Chapters 51-60

Least of All My Life

Abruptly he drew away from her. In the darkness, the expression on his face was unreadable.

‘Good night, Hermione,’ he said softly. Then he spun on his heel and swept out of the room.

For a few minutes she stood there, rooted to the spot, her heart thundering, her head buzzing, her lips…burning, she thought, with the memory of his touch.

At long last she staggered to her room, where she sank down in the armchair near the window. Her fingers strayed to her lips, as if they could conjure up the sensation of his kiss anew. His lips had been like velvet, warm and soft. But insistent. Soothing and thrilling at the same time.

Why had he kissed her?

Hermione never went to bed that night, but remained in that armchair. Now and again she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, where her fingertips lingered for a moment in a bemused gesture, before she dropped her hand again.

oooOooo

Hermione wasn’t surprised when Professor Snape knocked on her door the next morning, asking her to meet him in the library. What did surprise her was the courteous tone in which he voiced his request.

With a pounding a heart and more than a little trepdiation, she entered the room. To her amazement, she noted that Snape had elected to sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace instead of choosing to pace and loom over her. He nodded for her to take the other seat.

Gratefully, she slid down on the edge of the chair, her knees unaccountably weak this morning. She cast an apprehensive glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked as if he hadn’t had slept anymore than she had.

‘What happened last night,’ he said slowly. ‘Must not happen again.’

Hermione didn’t dare to look at thim. Instead she stared at her hands, cold fingers twisted nervously. She had not expected him to open his heart to her after just one kiss, of course. In fact, she had anticipated that he would react badly this morning.

Overseeing the Third and Fourth Year study groups Hermione had not been in a position to escape all discussions about ‘Professor Snape, the Tragic Hero of the War’, including various comparisons of her master with prominent tragic heroes of Muggle and wizarding literature (‘Heathcliff all the way’—‘I just wish I could be the Tenar to his Ged…’) along with diverse dissections of his personality (some of which had actually been quite enlightening). Therefore it seemed quite in character for him to push her away.

It hurt nevertheless.

‘But sir!’ Now she did look at him, and wished at once that she hadn’t. Just a quick glance at him gave her a jolt.

He sighed. ‘You are my apprentice,’ he started.

‘But what about Perenelle and Nicolas Flamel? They—’

‘That was in the bloody Middle Ages,’ he ground out, his eyes glittering. ‘Things have changed since then.’

‘But what about the safeguards in the contract? You couldn’t exploit your position even if you wanted to!’

Snape shook his head, the flare of temper extinguished as suddenly as it has blazed up. ‘Just because there have been…relationships of the intimate kind between masters and apprentices in the past, and just because apprenticeship contracts are bespelled to keep the apprentices safe from abuse does not mean that a relationship like that is appropriate, Miss Granger.
‘And besides,’ again that hint of unbearable sadness crept into his voice, ‘not even I am so cruel as to ask my apprentice to kill me one day, only to turn around and begin an affair with her the next day.’

Hermione recoiled as if he’d struck her in the face.

‘But sir,’ she repeated, and wished her voice sounded steadier. ‘What about the conditions of your—’

He held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

‘Hermione.’

She didn’t look up, but stared at her hands. She wondered if her face was as white as her hands. She certainly felt white. Drained of all colour.

‘Hermione. Look at me. Now.’

She had no choice. She had to obey his order. Reluctantly she turned towards him. She stuck out her chin.

‘A kiss is just a kiss,’ Snape said softly. ‘It is not a foundation for a marriage and a life together.’

‘Not even to save your life?’ she asked.

She felt as if she was falling into an abyss, when she met his black gaze.

‘Least of all to save my life,’ he replied, his voice hoarse. ‘I am…’ He broke off.

Had he been about to say that he was sorry?

Instead he rose to his feet.

‘We will not talk about this again. And now I suggest you get ready for those detentions. I believe the dunderheaded knights will invade the dungeons in approximately twenty minutes.’

Black robes swirling, he strode from the room.

oooOooo

Back in his room, Snape couldn’t settle down in spite of his exhaustion. Although he was weary to his aching bones, he couldn’t stop pacing.

Why had he kissed her?
What had come over him?

He wished he could forget how her lips felt. He wished he could forget how her heart fluttered against his chest.

He wished he’d had the guts to order her to kill him right away that damn day in December.

Snape sighed. Her despair at his—as he saw it, absolutely reasonable request—would no doubt haunt him until he gave that final order.

When that day arrived, he would make sure that she had means at her disposal that were less direct and…devastating for the executor than ‘Avada Kedavra’. That was the least he could do. He was painfully aware that he owed her much more than that. Unfortunately, he felt that he was not in the position to pay his debts to her the way his honour and his heart demanded it of him.