Hermione's Dilemma

Chapter 5

By Ehann

The tumbler of scotch fell to the floor and shattered, the noise sounding unreal in the otherwise silence of his room. He sat slumped in his wing chair, one hand lolling over the arm. His fingers had relaxed, and he had lost his grip on the crystal.  Now the Baccarat lay in pieces. The largest remnant was nearly half the former tumbler. The rest was dust, glinting silently in the flickering candlelight.

Snape roused somewhat, rubbing his red rimmed eyes. His insides lurched. Liver to spleen, pancreas to common bile duct, it all hurt. He rested his elbow on the arm and cradled his face in his palm. He felt his breath as short puffs against his hand, sending the fine hairs tipping to and fro. He tried to watch them, but the distance was too close and his eyes refused to focus. Probably not surprising, given the amount of liquor he had ingested in such a short time. By his estimation, he had passed the greater part of three hours since the ball had officially ended at midnight.

He had the vague recollection that he’d screwed something up, and yet for the life of him he could not remember what it was. All he knew was the cramping in his middle and the solemn-sick feeling of dread washing over him in waves. He had done something, hurt someone. What was it, and who? He searched behind his eyelids, but the dark refused to offer up any answers.

Snape opened his eyes, this time managing to blink several times.  The little lubrication remaining thankfully diffused across the surface of his scleras. The image of squeaky hinges being oiled occurred to him and in spite of himself, he smiled. And in the middle of his rare smile, he suddenly recalled exactly why he had this miserable foreboding hanging over him.

“Oh, gods.”  He’d kissed her. How could he have forgotten that? How could he have forgotten the way his insides had leaped up to his throat, before shooting down to his knees? How had he forgotten the way she’d clung to him, as if he was a pillar of strength, the only thing holding her up? How could he possibly have forgotten her taste, her breath on his lips, her hands gently cradling his cheeks? How had he forgotten the look of pain of her face as he maintained his silence, refusing to give her the compliments that lingered on his tongue?

Severus straightened. He leaned over, glancing down at the mess on his floor. Sighing, he muttered, “Reparo.” The expensive crystal obligingly repaired itself. Snape thought idly, Too bad it doesn’t work that way for people. But then again, there had never been an easy fix. No quick forgiveness, no penance done and parole offered. For Snape, there was only never ending reparations as he sought to wring the most good from his pathetic life.

He didn’t even truly understand what demon in him had forced him to reveal himself, to show his true face. He had no idea what he had expected…perhaps some greater reaction than snide comments and impatience. Perhaps he had wanted to talk to her about it, to seek her opinion. Perhaps he had just needed a handy excuse to be near her.

His fingers rose to touch his lips. Severus shook his head. His mouth tingled every time he thought of her…of kissing her. Hmm. Now that he thought about it, he was glad he had done it. Since he would most likely never again do something as fundamentally stupid as repeating the infraction in question, it was better that he just forget about it.

Yes. It never happened.

 His lips tingled, and if he concentrated, he could detect her faint scent still clinging to this Muggle suit. Damn her. Damn Hermione Granger and her eyes that hid nothing. Damn her mouth that tasted like heaven, and her hands that brought it.

Abruptly, he shot from the chair, nearly tripping over his long legs in the process. Efficiently, he stripped his clothes and tossed them over the back of the wing chair. He strode through the doorway into his bedchambers and parted the filmy curtains surrounding his bed.

He settled himself quickly. Not surprisingly, he felt worn out. Too many emotions in too short a time, he grumped silently. He closed his eyes then, and drifted for some unknown time in a state halfway between wakefulness and sleep. Then, at last, he slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday morning brought harsh sunlight streaming in through her windows. Hermione squinted and dragged the covers up to her eyebrows. She stayed like that for nearly fifteen minutes, just thinking.

She was such an idiot. That was the only possible way she could explain away her behaviour. Hermione groaned and jerked the blankets all the way over her head. Snape must think…Gods, what he must think!

He hadn’t even wanted to kiss her at first! And then, to make matters worse, she had chased after him, literally throwing herself at him. She absently rubbed her wrists where they had been bruised. Obviously, he had been so disgusted that he didn’t care how he did it, as long as she went away.

She swallowed over the tightness in her throat. Well, her mind piped up, if he was so disgusted, then why did he chase you all over the castle in order to kiss you in the middle of a stairwell landing.

She flipped the covers back and stared at the ceiling. Hmm. She hadn’t thought of that. Matter of fact, she was quite busy not thinking about that kiss at all. Unfortunately, not thinking about something was a sure indication that you were in fact, thinking about it so—

She couldn’t stay closeted in here any longer. She slipped from the bed and padded to the bathroom. Once scalding shower later, she felt almost human again. As she dressed, she wondered if she should go down to breakfast in the Great Hall. Her spine stiffened at the thought. I’m not letting him chase me, she decided. I have as much right to be there as he does.

She tugged on her clothes with more force than necessary. Times like these, she swore she felt her Gryffindor bravery charging to the rescue. Pasting a serene expression on her face that felt completely at odds with her inner turmoil, she stepped out into the corridor and reset her wards.

“Morning, Hermione.” Remus Lupin greeted her easily.

“Hi. I was just going down to breakfast.” She tilted her head. “Coming?”

He smiled. “Of course.” He hesitated then added, “You look as if you didn’t sleep well.”

“Mmm,” she answered noncommittally. She stole a glance at his face, trying to read him. But he only seemed pleasantly earnest. They walked in silence down the stairs and past the Transfiguration classes. “I got to bed late,” she said finally, in answer to his remark.

Remus raised a suggestive eyebrow and Hermione groaned. “Did you?” he inquired with dancing eyes.

“Funny,” she said shortly. “Except for how it’s not. I tossed and turned for awhile then I got up and did some reading. By the time the sun was coming up, I was just getting to sleep.”

“Had an exciting time at the ball, I expect.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks. “What does that mean?” She asked defensively.

He shrugged. “Nothing, really.” He paused before adding, “I saw you and Snape dancing. Then I saw him follow you after you left. Didn’t take much to put two and two together.” He looked confused. “But it looks like it added up to eight.”

Hermione began walking again. “Tell me about it.” The rest of their short journey was completed in silence save for the occasional greeting to a passing student.  Hermione paused at the threshold. Snape was in his customary place at the High Table. The rest of thee Staff were also seated, leaving only two empty chairs.

One on either side of Snape.

“On second thought—” She turned around to leave but Remus hauled her back.

Lupin’s eyes were kind. “You can’t avoid him forever. That won’t help, and would probably make things worse.” Hermione nodded. “Besides,” Remus added, “You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, do you?”

At that moment Snape glanced up and spied her lingering in the doorway with Lupin. Even from this distance, Hermione saw Snape’s eyes narrow and his eyes dart to Remus.
Then he was fixated on his plate again, digging into his eggs with gusto.

Hermione was moving forward as if drawn on a string. She was aware of Remus beside her, but it didn’t matter. A small spark of life flared in her chest and she thought it was woefully ironic that this taciturn man –who would just as soon be left alone—was the one to strike it.

The four House table seemed to float past her and then she strode easily to the end of the High Table sliding behind chairs until she came to the empty space on Snape’s left. He did not look up as she sat down, but continued eating. It was bizarre to see him this way, when only last night he had been—Gods!—gorgeous.

But, Hermione discovered, looking at him now was like seeing a magic picture. Once it was seen, it couldn’t be unseen. So for the first time, she saw through the masking Charm he wore for exactly what it was. A mask. And I wonder what he’s hiding behind it? What he hides behind the handsome face, too? Who are you, Professor?

Hermione cleared her throat. “Can you pass me the tea and sugar, please?”

He put down his fork with what seemed like exaggerated patience and reached for teapot. He poured gracefully and with a nod, replaced it in its spot.

She let out a long breath. She hadn’t realized just how tense she’d been. But it hadn’t been so bad at all! Perhaps she might even wring some civil conversation from him this morning. The plate of sausages directly in front of her suddenly smelled wonderful, and she snared three pieces with the serving fork.

She jumped when he grasped her wrist gently, turning it over so he could examine the pale skin on the underside. Her eyes flew to his, but he was staring at the purple-black bruise. His thumb brushed against the swollen joint for a moment. His mouth tightened. “I did this?” He sounded strained.

Hermione didn’t say anything, just chewed on her lip, uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath then let it out all at once. “I…apologize for my lack of control. It was not my intention to…hurt you.”

She was about to say something, anything, it didn’t matter what, when he took her abused wrist securely in his left hand. He held her there for a moment while he rummaged in his pocket. He pulled out his wand and searched her eyes, silently asking for permission. She nodded slightly.

He murmured the Healing Charm. Hermione felt heat explode in her wrist and seep out into the palm of her hand. Her fingers closed reflexively, tightening over his. He jumped, as if struck by lightening, and Hermione hastily withdrew. She inspected the result, noting without surprise that he had done a completely adequate job of it. She flexed her wrist experimentally. It was a little stiff but that was it.

She turned back to him meaning to thank him, when she saw Remus attempting to catch her eye. She leaned back in her chair making a face that said, ‘What!’

Remus made a hand motion that she interpreted as ‘I’ll tell you later’.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and sat up straight. “Thank you, Severus,” she said with what she hoped was unconcern. Her gaze dropped to his hands. He held his utensils deftly, almost like he was holding something far more valuable than silver or steel. His index finger was extended along the length of the fork and with his thumb he held it firmly against his middle finger. He speared a sausage and brought it to his mouth, bringing to mind all sorts of images that everything to do with his mouth and very little to do with breakfast.

“Miss Granger, is there a problem?”

She started, clattering her silver against her china. “Nothing I care to discuss at the High Table,” she said honestly, wondering where the sudden show of bravado had come from.

He snorted slightly, but out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his lips curve upward the tiniest bit.