Chapter Text
Hermione hurried home from work, already worried she’d made a mistake by not taking it off to prepare. It took ten days to arrange, but Severus and Colin were scheduled to come for dinner. She spent the last week meal planning, cleaning, and generally overthinking every detail of the evening. Now there was only enough time to clean herself up, clear the cat hair Crookshanks had deposited during the day, and start dinner.
Wanting something that appeared to take effort but didn’t, she’d decided on baked salmon, rice, and roasted vegetables. She sliced lemons and dill, chopped peppers and asparagus, and measured out rice, water, and spices, all the while feeling a steady hum of nerves growing beneath her skin.
She desperately wanted the evening to go well. She wanted Severus to like her flat, her cooking, her friend. She wanted him to like her. She wanted to help ease his loneliness too. Even if he and Colin didn’t end up friends, she hoped having another person treat him with kindness might help him discover there were more people than just the arseholes he encountered. It bothered her to think of his old friends abandoning him after the war; worse, that he may not have had any to lose. It seemed to her that he was far too wonderful not to be surrounded by people who adored him.
A sharp knock rapped against her front door as she put the vegetables in the oven. Straightening her aran jumper under her apron, she walked down the hall and found Severus standing outside. He was, as usual, scowling when she let him in.
“Here,” he grunted, thrusting a bottle of wine into her hands. It was a 2000 pinot gris, Muggle, and cold in her grasp. She wondered if he or someone else had picked it out.
“Thank you,” Hermione said. “You really didn’t have to bring anything. You can hang your coat there. Shoes off, if you don’t mind”
“It is customary for a guest to bring an offering to the dinner host,” he said stiffly, shrugging out of his long wool coat. Underneath he wore a dark grey jumper over a white button-up shirt. His hair was once again pulled back from his face, and she tried not to stare at his long feet as he toed off his shoes.
“I’m still cooking,” she said, motioning for him to follow her down the hallway. “Bathroom is there if you need it. Can I get you a drink? Did you want to open your bottle?”
“Only if you will have a glass too,” he said as they entered her kitchen. The room was scented by the rice simmering on the stove, turmeric and garlic mixing with the sweet jasmine grains.
Severus leaned a hip against the counter next to the fridge, and Hermione tried to ignore his piercing gaze assessing her space by concentrating on pouring them wine. She pulled out glasses from the cupboard. A tap of her wand had the bottle open.
“Is there anything I can assist with?”
“It’s customary not to put one’s dinner guests to work,” she replied cheekily, pleased at the spark of amusement it produced.
She handed him a glass and tasted her own with a smile. It was pleasantly tart, a little fruity. Severus swirled his glass and she watched his nostrils flare over the rim before he sampled the drink.
“Do you know a lot about wine?” she asked curiously, turning back to the salmon.
“Enough to get by at the Malfoys’ old dinner parties.”
“The elder Malfoys, I assume? Do you still see them?”
“I was acquaintances with Lucius and Narcissa at one time,” he said, his gaze turning flat and cold. He took another sip from his glass.
She wondered whose decision it had been to make it one time instead of still, but didn’t think it wise to ask, and she didn’t particularly want to talk about the family that had watched her get tortured in their sitting room and done nothing about it, so she offered something of herself instead. “All I know about wine is whether or not I like the taste. This is good.”
Silently, Severus sipped his glass and watched her sprinkle fresh dill, salt, and pepper over the fish. He seemed stiff, closed off, and Hermione hoped she hadn’t made a mistake inviting him over. The pink fish was mostly covered in thin slices of lemon when another knock signaled Colin’s arrival.
“Just a minute,” Hermione said, quickly washing her hands and hurrying into the hall to let him in.
She felt a little better seeing Colin’s smiling face, and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek in greeting.
“My contribution to the feast,” he said, handing her another bottle of wine.
Galloping feet sounded in the hall, and then Crookshanks appeared by their feet. He meowed loudly at Colin, who grinned and picked him up.
“Hey, buddy,” said Colin, rubbing his chin. “You being a good boy for Hermione?”
“I wish I’d known he missed you so much,” Hermione said, feeling bad as she listened to Crooks purr loudly in Colin’s arms.
“I missed you too, big boy,” crooned Colin, giving the fluffy feline a final scratch before plopping him back on the floor.
Smiling, Hermione turned back to the kitchen to find Severus leaning against the door frame, his wine glass pinched elegantly in his long fingers, watching them with a critical gaze. She felt her cheeks heating.
“It’s nice to see you again, Sir,” said Colin, coming up beside her.
“Severus, you remember Colin,” Hermione added to assist the introduction.
The right side of Severus’s lip twitched, and Hermione suspected he was struggling not to sneer. Colin stood admirably against his judgment and stuck out his hand. Severus hesitated only a moment before grasping it and giving a firm shake.
“I hope to feel similarly by the end of the evening, Mister Creevey,” he said smoothly.
“I’m sure you will,” said Hermione, letting out the breath she’d been holding. “Tell him about your last show, Colin. Can I get you a glass of wine? Something else?”
She stuck Colin’s gift in the fridge and then poured him a glass from the open bottle while he explained a little about his recent Muggle collection.
“You two can sit in the other room if you like while I finish dinner,” Hermione offered, the small kitchen feeling cramped with the three of them and a half-kneazle winding around her feet, begging for the fish. “It’ll be more comfortable and I won’t be long.”
“You sure there’s nothing you need help with?” asked Colin.
“I’m fine. Go on.” She shooed them out of the kitchen, hoping they’d be all right on their own, smiling when Severus asked a question about Colin’s show. As she finished prepping the salmon, she heard Colin through the wall, and a few minutes later, Severus’s voice had joined in again.
Content they were getting along, Hermione focused on their meal. The kitchen smelled delightful already. She put the fish in the oven and checked the vegetables, then returned to the cutting board to chop fresh parsley for the rice, the men’s voices a pleasant backdrop to her work. She was stirring the parsley into the cooked rice when she heard the unexpected rumble of Severus’s laughter. Her hand paused. Severus never laughed easily, certainly not loud chuckles audible through a wall fifteen minutes after meeting her; but then, she supposed Colin was more outgoing, kinder, funnier, and generally less of a miserable mess than she was. It was good they were getting along. Maybe Severus would get another friend from tonight. That would be good, right? Of course it would be.
Ten minutes later, she was hovering plates and bowls of food out to the table. Her reception room was both a sitting and dining room, but large enough not to feel stuffed. The walls to her right and opposite the door were covered in white-painted bookshelves to match the walls without them. The two wizards were lounging on opposite ends of her sofa, which sat in front of a fireplace against the back wall. Their chatter stopped when she entered, both smiling—or rather had been smiling, until Severus’s eyes met hers and his expression stilled. She ducked her head to hide hers faltering.
“Oh, um, I forgot the wine. Would one of you mind grabbing it?” she asked, as she lowered the food to the table.
Severus disappeared into the hall, and Colin came and helped her set the table. It wasn’t large, only big enough for four people unexpanded, but more than adequate for her needs (mostly she used it to hold random objects she was too lazy or distracted to put away).
“What were you two laughing about?” she asked Colin curiously, shifting the salmon to the centre of the table.
“Oh, I was telling Severus about that guy at my last Muggle show. The one that offered me ten grand to do a boudoir shoot with his sister.”
“Wait, he did what?!” Hermione gasped.
“I thought I’d told you that story.”
Hermione shook her head. “No, you hadn’t.”
Severus reentered holding two bottles of wine.
“Pick whatever seats you like,” she said, taking them and putting the full one on the sideboard so it wouldn’t use up table space.
When she turned around, it was to find the two wizards sitting next to each other. She pushed away the feeling of disappointment that the seat they’d left empty was across from Colin, not Severus, and reminded herself they were both her friends, and the meal was to help introduce them, not for her to make moon eyes at the man whom she was becoming far too enraptured with. It would be weird to move the place setting now. Colin would feel bad. She didn’t want that either. She sat down.
“It looks great, Hermione,” said Colin.
“I hope it tastes okay,” she said, smiling. “Dig in.”
The dishes circled the table between their hands, and soon their plates and mouths were full and Colin and Severus were discussing art and galleries again. She listened as they talked, trying to chime in where she could, though some of the photography techniques and artists were beyond her knowledge. It seemed like they agreed on a lot of things.
“It’s honestly been so frustrating trying to get into either Derby & Drake or Charming’s,” said Colin.
“I wish there were more options,” said Severus. His eyes shifted between them, landing on hers for a moment before turning back to Colin. “I have… considered opening a gallery myself.”
“You want to open a gallery?” Hermione asked curiously, fork pausing halfway to her mouth. “I didn’t know that. You should!”
“It hasn’t been worth mentioning because it will never happen.”
“Why not? There’s obviously a need and you’ve been wanting to do something different. You’re so passionate about art, I think you’d be a wonderful gallery owner,” Hermione said earnestly, only to be met with a look of cutting disdain.
“Given one typically requires customers to operate a gallery successfully, I fail to see how I’d be wonderful at it—or have you forgotten in your fall from grace that you aren’t alone in the magical world’s gutter?” Severus replied sharply.
Hermione stiffened, rice falling from her fork and skittering onto the table as her hand shook. “Maybe it’s you that’s forgotten that the magical world is more than the Prophet and the wankers that hang out in the Leaky.”
“What do you know?” he snapped. His dark eyes were completely shuttered, his knuckles white around his cutlery. Hermione dropped her gaze and shoved the remaining rice in her mouth, unsure if she wanted to shout at him or cry.
Colin cleared his throat. “I think it’s a good idea. You could easily hire someone to deal with customers and focus on the artists and the business.”
Severus glanced at Hermione, a furrow between his brows, but she continued to avoid his gaze. “I suppose that might be a possibility for dealing with customers,” he muttered, “but unfortunately artists and suppliers are typically people.”
Colin shrugged a shoulder. “It’s worth thinking about, honestly. I don’t think you’d have as much trouble as you expect.”
“I do not know if there is a market for contemporary and modern magical art.”
“I think there would be, once people saw it. Drake’s and Charming’s bring in a lot of the same artists all the time, and people like new, interesting things, especially if it’s something they can show off.”
Hermione let their conversation drift past her ears, feeling a little like she was sinking. She ate her food, trying to convince herself it was fine. It was good Colin and Severus were clicking. Good Colin was supporting Severus’s ideas, that Severus obviously respected Colin’s opinion. It was good.
It also made her stomach twist. Her head rang like a bell, Severus’s harsh words the clapper clanging inside. She watched the two men speaking, dropping her gaze to her meal when Severus glanced her way again. Not for the first time, she wished she was more like Colin and less like herself.
He always had a way about him that made people feel easy. It was what had first drawn her to him when they reconnected at a party Ginny threw the summer after the end of the war. It was what had made her fall for him at first, had made him so hard to leave. She knew when she left him, she wouldn’t just be losing him, but all the people who’d been her friend by extension. She couldn’t fault him for it. It was just the person he was. She wouldn’t want him any other way.
She had counted on Severus taking to Colin just like everyone else. She just hadn’t expected to feel lost in the process. She had feared it, of course, but had hoped for once her insecurity wouldn’t bear fruit. It was silly and selfish to be jealous, but then she had never found a way to not be jealous of anyone who had an easy time making friends. Watching Colin with Severus was like seeing a wish play out in front of her, one she knew she would never be able to catch.
She wanted to be angry at Severus for what he said, but all she could feel was the ache of disappointment and the whisper of her deep-seated fear that she was going to end up completely alone. She sat silently, drinking her wine, wondering if it would be all right to get hammered, waiting for the wizards to clean their plates. The moment both had put their utensils down, she stood. With a flick of her wand, the dinnerware piled itself.
“Need help?” Colin asked.
Hermione shook her head and failed to keep her voice from sounding brittle when she said, “No. Don’t let me interrupt. I’ll be back with pudding.”
“Thank you,” said Severus softly.
She gave them both what she hoped was an encouraging smile and left the room, feeling better and worse for her solitude. After sending the dishes to scrub themselves clean in the sink, Hermione summoned the tart she’d bought on the way home from the top of the fridge and considered how much time she could stay in the kitchen without Colin and Severus getting suspicious. Hating herself for being morose, she pulled out a knife and small plates. Filled the kettle. Leaned against the counter, her head bent and sucking in shuddering breaths, before pushing onward. She could still be a good host. They hadn’t told her to bugger off yet. She’d have a Pick-Me-Up in a minute and then she’d be fine.
From the cupboard, she summoned three china cups and saucers, which she’d bought at a Muggle antique shop. Once, she’d thought she might inherit her grandmother’s china, which had sat in the glass cabinet in her parents’ dining room, but these days, she doubted she would even get notice if they passed away.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Colin until he was right beside her.
“Oh, sorry,” she gasped, hand over her chest.
“All right?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “I’ll be out as soon as the tea is ready.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She let out a resigned little noise. Of course Colin would see through her words and half-hearted smiles. He knew her far too well, all her moods, her feelings, her fears. She’d never understood how he still loved her, despite all of them. But that was part of him too, she supposed.
“Nothing is wrong—truly,” she insisted, swallowing to stop the sudden burning pressure in her nose. “I’m just in my head. I’ll be fine.” She tried to wave him away, but instead he pulled her against his chest in a hug.
“I can imagine what’s going through your head. Stop worrying, okay? We’re good, and I don’t think Snape meant what he said,” he said, squeezing her tight. “I’m glad you introduced us. I wish he was a little less grouchy, but I can see why you like him.”
Hermione chuckled softly, feeling not at all better for his reassurances, but returned his squeeze anyway. The kettle screamed.
“Go on,” she said, making shooing motions with her hands and returning to her task. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Once the tea and pudding was ready, she snuck to the bathroom for a potion and took a deep breath to pull herself together. Trying to imagine herself at work, she put a smile on her face and went to rejoin her guests, busying herself cutting the tart and pouring tea and wine.
“How’s work, Hermione?” Colin asked.
“Good. I’m starting to get some steady clients, which is nice. The Prophet article actually got me more bookings, surprisingly. I’ve been thinking I might do a couple extra shifts,” she answered, and found herself meeting Severus’s unyielding black eyes, a tiny spark of anger finally sparking within her. She tightened her jaw.
“I guess being in the magical world’s gutter can have its benefits, depending on your profession,” she bit out. She turned back to Colin with a bright smile as Severus’s face went pale. “How’s preparing for your show going?”
Colin coughed with his fork in his mouth and had to wipe his lips with his napkin before speaking. “Good, Derby & Drake just finalized the date. It’ll be June seventh.”
Hermione jerked upright excitedly. “That’s exciting! Why didn’t you say something earlier? I need to put it in my diary.”
“I wanted to see if Severus decided to be pleased to see me again before I invited him too,” said Colin with a smile, his ears and cheeks tinged pink.
Hermione avoided looking at Severus, unsure if he would even want to see her again after tonight.
“Well, Snape? Want to come?”
His dark eyes moved between them, and then he dipped his head. “I will check my schedule,” he said.
Hermione didn’t like the spark of hope his agreement lit inside her.
Severus stood partially hidden in the kitchen, watching Hermione say goodbye to Creevey in the hall. His arms were crossed over what felt like a large iron cauldron sitting in his lungs. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t simply left before pudding, except that the moment Hermione disappeared into the kitchen, Creevey had turned to him and said, “I think we’ve really buggered this up.”
He’d left Severus feeling confused about what exactly the young wizard thought he’d done wrong. There was no question when Severus had fucked up: the moment he’d agreed to come for dinner. The whole evening was a cascading mess. Being in her space felt uncomfortable to begin with, like he was peeking into parts of her life he had no right to see, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from looking. He’d tried his best to be friendly with Creevey, had been glad to have a shared interest to fall back on for conversation. He’d ended up far more tolerable than expected, but Severus found it difficult to split his attention between him and Hermione. Four years alone meant he was no longer used to talking to people, and his desire to have Hermione’s closest friend not hate his guts made him pay close attention to his words. If only he’d been paying more attention before lashing out at Hermione for supporting his stupid dreams, which he never should have mentioned. She’d announced to Colin that he was unhappy, and made fixing it sound too easy, her pronouncement of his wonderfulness so genuine, so nonchalant that it felt like her hand had reached inside him and squeezed his heart. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t given her time to explain like he’d promised before lashing out.
When Creevey returned from the kitchen, a slight frown on his face, and plopped back down in his chair, he’d said, “I’m not sure that helped. You’re going to have to make your own apologies.”
Severus had nodded, not knowing what else to say.
Now he was watching Creevey slide his arms around her and kiss her cheek. “Love you. Will you come over soon?” Creevey asked. The soft, apologetic look in his eyes and the easy way he touched her made Severus grind his teeth. He lowered his voice, but not low enough that Severus couldn’t hear. “I’m sorry for not paying more attention. Let me make it up to you.”
“You don’t have anything to make up for,” Hermione replied, her voice still lacking its usual lightness. “Send me an owl though. I’m off Sundays and Mondays usually, but we could do after work again too.”
“Thank you again for dinner. Goodnight, Snape.”
Severus raised a hand in farewell, and then he was alone with Hermione. She turned back to him with a wary gaze. “Are you staying or going?”
“Staying, unless you prefer me to leave,” he answered against his instincts, which told him to flee, that it didn’t matter if he apologized since she would never want to speak to him again anyway. But guilt sat heavy in his gut at her obvious dejectedness and she at least deserved to know that it wasn’t because of her. After the Prophet, after her friends, he could at least find a way to do that.
Her eyebrows pinched together, and she seemed about to say something until she nodded and pushed past him into the kitchen.
“You can wait in the sitting room if you want. I’ll make us more tea.”
Severus knew when he was dismissed.
He peered at some of her books while making his way to the sofa. She seemed to have organized them by topic first, then alphabetically by author, and she had a few intriguing tomes he hadn’t read before.
Her ugly orange furball of a cat sat on one side of her sofa, curled into a ball, and opened his eyes when Severus took the opposite seat. Her couch was comfortable, with wide cushions and plush, dark grey fabric. To his annoyance, the cat—Crookshanks, was it?—uncurled himself and crossed the distance between them. With his pushed face, Crookshanks reminded him of a whiskered old man. Severus had the uncanny feeling he was being judged.
Apparently he passed, because soon the cat was pushing into his lap.
“I suppose you won’t take no for an answer either,” he muttered as Crookshanks purred. He stroked a hand through the half-Kneazle’s thick fur, which felt like dense wool compared to Cinder’s sleek coat. It was still soothing though, the soft vibrations background to the sounds of Hermione in the kitchen. She seemed to be doing more than making tea: putting away dishes and cleaning perhaps. He frowned at the thought she was avoiding him, though he knew he deserved it. A ragged breath sighed from his lungs.
There was a small stack of books on the coffee table and two more, plus a box of Muggle tissues, on a side table next to an armchair. A thick throw blanket hung over the back of the chair. He could imagine her sitting there, legs curled up, a cup of tea steaming as she read.
Above her fireplace was a large frame containing what he thought was likely one of Creevey’s older photographs. It was beautiful, an ethereal image of a lonely old oak tree surrounded by shifting mist. It felt as if he could hear the breeze and creaking branches.
He was considering whether he’d been abandoned when she finally appeared hovering a tea tray. “You can kick him off if he’s being a pest,” she said, putting it on the coffee table. “I wasn’t sure how you took your tea.”
“Just milk.” The same as her, he’d noted earlier, when she’d finally switched her wine glass for a tea cup.
She sat across from him, her mug in both hands and her legs tucked under her. Her amber eyes were wary and sad as they watched his hand stroke her familiar’s fur.
Severus’s frown deepened. Settling into the deep water beneath his shields, he decided to get it over with.
“I… misspoke this evening. I should not have said what I did.”
“You have always known exactly what to say to cut people to the core,” she said with a grim smile, then took a sip of tea. “Do you mean it?”
“Sometimes,” Severus admitted. “Not in this case.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you. I believe what I said, and I don’t think you’re in the gutter either,” she explained, finally meeting his eyes.
Severus swallowed thickly. “I have lived most of my life in the gutter. It is not a place I would ever wish for you.”
Hermione put her cup on the table, pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek on the backrest. Hard, assessing eyes met his, and once again he felt as though he was receiving judgment. He forced himself to allow it, to let her stare, glad to have to have Crookshanks’ fur to sink his fingers into so they weren’t wringing in his lap.
It felt like an eternity before she said, “Crookshanks likes you.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’m not sure I’m particularly interested in the opinion of your cat.”
“You might want to change your stance on that. He figured out Peter Pettigrew was hiding as a rat before the rest of us, you know, in my third year. In retrospect, I wish I’d let him eat him.”
Severus snorted softly. “I wish you had too,” he said, studying her. Despite his apologies, the change in conversation, her expression had not changed, her eyes still full of a vacant sadness that he wished he knew how to remedy.
“Would you prefer I let you be?” he asked, unsure if he meant for now or forever.
“No.”
Severus frowned, irritated at his lack of understanding. She was clearly still upset. He wanted to reach into her mind and see for himself, to rage at her, to beg her to tell him what was wrong, to tell him how to fix it, but he worried, too, about what she might ask of him if he did.
“I’m glad you and Colin got along so well,” she said, but she didn’t look glad at all.
“I should have got along with you.”
Her eyes fell to her knees. “I thought we did,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “I guess I forgot how special Colin is. We only recently became friends again.”
His mind pulled forth an image of their arms around each other, the look in Creevey’s eyes. He didn’t want to ask, to pry, but for some reason he needed to know.
“Do you wish you were still together?”
“No,” she replied. “Things would be a lot easier if I did, but I don’t.”
Severus stilled his face so she wouldn’t see the relief that coursed through him.
She pulled a few curls forward from her shoulder and wound them around her index finger. “I’m the one who split up with him. Maybe I should have left him in peace, but his friendship is important to me.”
“He seemed to believe he had made an error with you this evening.”
“Neither of you did, really. I probably could have handled the gutter thing on another night,” she said in a hollow voice. “Colin has always felt a little responsible for my moods, and I try not to take advantage of his kindness, but he makes it hard sometimes. Whenever we’d argue when we were together, he’d always apologize first, even if I was at fault. It wouldn’t surprise me if he blamed himself for me leaving still, but it most definitely wasn’t him.”
He had no idea why she was telling him this. It did nothing to explain why she was upset. Why did she have to be so confusing?
“Colin’s guilt complex isn’t what’s troubling you.”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m just being stupid and self-pitying.”
“No one could ever describe you as stupid.” Self-pitying, well, he was no stranger to that, even if he abhorred himself whenever he did it. Now seemed like an especially ill moment to be a hypocrite.
“A whole lot of people have described me as stupid, actually—even you, once, a long time ago,” she pointed out with a wry quirk of her lips.
Severus’s frown deepened. He didn’t recall ever calling her such things, but he supposed it was possible. He put his cup down, dislodging her cat, who went and put his paws on his mistress’s knees.
“I put food in the kitchen for you while you were sucking up to Severus,” she told him, scratching his cheek. He let out a long purr and then hopped gracefully from the sofa to find his dinner.
Hermione let out a long sigh.
“Tell me what is wrong,” Severus demanded, beginning to feel a little desperate.
“It’s not something you can help with, and it’s not because of anything you did wrong, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Tell me regardless.”
Her eyes rolled and she shifted uncomfortably. “Do you really want to know? Even if it’s stupid?”
“No, I’ve asked you several times because I enjoy wasting my time,” he snapped, frustration finally getting the better of him. “Yes, witch, I want to know.”
A long silence stretched between them, the only sound their breathing.
“I’m… jealous, I guess.”
That was not what he expected. “Jealous?” he asked, more confused than he’d been earlier. What could she possibly be jealous about?
“I told you it’s stupid. I want you and Colin to be friends… and probably it was me, but it felt like I might as well have not been here tonight, and neither of you would have cared.” She frowned. Her hands curled into fists then loosened again. Beseeching eyes met his. “I’m glad you two hit it off. I wouldn’t ever ask you not to be friends with him. Just… please don’t forget about me.”
Severus’s eyes went wide when her eyes flooded and tears began streaming down her cheeks, her fingers trying ineffectually to wipe them away.
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“I know! I know. I just know my track record with friends and you’re both wonderful people… and Colin is Colin… and you have so much in common and I’m… well… I’m me. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, because it’s not fair and I don’t want you to feel badly. It makes sense why you’d get along better with him and I don’t fault either of you for it. I just… I guess I thought you and I…” Her voice trailed off as she buried her face in her knees. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, the sound muffled by her limbs. “You can go.”
Severus shifted forward and then stopped. His heart beat wildly. She thought he was going to abandon her like her other friends. He didn’t know whether to reassure her or be angry at her for her stupidity—because it was, without a doubt, an absolutely idiotic thing to believe he could prefer Creevey’s company to hers. Shouldn’t she be the one abandoning him? How could she not know he only made an effort with Creevey for her?
He stared at her as she sobbed into the protective shell of her limbs, and something inside him twisted, and—fuck, fuck, FUCK—he moved to the centre seat cushion. He had no idea what to do, how to comfort her. Shouting at her to stop, his normal solution to others’ unwanted emotions, was definitely the wrong response.
“You really don’t have to stay and watch me cry like an idiot.”
“I’d rather be with you sobbing than with anyone else smiling, you infuriating witch,” he hissed.
Her eyes lifted, then widened briefly. She tilted her head and wiped away her tears. “You don’t mean that.”
He’d never met a more maddening person in his life. How dare she believe he would lie, that he would give a rat’s ass about Colin-fucking-Creevey. Could she not see how badly he ached for her company, her presence? Why else would he be here, playing an inane, intolerable guessing game over her feelings?
“Oh, yes, I’m very well known for offering comforting platitudes,” he snapped coldly. “Severus Snape, the wizard everyone goes to for kindness, biscuits, and hugs when they get upset. Have I ever, in the last decade of your acquaintance, given the impression that I’m in the habit of lying to spare people’s feelings?”
A startled laugh leapt out of her, making him blanch. He stiffened when she unfolded herself and shifted closer to him. She looked like a mess, red-faced and damp, and yet her tear-laced smile was surprisingly genuine. Apparently he had just needed to shout at her.
“Where’s your liquor cabinet? Let me get you a drink,” he offered, desperately wanting an excuse to put space between them. Her knee was touching his thigh, burning a hole in it.
“I don’t want a drink,” she said. Her amber eyes were now full of intention, and fear rushed up his spine. He froze as her hand lifted, and tentatively slid over his. Her palm was warm, her skin soft. “Maybe it’s uncommon, but I’d really like a hug.”
“It will be the worst hug you’ve ever experienced,” he told her seriously, trying to deter her even as he felt himself flood with want.
“Somehow I doubt that. Can I?”
He glared at her. “If you must,” he said, and apparently she did, because she shifted even closer.
The hand that had rested on his curled around it and pulled it to her side. He held himself perfectly still as her arms came around his waist. His traitorous arms curled around her back automatically. Everywhere she touched was warm. So warm. Soft. Her head fell to his shoulder, and he grunted in protest. Her cheek was on his collar bone, her wild hair tickling his nose. He could smell it, spicy-sweet—argan oil, he thought, and mint. It took all his willpower not to push his nose into her curls to catalogue it exactly.
“This seems like a pretty good hug to me,” she said softly, her breath hot and ticklish against the bare skin of his neck.
“Are you sure you have an adequate sample size for comparison?” he asked gruffly, and felt her body shake against him with her laugh.
His own options for comparison were admittedly few, but even then he was certain this hug would always rank at the top of his list. She felt perfect tucked between his arms and his chest. Her arms squeezed him tightly, and then she pulled back. Thankful she wished to be freed, he let go of her, but then she stopped half way, her hands on his waist.
“I don’t think I need a comparison,” she said softly. Tentatively, her right hand lifted, and she pressed her index finger gently between his brows. His lashes fluttered at her touch. He nearly leaned into her hand, wanted to press his nose into her palm, rub against her like a cat wanting its cheek scratched.
He snatched her wrist, pulling it away. “What are you doing?”
“It’s your grumpy wrinkle.”
“Excuse me?”
She laughed softly. “I like it.”
He still held her wrist tight in his grip, but she didn’t try to pull away. He couldn’t tell if it was her pulse or his that was hammering against his fingers. Forcing himself to release her, he thought she’d pull away, but instead placed her hand over his chest, his heart flapping under her palm.
She was so close like this, close enough he could see the flecks of gold and rust in her irises as her eyes darted around his face. A small scrap of dead skin marred her bottom lip, and his breath shook as the pink tip of her tongue slid along the crease of her mouth, leaving it damp and him completely mesmerized. He wondered how they would taste. What would happen if he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers? His head dropped an inch. She was so warm. So lovely.
“Severus,” she breathed.
His eyes widened in alarm as he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat and ripped himself away, horrified at his lack of self control. He’d made her miserable all evening, had made her cry, she had asked for comfort, and he’d been going to maul her like a salacious creep.
“I should go,” he said quickly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” he snapped, and marched out of the room and down her hall.
She followed behind him slowly. One arm wrapped around her middle, she watched him put on his shoes and coat.
“Can I see you soon?” she asked when his hand grasped the doorknob.
“Soon,” he confirmed, giving her one last glance. “Owl me.”
He left her looking disappointed, but he couldn’t risk a lengthier departure, which might inspire another hug and erode what little control he had left. He strode quickly from her building and out onto the street, where he found an empty alcove and Disapparated. He landed in the park in Oxford and didn’t pause before marching towards home, glad for the cool night air on his over-hot skin. His breath came hard and his heart thundered in his chest.
By the time he got home, he felt a little more together. He fed Cinder, avoided the shower, brushed his teeth, checked his locks and wards, stripped off his clothes, crawled into bed, and picked up his book, a Muggle fiction novel from Japan that had recently been translated to rave reviews. He’d read only the first four words of the section, ‘And she was right’, when the whole page blurred in front of him. Suddenly, the ghostly memory of Hermione’s palm over his heart took over his consciousness and he let out a small gasp as the flame in his chest burst to life.
No, he couldn’t be that weak, he thought. He forced his eyes back onto the page, reading the same four words again, and realized that, yes, he was precisely that weak. Had always been that weak. Stupid. Pathetic.
The question he hadn’t thought about in weeks floated through his brain again, because he’d hurt her, run out on her tonight. His eyebrows folded, the book falling from his fingers and landing beside him.
A shaking breath rattled from his lungs, all the air going with it, because what was the point in breathing any longer?
He was in love with Hermione and she was never going to speak to him again.