Chapters 61-70

Cold Words

Two days later, Hermione stiffly sat down on her bed and reached out to pet Crookshanks. Curled up into a fluffy ginger ball, the half-kneazle was shedding in a spectacular contrast on the dark green cover.

‘Hey, Crooks,’ she murmured. ‘I’m back.’

She stared down at her hands, the right lost in thick fur, the left resting in her lap. Covered under the black and green sleeve of her apprentice-robe, her wrist was still blue and green, with splotches of yellow. Her whole body sported a quite amazing array of bruises. Hermione glanced at the jar with bruise balm on her nightstand. It would take a while until her body was completely healed.

Strangely enough, that didn’t worry her. Not even the burning Dark Mark she had glimpsed while lying on the ground worried her much. Her shrieking terror had drained away. She wasn’t even able to formulate any theories about what was going on in her mind at the moment.

She could think about only one thing.

He knew.
Everything.

Her initial feeling of relief had faded, leaving behind a strange, shocked numbness. From that daze, apprehension had started creeping into her mind. By now her nerves were completely frazzled.

What would he do? End her apprenticeship? Give his final order? But he kissed me. He embraced me at the concert. It was rather obvious that he liked it, too.

But if Snape thought that a kiss was not the foundation for a marriage that would save his life, Hermione suspected that an erection would qualify even less.

A soft knock made her jump. The door opened. Snape stood framed by the torchlight of the corridor. As usual, he was dressed in black, trousers, frock coat, with the barest sliver of white indicating the presence of a shirt somewhere underneath the various layers of black fabric. His expression was unreadable.

‘Miss Granger. I trust you are feeling better.’

Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘We need to talk.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He spun on his heel and swept away towards the library. Hermione rose to her feet. Her heart was racing, her stomach was tied in knots of anxiety. Her mouth dry with nervousness, she stepped towards her desk and retrieved a piece of parchment, stuffing it into the deep pocket of her robes, before she followed her master.

Gryffindor courage, she thought desperately. As if I’ve got any choice…

oooOooo

Inside the library, Snape had taken up position with his back towards the windows. He stood stiffly, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

‘Close the door, if you will.’

She complied. Her heartbeat was thrumming in her throat. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the door handle.Then Hermione turned around to face Snape.

‘Well, Miss Granger,’ he said in his silkiest voice. His black eyes bored into her. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

Instinctively, she balled her hands, promptly winced at the aching stiffness of her left wrist and let her hands fall loosely at her sides instead. She inhaled deeply. Drawing her shoulders back and raising her chin, she tried to gather her thoughts.

‘There are surely worse things than marrying me,’ she plunged in. ‘And I should think that a life-sentence in Azkaban is among them. I know you may disagree with me, but you do deserve to have a life. ’ She mustn’t cry before she’d spoken three sentences. Damn. Hold yourself together, Hermione. ‘Surely—a life—in freedom—even if it is here at Hogwarts and includes teaching all those dunderheads, even if—if it includes…uh…my presence…surely that is preferable to—to the alternative.’

Her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe. Her voice sounded thin and shrill in her own ears. ‘I know that I’m not the apprentice you would have picked. That it will be awkward marrying your apprentice. And I’m very sorry for that. But it seemed the only solution at the time. And it is legal. We—we checked that. We—I—thought if—as your apprentice you might—maybe—come to—obviously not to like me. But maybe, maybe not…resent me quite as much as when I was a student. Especially,’ she gulped, ‘if I could help you with teaching. Decrease your exposure to dunderheads. Do the boring stuff, so you might have more time for, for something you enjoyed.’

His posture had become even stiffer, if that was at all possible. His eyes had started to glitter blackly. A dead give-away for his rising fury.

She inhaled a shuddering breath and pulled the roll of parchment out of her robe.

‘I am so very sorry that I betrayed your trust. I know I had no right to do what I did. But there was really no other way. And—’ Her voice faltered, her hand was shaking. ‘At least that way we know that there is a way for you to fulfil those ridiculous conditions of your probation, sir. You don’t have to go to Azkaban. Please, sir, if you would just consider it!’

Silently he accepted the parchment. He studied the seal carefully, then he unrolled and read the document.

At last he put the scroll away. He spun around and stalked towards Hermione until he stood a mere inch away from her. His scent enveloped her and made her stomach tingle even now. His black gaze was hypnotising.

‘A positively Slytherin scheme, Miss Granger,’ he hissed at her. ‘Insinuating yourself into my presence, securing my trust, assisting me with the unpleasant task of subduing those imbecilic children…and all that just to save me from a life-sentence in Azkaban?’

She shivered, but she couldn’t move away, or breathe, or speak.

‘Tell me, Miss Granger,’ he enquired, his voice soft as velvet, ‘with all your mad scheming and preposterous planning, did it not ever occur to you to simply…ask me?’