Love Vigilantes

As always, reviews are most welcome. I'd like to think I did a decent job, in this chapter, of letting Severus' guard down, but keeping him in character. Any input would be appreciated. Thank you!

“Can we play the game your way? Can I really lose control? For once in my life, I think it’d be nice just to lose control, just once, with all the pretty flowers in the dust.” (Lose Control, by Evanescence)

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Hermione, Ron, and Harry were in the Great Hall for dinner. Between Hermione’s overloaded class schedule and her work with Snape, it seemed that meals were the only opportunities the three friends had to share together. Normally, Hermione would have been pleased to have the chance to spend time with her comrades, but not on this particular evening. She remained distraught after the morning’s events and had come to no reasonable conclusion as to which course of action she should take. She knew in her heart that she should make the best of her relationship with Ron, but the way she reacted to seeing the Professor earlier made her feel otherwise. It was clear that Ron cared for her much more than she cared for him, at least romantically, but, somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to end their relationship; she didn’t want to hurt him after he had been so good to her. She realized that, either way, she was going to be miserable, and was saddened by the darkness that seemed to be overshadowing her future. She stared into her soup as Ron and Harry argued about Quidditch on either side of her, until the feeling that she was being watched wrenched her gaze away from her dinner. She shifted her gaze upwards, to see Snape looking intently at her from his place at the staff table. Vowing that she wouldn’t subject herself to the menacing anxiety of his presence, Hermione addressed Harry and Ron for the first time since Potions.

“Sorry to interrupt your otherwise riveting conversation, but I’m really not feeling very well. I think I’m going to go back upstairs and rest until I go to work tonight. I’ll see you both later.” She turned to go to her room, vaguely aware of Snape’s eyes following her, until Ron called out her name.

“Wait, Hermione, I’ll go with you. I don’t want you to be feeling poorly all by yourself.” Ron smiled at her again, making her feel even worse as they made their way back to the common room in silence. As Hermione started towards the stairs, Ron interrupted her again.

“You know, Hermione, maybe it would be better if you just slept down here. That way, I could make sure you don’t sleep too late. Come here. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Hermione walked over to him while he sat on the couch and gestured for her to lie down. She placed her head in his lap, comforted by the way he was holding her. She didn’t know what to say in response to his kindness, but she tried her best.

“Thank you so much, Ron. You can’t imagine how much your friendship has meant to me over the past couple of weeks.” Hermione flinched, hoping that he wouldn’t realize she had only mentioned their friendship.
“I think I’d do anything for you, Hermione. I guess that’s what happens when you love someone.” He glanced down at her in his arms until he saw her fall asleep, yielding to her exhaustion. Little did he know that Hermione was very much awake, panicking after hearing his admission.

Oh my God. He loves me. That was fast, he must have felt this way for years. I can’t allow this to go on; I can’t let him go through this. It’s not fair to him. I feel something for Severus. Whatever it is, it’s getting in the way of my capacity to love Ron…at least in the way he wants me to love him. I can’t handle this now. I need to do something productive. Now.

Hermione sat up quickly, escaping Ron’s embrace. She couldn’t bring herself to be with him again and make him used to being with her, until she had a plan. She looked over to Ron on the other side of the couch, and attempted to give him answers to the questions his perplexed look seemed to ask of her.

“I’m so sorry, Ron. I think the only thing that will make me feel better is working. You know how happy being productive makes me. I know, I know, it makes me a phenomenal dork, but it works. I’m going to see if Snape’s available to meet early. What time is it, anyway?” Hermione walked towards the portrait hole, stopping to grab her bag and wait for Ron’s answer.

“Hermione, it’s only six thirty. Do you really want to hang out with Snape for an extra hour and a half? What’s wrong with you?” Fortunately for Hermione, Ron looked more confused than angry, giving her the confidence to make her way out the door.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I just can’t stay here. I can’t sleep, and you know I can’t manage just sitting around doing nothing. It’s just not who I am. I should be back later tonight. I don’t know how late I’ll be. Please, don’t wait up for me. Get some sleep. You’ll need it. Quidditch practice really picks up this week doesn’t it?” Hermione knew exactly what to say to Ron to make him feel better. All she had to do was mention Quidditch, and she could probably get him to sell her his soul.

“Yeah, that’s true Hermione. I have to be well rested. The team relies on me, you know! Well, I don’t get why you’d want to do more work, but have fun! I love you,” he added bashfully. “I know it might be too soon to say, and you don’t have to say it back, but I just thought you should know. I’ve felt this way for some time now.”

“I know,” was all that she could say in return before walking down to the dungeons. She took her time, reveling in the feeling of finally being able to take a leisurely stroll to the dungeons. She certainly wouldn’t be late this time around. When she arrived, she he knocked softly on Snape’s door, not exactly sure if she actually wanted him to answer or not. She could always just hide in the library until eight and avoid both Ron and Snape. Even if she started working with the professor now, they’d just be going up to the library anyway.

How could I have been so stupid? I could have just done research on my own; if I needed him to answer any questions, I could have just saved them until eight. Damn, now I’ve knocked on his door…way to go, Hermione. Brightest witch of our age, my arse. Her internal reprimand seemed to last for minutes.

Just as she convinced herself that he was either at dinner or talking with one of his colleagues, the handle of the door turned, and Severus Snape stood before her, rather confused. Apparently, he didn’t get many unexpected visitors. Before she could begin to explain why she had appeared at his door so uncharacteristically early, he abruptly grasped her lightly by the shoulders and asked her softly, “Miss Granger, are you alright? Has something happened? You do know that it’s only six forty-five, do you not?” Snape could fathom no reason for Hermione’s sudden appearance, unless something was wrong. He saw no circumstance under which she would voluntarily seek his company.

The intensity of the concern in his eyes startled Hermione. Compared to Harry or Ron, the level of his expression was conservative, but, considering that she was dealing with Severus Snape, any vestige of emotion was monumental. She had never once considered that Snape could ever be caring or compassionate, let alone to her, his least favorite know-it-all. An unexpected wave of guilt overwhelmed her, and she scrambled to convince him that she was fine. To Hermione, discussing her innermost emotions was a sign of weakness; she had trained herself to deal with her own problems, to shut people out, to stay strong. Demonstrating such a weakness in front of the Potions Master would be immeasurably humiliating.

“Professor, nothing has happened. Like I said earlier when I fell asleep in class, there’s been a lot on my mind recently. I realized after dinner that, funnily enough, the best way for me to relax is to work, so I was coming to see if you wouldn’t mind getting started early this evening. I understand if you’re not available at the moment; I’m sure you appreciate any time you can spend by yourself,” Hermione replied, pleased to see that she had been able to calm Snape down with her explanation; he had backed away slightly and removed his hands from her shoulders. She was even more pleased by his answer.

“Miss Granger, I do not mind at all. I’m sure the evening will be quiet enough for me if you continue your work as diligently as you did last night. But, before we continue to the library, would you mind if I ask a question of you?” He walked back to his desk, leaning on it for support as he awaited her answer. He hoped that he would be able to glean the details of the previous night’s events from her response, but he had to tread carefully. Startling Hermione would do him no good.

“Certainly, Professor, you may ask me anything you wish,” Hermione responded, relieved that her tone hadn’t given away her true thoughts. She felt her pulse quicken as she imagined what he could have to ask her, desperately hoping that he hadn’t figured out what had happened the night before. Embarrassing the professor and revealing her sentiments would do her no good.

“Thank you for the permission, Miss Granger. I couldn’t help but notice that you looked rather uncomfortable this morning. I truly hope that your uneasiness has nothing to do with the situation of our independent study. Has anything happened that has caused you to feel discomfited while we’ve been working together? Your feedback here is just as important in any other course. I would hate to think that I am doing you a disservice through my tutelage or am impinging upon your success.”

Severus hoped that his question was vague enough that, if nothing had happened, Hermione wouldn’t be suspicious of his intentions in asking the question, yet clear enough that, if something had happened, she would realize it was acceptable to discuss it with him. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry for long, as Hermione considered his question for a brief moment before answering.

“No, Sir, nothing has happened,” Hermione lied. “I’m thrilled to be working with you. I hope I didn’t make you think that I wasn’t enjoying our time together. I appreciate it very much, I assure you.”

Hermione hated lying to him about what had happened the night before, but she certainly wasn’t ready to tell him what he had said in his sleep, afraid of where their conversation could go. She wasn’t ready to engage herself in a discussion of her affections, and couldn’t comprehend having to tell Snape about them. Instead, she insisted that they continue on to the library; she was looking forward to continuing her research and informing Snape of her desire to create a brewing plan, so that they could work in the labs the next night. She dearly loved the feel of sturdy parchment under her hands, but was eager to chop, pour, and stir, as well.

As soon as they set foot in the library, Hermione dashed to the cart she had left on reserve, pulling out piles of books and throwing them onto her work table. She set to reading them enthusiastically, trying not to remember that she was alone with Severus Snape again, knowing that it wouldn’t do well for her to lose her focus during such an important project. She was on a mission to save the wizarding world and wouldn’t let her emotions get in the way.

Hermione began scribbling notes, continuing for practically five hours at the speed of light, until she had a concrete plan of how to begin formulating her potion; her hand was horribly cramped and her eyes stung from her prolonged reading. As she berated herself for not charming her quill to write on its own when dictated to, she looked up and saw Severus. In a flash all of the emotions and memories she had repressed through the evening came back to her full force. In her mind she saw Ron’s declaration of love while simultaneously feeling her emotional pull towards Snape. Her system was in overload, and her body couldn’t handle the immeasurable amount of stress. She was about to have a panic attack.

Hermione was no stranger to panic attacks. In fact, they happened to her rather frequently. Her parents had been severely distraught at their onset, trying everything to get her to stop crying and hyperventilating whenever they occurred. Thus far, nothing had ever worked; Hermione simply internalized things too much. It was a part of how she handled the stresses of her plans for achievement. She couldn’t afford to worry about her studies constantly; her schedule was too busy, so she pushed the paranoia to the back of her mind and focused following her daily routine religiously. However, when her mental reservoir of anxiety began to overflow, Hermione was a force to be reckoned with. She briefly recalled the first and only time, during her muggle education, that she received a B; she had gone home and sobbed for nearly four hours. It had been a painful experience for her entire family; her parents simply couldn’t understand the imagined pressure she forced upon herself, and it had taken Hermione days to recover from the migraine into which her tears had resulted. Since then, Hermione had been able to control her panic attacks, but the one she felt choking her throat was of an entirely different nature. Academic panic attacks she could handle; this one was more personal.

No, not now. Please, not now. Hermione screamed to herself, willing her mind to hold back her frustration. Her body however, had an entirely different idea. Her exhaustion didn’t even give her a chance to put up a fight.

She felt as if fire was spreading through her body, and, unable to hold back any longer, she began to cry. As soon as she started sobbing, Hermione sensed that Snape’s eyes were on her, and, before she knew it, he was by her side.

“Miss Granger, don’t lie to me. I will be able to tell if you do. Something is wrong. I know I told you that our personal lives should never enter into our conversations, but this simply is not healthy. I’ve sensed the tension in your mind; you’ve practically been broadcasting it to the world. If you are comfortable, you may discuss anything you wish with me. Your rate of tear flow implies that you have found no one suitable to whom you can relate your problems. I assure you nothing you say will change my opinion of you.”

Snape had thrown his promise of detachment out the window the minute he had heard Hermione’s first sniffle. He didn’t care what hell he would put himself through by endearing himself to her. He simply wanted to see her healthy again. Snape would have been blind to not notice her recent decline. She had told him herself that she hadn’t been sleeping well, and, from what he could observe at meal times, she wasn’t eating well either. Propriety be damned, he was going to help her.

“Let me assist you.”

Severus’ small words of kindness only caused Hermione’s sobs to become more violent, the hyperventilation accompanying the panic attack wracked her body and caused her to crumple to the floor. He knelt by her and tentatively pulled her to him, holding her still in his strong arms. The shaking stopped, but her tears continued. He remained silent and let her weep into his shoulder, tortured by his witness of the pain she was experiencing. When it seemed that her crying had subsided, he addressed her.

“Miss Grang-” His attempt was ended even before it began, as he found himself being pummeled by Hermione’s small fists. She was frantic again.

“PROFESSOR SNAPE YOU WILL CALL ME HERMIONE. I CAN’T EVEN CONSIDER LETTING YOU HELP ME IF YOU INSIST ON TREATING ME LIKE A CHILD. YOU KNOW I’M MORE MATURE THAN THAT! THAT’S WHY WE’RE DOING THIS BLOODY PROJECT IN THE FIRST PLACE!” Her eyes went wide as soon as she realized she had been screaming at him, and she softened her voice before continuing. “Professor, just call me Hermione. Please. My name is Hermione.”

Severus let her go, satisfied that the panic attack had been curbed, before conceding. There was little use in arguing with her when she was in such a state. “Fine, if it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ll do it. Now, Hermione,” he paused for a moment as he listened for the haunting echo of her name through the rafters of the library, “I want to help you, but I can’t, unless you tell me what’s wrong.” Severus was getting nervous. He was breaking every single one of his own rules, and didn’t like the feeling one bit. He was going to regret this later.

“I’m so sorry, Professor. I’m feeling so many things I don’t want to feel. I’ve lost control of my life. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt like this before, and my own uncertainty is killing me.”

“I see. Miss Gr- Hermione, are these feelings somehow associated with your Mister Weasley?” Snape looked down at Hermione and felt her unknowingly tense at the sound of Ron’s name.

“In a way they do. Since you asked, you must have noticed that our relationship has changed slightly. Well, the other day, Ron asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, thinking that such a relationship with him would make me happy.”

Hermione’s voice gained strength as she continued her narrative. She maintained her composure by imagining herself answering a question within the context of a Potions class rather than being in a personal conversation with Snape. It seemed to help. She couldn’t believe she was spilling her guts to Severus Snape. She was going to regret this later.

“Tonight, after dinner, Ron told me he loved me, and, well, I don’t feel the same way. To be honest, I don’t feel any of the things he feels for me. Our friendship means the world to me, but I can’t see it becoming anything more. I’m afraid that if I end things with him I’ll break his heart. I can’t have that weighing on me. I can’t. I don’t want it, any of it.” Voicing her feelings only made them more real to her, and she began crying again with a renewed vigor.

“I know my opinion cannot possibly have any impact on your decisions. I’ve given you no reason to trust my judgment, but I believe that it would be best to end things with him now, if that is truly what you desire. Your continued silence will only make things worse when you leave him later. I know you wouldn’t want that for either of you. It could ruin your friendship…forever.” Severus was telling her the truth; it wasn’t at all out of jealousy. He thought it fair that Hermione should tell Ron of her feelings as soon as possible instead of leading him on. He knew, all too well, the sting of being rejected by a person to whom one is so devotedly attached, and he wouldn’t wish the same fate on anyone - even if that anyone was Ronald Weasley.

“And, while I’m giving you advice,” he continued, “I think it appropriate that, while we are together in the capacity of your independent study, you use my given name, since you have given me permission to use yours. Would that be acceptable?” He quite literally bit his tongue the moment he had offered Hermione the liberty of using his first name; the control he had over his situation with Hermione was fast escaping him. If he hadn’t been so expertly skilled at hiding his emotions, he would surely have been afflicted by the same sort of panic attack that Hermione had just exhibited. Unfortunately, it was too late to rescind his invitation.

“Yes. Thank you so much for your comfort and…friendship…Prof- Severus.”

Hearing Hermione say his name drove Snape to a whole new level of insanity. She had said his name with a tender reverence that he couldn’t comprehend, and it made him want her to say it again, and again, and again. He was astounded by her capacity for trust. They had scarcely shared one full conversation, and she already considered him a friend? He should have been thrilled, and part of him was, but he found himself enraged at the same time. There could be no more stern ridicule, no more scathing remarks, no more belittling her intelligence. She would actively seek his friendship. Severus almost had himself convinced that he was dreaming, until his thoughts were disrupted when he felt something heavy leaning against his side. Hermione had fallen asleep, slumping against him for support. Severus was certain that the look of peace on her face was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen, especially considering the state she had been in only minutes ago, and was reluctant to wake her.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “I know you’re tired, and you’ve done more than enough work for one evening. If you’d like, you can stay in the rooms Albus prepared for you in the dungeon wing for the night. I’m sure you don’t feel like returning to Gryffindor Tower after the day you’ve had.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much. Thank you, Severus.” Hermione immediately fell back to sleep, completely drained, both mentally and physically, by her outburst.

Severus sighed as he carried her back to the dungeons and into the rooms that had been arranged for her. He laid her in the center of the bed and gently kissed her forehead before returning to his chambers.

In his room, Snape collapsed into his own bed. He was furious with himself. He hadn’t anticipated ever letting his guard down with Hermione, let alone to do it so soon into their work together. Seeing her cry was more discomforting than he cared to admit; he prided himself on being immune to emotional displays. She had thanked him for his friendship…she had found comfort in his presence. He was elated, he was losing sight of his goal, and, most of all, he was conflicted.

Perhaps I could survive a friendship with her. I’m supposed to be her mentor, anyway. Yes, we can manage a professional friendship; nothing more. I refuse to let my feelings slip again. I won’t make the same mistake, not like I did with…

Snape stopped himself before being carried away by his regrets and fears. He hated to dwell on them; he preferred to avoid the inevitable self-loathing that accompanied a reflection on his past. Instead, he focused on the sound of his name escaping from Hermione’s lips, the very syllables lulling him into an uneasy sleep.

Severus.