"I can imagine," he replied in his most kind tone. "You can try to add some lemon grass. It has no magical property and it does enhance the taste, I found."
"Really? I didn't know that," she gaped at him.
"Of course. I've tried it myself multiple times."
"Not for the ones in the Infirmary, you didn't. They always tasted horrid."
He smirked. "And why should I? For dunderheads to get into even more scrapes because the potions don't taste quite so bad at all? No, Hermione. This had all educational value."
She grimaced, and finally, his fingertips had found hers and the touch, he found, was electric. Warm fingers. Not pulling away but her eyes darted to her hand and she smiled. She bloody smiled at their hands.
"I don't doubt it," she whispered. "Have you tried to brew since you've..."
He shook his head immediately. "No. I threw out all the cauldrons when..." he stopped. That was a part of his life, those few days or weeks when he had just returned to Spinner's End and hadn't believed he would ever be able to do magic again.
"When?" she asked, her fingertips now inching closer to his and somehow, oddly, caressing his. Maybe she wasn't doing it. Maybe he was subconsciously caressing her fingers and only thinking that she did it.
"When I get my verdict. Just after that. I threw out the cauldrons," he took a deep breath, "and used most of my books to keep the fire going."
"You burned books?" she asked, horrified but not in the shrieking tone he had suspected.
"Yes."
"But..." she wanted to protest and complain but suddenly, and he could see the change, her facial expression shifted. Her eyes grew wider and her mouth fell open slightly. "I see," she whispered and her fingers were suddenly between his. Holding his. "You wanted to rid yourself of everything that reminded you."
He gave a sharp nod.
"I see. But burning books? You could have sold them or could have told Draco to sell them..."
"In the end, Lucius Malfoy sold a few. Stole them and sold them, I should say. What would I have done with books on magic, Hermione? There was nothing left," he added very softly.
She didn't reply for a long moment. She merely looked at him, possibly tried to figure out whether to run screaming or have him committed when her hand gripped his tighter. "I think I understand why you did it," she told him gently.
.
Burning books was an offence which ranked just below murder. She had always thought so and under normal circumstances, she suspected that she would still, and for the rest of her life, think so. But here, opposite her, sat a man who she knew had a love for books and reading and the written word that rivalled hers. He had always been seen with one book or another at Hogwarts. Sometimes, when he could get away with it, he had read during meals there too. Not that it had happened often but she had spotted him once or twice. And this man who loved books had burned his. Not because he didn't like the books anymore, or so she thought, but because he couldn't stand to see what they represented. And for that, Hermione felt sympathy. That, she could understand and grasp. It was comprehensible. He would have wanted to get rid of everything which reminded him of that bloody awful world which had thrown him out. Had turned their backs on him after he had saved that sorry world's arse over and over again.
She couldn't possibly blame him for that.
And besides, he had told her. She was known to despise those who mistreated books. It had been all over the press at one point or another. She was the bookworm. And he had still told her about it. He looked her in the eyes, cast his eyes down in shame then and told her. He was ashamed of what he had done but he, just as she, could acknowledge that it had been done for a reason; that he hadn't told her to get the books was just as understandable. These days, she hoped he would tell her. Back then she had only been the nuisance, the ex-pupil. The swot. The Gryffindor.
And now? Now he held her hand on top of the table and stroked her fingers and let her stroke his. He let her caress his warm hands with her greasy, fishy ones and his eyes were warm and kind. She didn't understand why she constantly doubted him and his motives. He seemed absolutely genuine sitting there and maybe, she thought, she could get away with making a tiny confession. Maybe she could tell him...
"I like you," she suddenly blurted out, grasping his fingers tightly. "I enjoy sitting here with you and would you like another glass of wine?"
He arched his eyebrows at her and seemed utterly surprised at her outburst. Hell, she was surprised by her outburst. Not that it had been a declaration of undying love but she had told him that she liked him. Now it was his to spit upon.
She waited for it. She waited for the sneer and the guffaw and whatever else he would do to trample on her heart but nothing, absolutely nothing of this was forthcoming. He merely picked up her hand (it felt like it was being picked up) from the table and, grease and fish-stink and all, brought it up to his lips and placed a featherlight kiss on the knuckle of her middle finger. Just like that. He didn't even smirk. He looked as he had...
Oh, that was it. The way he looked now. He had always looked like it when he had graded or brewed. Utter concentration. Full focus. On her knuckle and then, on the back of her hand.
He kissed the back of her hand. The same expression on his face.
"I like you too," he said a moment later looking up from her hand and into her eyes. She felt her insides melt and her heart stop and she felt her hand being turned somehow and held by both of his as if it was completely precious or worth holding onto and when he looked away from her face, his focus switched to her hand again, or the palm of it and he breathed a kiss on the palm.
Hermione had gone to jelly. Everything. There were goosebumps on her bare legs and they had nothing to do with them being bare. Her arm felt on fire. Her insides ached at such tenderness and that it would be — bestowed on her. On her. From him.
His words finally registered in her brain. He liked her. 'I like you too'. He liked her. Not a declaration of undying love but...he liked her! He liked her!
The goosebumps got little baby-goosebumps and those got babies and her entire body was covered with them, or so it felt like.
"That's nice to hear," she whispered throatily.
"Yes, and next time when you tell me something like that," he almost smirked, "don't try such an accusative tone. Just a normal declarative will do. And yes, I would like another glass of wine but not just yet," he smirked. Now he smirked. He had told her he liked her and then he smirked. Making fun of her. Or was that teasing her? Was that good natured?
The kiss on the inside of her wrist screamed yes. Yes he liked her, yes he teased her, yes he meant what he said and the kiss made her close her eyes and lean a little over the table towards him. She should just accio the bottle of wine and pour him some but she couldn't. He breathed on her wrist and he kissed her wrist and her lower arm and he didn't say a word. He looked alternately in her eyes and at her wrist and he just kissed that. Gently. Softly. Sweetly.
Had never thought he could be like this. So tender. So...un-Snape-like. This was almost...almost like Head-Severus. But he just ravaged her arm and wasn't sprouting off undying-love-crap. He just focused on her arm, on her wrist, on her hand like this was the most interesting thing on earth.
"Snape," she breathed and he looked up at her.
"Hm?" he asked, pressing another kiss on her wrist.
She pulled her hand back. "Why are you doing this?"
He sighed and let go off her hand, then leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked deeply into her eyes. "Didn't we just establish that I liked you?"
"Yes, but..."
"No but, Hermione," he shook his head.
"Alright, no but...but...you" target="_blank">but...but...you hated me."
"Did I?"
"Didn't you?" she asked breathlessly.
He shrugged non-chalantly. "Maybe it was just the idea that a mere girl could know so much."
"Girl?"
"Back then. Not today," he shook his head. "You're not a girl anymore."
"No?"
"No," he explained. "You're not," he took her hand again and kissed her palm once more. What could she possibly say to that? She needed to know so many things but...but what could she ask? Where could she begin? Where? She didn't know. And she didn't want to snatch her hand back. She would have to, though, if she wanted to think clearly. She couldn't do that when he was holding her hand like this.
"Snape," she breathed and he looked in her eyes again and she found herself lost for words. What did people talk about when they entered a relationship? She never really had. She had always relied on common ground with Victor Krum, she had always relied on friendship when she had talked to Ron (not that that had been a relationship) and she hadn't talked much to Ian at all.
"Hm?"
"How are your studies going?" she asked suddenly, almost shrieked and pulled her hand back finally.
"Rather well, I should say," he replied honestly and didn't look put out. "I was asked to begin tutoring next semester and if I succeed in my exams at the end of the semester, I will be allowed to teach one beginner's course."
"Really? That's wonderful," she smiled, her hand tingling. "And do you want to do that?"
He arched an eyebrow. "I have taught before. And the difference is that I would have people in front of me now who are generally interested."
"It's a pity with potions. It's one of those subjects, isn't it?"
"What kind of subject?"
"You either like it, or you hate it. And if you hate it, you still have to do it."
He seemed to ponder her question and scratched his chin. "I suppose so."
"And it didn't make it easy to teach that," she whispered.
He looked at her oddly and after nodding once only, he took the last sip from his glass. "And what do you intend to do with mathematics?"
Was he interested? Did he care? Did he really want to know? He looked like it and his hand inched closer to hers again and she let it. He wouldn't let him kiss it though. She needed a bit of conversation.
"I am unsure yet. Maybe I'll do the same thing you do. Try to be as smart as possible and teach there. I don't know if I'm cut out for teaching though and if that doesn't work, I suppose I can always try to find a job somewhere. I mean mathematicians are looked for everywhere and I'm not keen on working full-time in the wizarding world. The mess they created after the war and the way Shacklebolt handled his job and just bowed to the Wizengamot or made the Wizengamot bow to him...the way that Veritaserum was, or is, I don't know, administered so freely...I don't like that. There's been so much corruption and it's all going to blow up in their faces. And seriously, I love that I'm a witch but the way that I was treated after the war and the rest of us as well...just look at you. You're the biggest hero that world has seen and what do they do...?" she clapped her hand in front of her mouth and shook her head (unfortuntely, it was the hand he had kissed and she could smell him on it and it sidetracked her thoughts for a moment. A moment only).
"I'm not a hero," he said quietly.
"You are. For fu...erm, heaven's sake, of course you are. You died almost because of us. I mean you were dead for a while, weren't you? That's what the people in St Mungo's said. And you called that not being a hero? Why? I mean you stopped living your life just to save our world and you say you're not a hero? Stop that. Of course you are."
"No."
"Yes. And I won't argue with that. Seriously. You have to give yourself credit for what you've done. And you...you made a live out of what you'd been handed. I've seen you with Mrs Callaghan and Aideen and Draco, Snape. I know you tried to make your life without magic and you succeeded. You will teach again. I mean seriously. Just imagine a moment what any of the Weasley would have done if you had stripped them off their magic. They would have possibly died within days. Or would have been killed. And you..."
"Stop," he said sharply, glaring at her.
"What?"
"I don't need your praise."
She smiled gently and shook her head. "I'm not praising you. I'm only saying what I think. And if I presume correctly, you want to...do you want to get to know me? For real?"
He took a deep breath. "Yes."
"And I'm only telling you things about myself. Why don't you think you're a hero?"
Another deep breath, and a deep frown on his forehead., "I only dealt with things on a day to day basis since..."
"After the war? We all did that," she said compassionately. "Planning is hard to do after you feared for your life every day for a long time."
He didn't say anything but she knew she had been correct in what she had been saying and slowly, because she thought she had to, she took his hand and kissed the back of it gently. "I know," she said. "I know."
.
He wanted to kiss her badly. She was silent when she had to be and she talked when he asked the right question. She talked more than strictly necessary, to be honest. They had a few awkward moments, he had to admit to that. And she was pretty sitting there and he couldn't stop thinking about her legs. Bare legs. He wondered, briefly, whether he made the same mistake as he had done with Deveney (not that it had been a mistake per se). Seeing the physical and forgetting about the mental but then he was pulled back to reality by her.
"Do you really want to teach?" she asked timidly.
He wondered. Did he? It had seemed like the perfect way to make his living without magic. And now, with his magic back, with the possibility of potions (and he wasn't sure whether Kreacher had found all the potions stuff yet — too focused on her), did he? She wondered and he did.
Yes. Yes, he did. He didn't want to brew potions for a living. He didn't want to rely on wizards and witches to earn him his keep, so to speak and so he nodded. "Yes, I do. I want to see what I can do as a teacher for those who want to learn."
"Seems worthwhile," she replied slowly and their hands were still entwined. He didn't want to let go. She was like him in a way. Disappointed by the way the magical world had handled them. Them, being outsiders, both of them. Different from the rest of them, and still having tried to fit in. They hadn't handled either of them well and they, he and she, seemed to look at different options. In the Muggle world. Away from those they had grown up amongst. Seeing if they could make it work. Her with maths and him with linguistics.
