppose that you treat me with a decent amount of respect; beyond that, I don't really think I have the right to expect anything."

"You pity me," he threw at her, "you imagine that I am unhappy."

I can damn well see that you're unhappy! "I told you before, I don't pity you. I think I understand better now why you are the way you are." Especially after finding out about Dumbledore and seeing the trial. "Is understanding, or trying to understand, so bad? I'm not just here because I think you need a friend, though." She swallowed over a dry throat, flicked her eyes toward him and then away again.

"Then why?" His tenseness was audible.

"For my own interest. I thought..." She sought his eyes again. "I liked it when you kissed me." The announcement was bold and left a ringing silence in its wake.

To hear those words, that acknowledgement...I can offer no reciprocation of her honesty. It is embarrassing how easily swayed I am by this woman.

Snape looked down. "You initiated that...exchange."

"Maybe the first time," she reminded him with a coy smile, "but not the second."

"Will you throw that in my face?" he snarled. "A moment's weakness--"

Hermione took the opportunity to quickly close the distance between them. Standing now beside the armchair behind which Snape was wont to barricade himself, she persisted, "Why is it a weakness? Is that what causes you to insult and push me away? Do you think that showing an inclination toward tenderness is a weakness?"

"Tenderness, sentiment, emotional displays, those are nothing more than Achilles tendons, to be exploited," he said scathingly. "They never lead to anything but grief and unhappiness."

"Just like insults, humiliation, and hostility," she enumerated back at him. "And you know what? If the outcome's the same either way, I'd rather you made me unhappy with tenderness than with insults. At least I'd get some pleasure out of it," she concluded huffily.

Snape's eyes widened, and for a moment she thought he was going to let loose with a tirade again, but then the most amazing thing happened. He chuckled.

A little startled at first, unsure whether he was just making fun of her again, she bristled defensively.

"Miss Granger, I am pleased to see that you have indeed learned something from your association with me over the past few months. I used to be able to dispense with you with a few words, but you have risen worthily to the challenge." He continued to smile, although he was clearly unused to doing so. It was an unusual yet not entirely unpleasant look for him.

"You-- Was this whole thing some sort of test?" she asked indignantly. "Were you setting me up to see how I'd respond to your challenges?" The slimy little--

"Not at all; I assure you that our conversation has been genuine. I am merely admitting that you have managed to impress me."

"Oh," she said, her affront deflating in the face of her proximity to him and the way he was looking at her. "Then I suppose this visit hasn't been completely useless."

"No. Far from it, I would say."

We have discovered that you are here for entirely selfish reasons. Just as I am.

The silence expanded around them until it pressed in on them, pushing them together. Their lips caught at each other, hands ran over fabric and gentle curves, felt smoothness and angles. There was no embarrassment then, nor indignation, nor, Severus would have been surprised to discover, had he been inclined to retrospection at that moment, was there selfishness.

...xOxOxOx...

The selfishness came later. Although it hadn't been intentional, not really, Hermione tried to reason to herself. Severus just didn't have much experience with women, aside from Lenore and her ilk, and they certainly didn't demand equal treatment. Probably faked it every time, just to stroke the customer's ego.

When she had realized that Severus was finished, that that was, in fact, all there was going to be, as he had rolled over onto the other side of the bed, she had had half a mind to finish off herself. But then she had dug her nails into her palms to distract herself from her frustration and decided against it, knowing how fragile the male ego was.

Hermione certainly hadn't gotten much sleep in the few hours remaining until dawn, and she didn't think that Snape had, either, judging by the manner in which he kept tossing and making grumbling noises. The next morning had seen them greeting each other from opposite ends of the bed, muted and bleary-eyed, and Hermione had exited as quickly as possible, heading for her own rooms to clean up and change.

It had started out well enough; she could still feel the delicious tickling coolness of his fingers running over her skin, and the burning well of passion rising from her womb in response. She thought that she had pleased him, as well, although perhaps that was just conceit; perhaps he had been as disappointed in the end as she, despite his having achieved at least a physical gratification.

She consoled herself with the fact that her first time with Ron had been similar, although he had obviously been a virgin himself, and thus she hadn't really expected anything else. However, he had been so solicitous and caring on an emotional level that it more than balanced out any shortcomings on the physical side of things. And they had learned together, until they had achieved a satisfactory, if not spectacular, intimacy.

With Crispin, the physical interaction had been spectacular, the emotional sorely lacking.

Maybe that was the problem here; maybe Severus wasn't able yet to open himself up to emotional intimacy. Would he ever be, though? Was he too damaged, or just too set in his ways, to share himself with her in that way? Because if he were, then, from where she was standing, anyway, there was really no point in pursuing this. Much as she found herself becoming attached to Severus, she wasn't in the service business.

...xOxOxOx...

Snape applied the Hair-Away tonic to his face and neck, massaging the liquid into his pores and remembering Hermione touching the same places last night, with her hands, her lips. He felt a burning shame and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. While the potion was working, he brushed his teeth, but soon found himself recalling her tongue licking the same surfaces. He spit the lather out of his mouth and darkened the mirror with an angry flick of his wand, then braced his hands against the sink and closed his eyes, seething.

How did I let myself get carried away like that? I can withstand years of torture at the hand of the Dark Lord, successfully block His attempts at delving into the most secret recesses of my mind, impassionately administer painful and invasive procedures against innocents, and yet, faced with the prospect of a woman willingly offering herself to me, even knowing that it will come to no good end, I completely lose any shred of self-control and turn into a rutting dog. No, not a dog, that sounds too much like Sirius. Yes, on second thought, that fits perfectly. A rutting dog like Sirius.

She could barely wait to get away from me this morning. I'm surprised she even stayed for the rest of the night; bloody Gryffindor honour.