Love Vigilantes

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“Day one, day one, start over again. Step one, step one, I’m barely making sense. For now I’m faking it ‘til I’m pseudo making it from scratch. Begin again, but this time I as I, and not as we.” (Not as We, by Alanis Morissette)

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The next morning came all too fast for Hermione. Although she had fallen asleep quickly, the quality of her rest left much to be desired. Whenever she had closed her eyes, she saw either Ron or Snape staring back at her accusingly, as though implying that she were ruining both of their lives. As such, she preferred to stay awake alone than fall asleep with their imagined company, and so her vicious cycle of exhaustion continued. Her head was still spinning, and she felt a strong nervousness about the day ahead, one that tricked her body into feeling ill. She took her time getting ready and gathering her things for the day, hoping to enter Snape’s classroom as late as possible and delay, however minutely, the arrival of the inevitable double-edged sword that was prepared to stab at her. She reached the foot of the stairwell that led from the girl’s dormitory and stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Ron staring at her from his chair in the common room. In her previous night’s frenzied search for answers about her strange attraction to Snape, Hermione had almost forgotten that she would have to face Ron, after using him so cruelly, even before she had to see her professor. She made her way over to where Ron sat, not knowing exactly how to bring up what had occurred between them.

“Good morning, Ron. I was wondering if we could talk.” Hermione stood self-consciously, waiting for him to respond and wondering if this was the feeling that Ron experienced whenever he tried to tell her how he felt. It was hell.

“Talk about what, Hermione? Last night? Don’t even think about it; you have enough to worry about with this Snape independent study on your plate. Spending so much time with that git would make anyone go a bit bonkers!” Ron sped on with his explanation, seeing that Hermione was about to interrupt him and ask questions. Cleary, Ron thought, she had expected him to be upset. “I completely understand; this relationship is new for both of us. We’ve been friends for so long, trying to be more than that must have been too intense for you last night. It’s okay, Hermione; we have plenty of time before we have to worry about that kind of thing. I hope you haven’t been too anxious about it.” He smiled at her, and Hermione felt a sharp stab of both pain and guilt, realizing how much Ron really cared about her.

Why does he have to be so damned understanding? Everyone else in his position probably would have thrown me out flat on my arse the minute I tried to talk to them, instead of letting me explain. I should feel so lucky that he’s my ‘boyfriend’ but… This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

“Wow, Ron, thanks. I’m really sorry for the way I reacted. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately, what, with getting ahead in and revising for classes, as well as this independent study. Adding ‘us’ to my list of concerns was a tad overwhelming. I’m sure that screaming ‘FUCK’ at you, then running away, wasn’t the best thing I could have done.” Hermione meant what she said. She was thoroughly embarrassed by the lack of self control she had exhibited and couldn’t believe she hadn’t had the presence of mind to save her personal reactions for the privacy of her own room.

“No, no it wasn’t. I much prefer hearing your expletives screamed in Snape’s general direction than mine, thank you!” At that, Hermione had to laugh, thankful that Ron didn’t know just how many times she had cursed Snape in her thoughts. They left for Potions holding hands, giving Hermione the hope that she could possibly make things work with Ron.

Her hope was short lived. As soon as she entered the classroom and saw Severus, something in her changed. She suddenly found herself unable to move. She was supposed to be busily convincing herself that she was completely unaffected by Snape, but, now, Hermione didn’t care; her mind was elsewhere, and all she could see was him. She felt the warm pull in her stomach, reminiscent of the night before, resurrect itself, magnifying the strength of her professor’s presence. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, noticing how strong and pensive he looked simply just by sitting at his desk. She had always appreciated a good brooder; brooding demonstrated a true level of thought, as opposed to an air of disinterest. Now that she looked at him with the express purpose of finding Snape either attractive or not, she was forced to admit she had some sort of a ‘thing’ for the professor. She didn’t know what to call it, exactly, but it was definitely a ‘thing’. She was well and truly screwed.

I wonder what he’s thinking, Hermione asked herself yet again. How could I have not noticed this before? He’s absolutely incredible. I don’t even know what it is exactly, but it’s incredible, well, except for practically all of his personality. He can’t actually be that cold and bitter all the time. He can’t! Even still, I’ve never felt like this... Hermione let her mind continue to ramble, mesmerized by the rise and fall of Snape’s chest as he breathed, and the rippling muscles in his forearm as he wrote. This is so wrong, she thought. He hates me. How can I like someone who hates me?

Suddenly, Snape looked up from his papers, as though he knew she had been watching him, and their eyes locked. In that moment, time seemed to stand still for Hermione, as a feeling of weightlessness took over her body and consciousness. She didn’t realize she had been holding breath, and was probably just making herself light-headed, until she felt Ron’s arm snake around her waist, guiding her to their seats. She turned to sit down, and then looked back at Severus, who nodded at her quickly, raising an eye brow in question, as Ron pulled her hair from the side of her neck and kissed her on the cheek. Hermione blushed as she began to get ready for class, not because of Ron’s kiss, but as a result of her intense awareness of the Potion Master’s gaze on her.

The class sat in anticipation, waiting for Snape to begin, unnerved by his silence and the apparent fury building within him. There wasn’t explicit rage in his expression, but the students could tell that something was amiss; whatever it was, it couldn’t bode well for them. They expected him to lash out at them instantaneously and assign some impossible potion in the hopes of failing them all, but no such action came. Instead, he simply wrote an assignment on the board and glared at the class, before demanding that they begin. He made his way back to his desk, sat down, and rested his head in his hands, as though afflicted by a rather severe headache, while the students began working on their tasks.

Hermione was continuously looking up from her work, transfixed and puzzled by Snape’s actions. She figured it must have been his disapproval of Ron’s display of affection for her, but she couldn’t imagine why it should affect his mood so strongly.

Don’t be stupid, she chided herself, Snape couldn’t give a rat’s arse about you. He’s probably just not feeling well. Hermione shook her head violently as her inner battle raged on, eliciting several stares from her fellow Gryffindors. She determinedly stared back down into her own cauldron, intent on driving away her thoughts of Snape.

She managed, as usual, to complete the assignment with time to spare, despite the distractions that Snape, Ron, and her own thoughts provided. She walked to the front of the room, turned in her vial and, quite uncharacteristically of her, asked to be excused. Potions was wrecking havoc on her nerves; never in her life had she so looked forward to Charms. The answer Snape gave, however, astonished her.

“No, Miss Granger, you may not leave early. I’m sure Mister Weasley would appreciate it greatly if you stayed with him until he has finished his miserable excuse for a potion, anyway.” He took pause to smirk at her before he continued. “To be honest, I’m surprised you can’t think of something to work on during this rarely afforded free time. For example, you could continue the research for your independent study. Speaking of which, is this evening at eight o’clock agreeable for you to continue your work?”

“Yes, Sir. Eight o’clock will be fine. Since you’ve brought it up, should we just plan on meeting every evening at eight? I would feel less anxious being on a dependable schedule, as opposed to deciding when we are to meet on a day-by-day basis. Considering that we’ve met for the past two nights at eight, I’m assuming this arrangement will be satisfactory?” Hermione felt the stares of the rest of the class hot against her back, as her dialogue with Snape continued. She desperately hoped they wouldn’t notice the growing tension between them.

“Yes, Miss Granger, your assumption would be correct. That arrangement is, indeed, most satisfactory. You may return to your seat and wait for your escort,” he replied, glancing at Ron, who was fumbling over his cauldron, clearly oblivious to the conversation being held around him.

Hermione attempted to review her notes on the Cruciatus Curse, trying to recall what work she had actually accomplished the previous night, but was unable to concentrate. Instead, she laid her head on the desk in front of her and unwillingly dozed off, exhausted already by her morning onslaught of emotions coupled with the lack of sleep she was already experiencing. Before she knew it, Ron was calling to her and nudging her shoulder, urging her to wake up.

“Hermione, class is over. Let’s go back to the common room before Charms.”

“Oh my God! I fell asleep? What’s going on?” Hermione was startled to find that no one was left in the room but her, Ron, and Snape.

“You seem to be getting in a bit over your head, Miss Granger. Have you not been sleeping well?” Snape muttered shortly from behind his desk.

“No, Professor Snape. I haven’t been sleeping well. There’s just a lot that I’ve been thinking about lately. I’m sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again. I’ll see you tonight.” Hermione turned to leave the room, and Ron quickly ran up beside her to grasp her by the hand. They exited quickly, leaving Snape to consider what he had just witnessed.

Severus knew he had no grounds to be jealous; it was only a matter of time before Ron and Hermione became an item. Practically the entire student body and staff expected it from them. Still, a wave of anger had hit him when he was forced to silently watch that idiot pull the hair from her face, wishing that it was his hand brushing her cheek instead.

He doesn’t deserve her. He never will. He can’t imagine how lucky he is that she would show a meager interest in him…

And then it hit him. Her interest. Hermione had seemed completely disinterested in Ron’s advances that morning. Replaying the progression of the class in his mind, he recalled the moment when his gaze met hers, and remembered the nervous discomfort he found in her eyes.

Was it because of her hesitancy about being with her new ‘boyfriend’ in public….or could it be about – shit. I’m right, aren’t I? It must have been something that happened last night. I must have said something when I was asleep. Fuck.

After Hermione had left the night before, Snape began obsessing about what she possibly could have had to ask him, without even considering that he could have spoken in his sleep. Once he thought of it, however, the idea seemed completely plausible. He remembered his dream vividly. He was sitting in his private library with Hermione, holding her tightly as she read. She had just finished a particularly heady book, and placed it on the floor before looking up into his eyes and whispering, ‘Severus, I love you.’ Her declaration, even in his dream, had shocked him, but before the dream could go any further, Hermione’s scream had woken him. He had accepted her explanation about being disturbed by her research then, without a second thought, but her behavior this morning made him think differently.

I need to find out what happened…but how? It would be inappropriate to go ahead and use Legilimency on her without her knowledge. I may be a Slytherin, but she deserves more respect than that. It’s certainly going to be a long night; I may as well begin preparing for my afternoon classes. I’m not going to get anywhere by obsessing about this. Why do I even keep this bloody job? If I would just quit, I could get away from her. Who am I kidding, I could never leave. Albus wouldn’t accept my resignation anyway, the meddling fool.

He left the room desperate for an escape, anything to avoid teaching, or even thinking, for that matter. Firewhisky, as always, seemed to be a possible option, but he couldn’t afford to develop an impressive drinking habit. It could quickly become an addiction, not to mention detract heavily from his sound financial standing. It wouldn’t do to have more than one drunkard running through the halls of the school; Hogwarts had enough to contend with by having Sybil Trelawney on staff. With little time to do much else, he opted to pace the room, occasionally breaking various objects for good measure.

Severus Snape, for once, was not looking forward to seeing Hermione Granger.