Love Vigilantes

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“The hand that wrote this letter sweeps the pillow clean, so rest your head and read a treasured dream. I care for no one else but you. I tear my soul to ease the pain. I think maybe you feel the same. What can we do? I’m not quite sure what we’re supposed to do. So I’ve been writing just for you.” (Letter to Hermione, by David Bowie)

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Hermione hadn’t slept well at all, reflecting into the night and early hours of the next day instead. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t shake her feeling of surreal weightlessness mixed with the nervousness that made it seem as though she were going to vomit at any second. Her stomach was exercising a plethora of gymnastic contortions, and her thoughts were completely devoted to Severus Snape. She could scarcely believe she had practically taken her professor hostage but supposed that she hadn’t been put into Gryffindor for nothing. Or was he right, and there was more Slytherin in her than she knew? However disconcerting the thought may have been any other day, Hermione hardly cared. She had gotten what she wanted. Although he had not made his admissions of his own free will, his words still carried the same significance. He felt something for her. Hermione certainly deduced as much when he impulsively kissed her only a few nights ago but had no idea of the full extent of his regard. He cared for her deeply. He seemed to understand her more than anyone had been able to before. He was willing to make sacrifices for her own good. She was completely astounded; had it not only been months ago that she cursed the man’s very existence and was utterly convinced of his hatred? For years she had considered his capacity to express any human emotion besides anger to be nonexistent. Oh, how things had changed. She should have been ecstatic but knew better than to let herself relax in the glow of his suppressed affections. Severus was going to make things difficult enough as it was, not to mention that, first and foremost, she was his student. He was her teacher, her mentor, and the most loathed professor at Hogwarts. He had been a Death Eater, for God’s sake. That certainly couldn’t bode well for her. Bearing all this in mind, she finally fell into an uneasy sleep, feeling an odd mixture of contentment and anxiety.

*****

The next morning came all too soon for Hermione, who groaned as she made a mental note that she desperately needed to stop creating uncomfortable moments between her and Severus. It seemed that more often than not, their meetings ended awkwardly and resulted in her running from his chambers without resolving anything. It wasn’t the fact that their interactions were awkward that bothered her. She could handle awkward; she was friends with Ron, wasn’t she? What irked Hermione was that she was always left with the same fate: facing Severus the next morning in Potions, whether she was ready to do so or not.

That day was no different as the Golden Trio walked to class together; Hermione’s own private death march resounded in her head while her two friends chatted about Quidditch, completely unaware of her distress. As soon as she stepped into the classroom and saw Snape, she could tell that he wasn’t alright and couldn’t help but wince at the pang of guilt that convinced her that she had taken too much of his pride the night before. The dark circles under his eyes accented the unhealthy, pale tone of his skin. His eyes were eerily bloodshot, making it clear that he hadn’t slept since their last meeting. It hurt her to see him in such pain, especially knowing that it was her doing. She wanted to say something, to apologize, but didn’t think that Harry and Ron would appreciate it if she confessed her love for Snape in the middle of their Potions class. Actually, she knew they would throw their friendship out the door and murder her on the spot if they ever found out. Hermione moved to sit silently at her desk, slightly unnerved by Snape’s refusal to acknowledge her. She could understand his avoidance of conversation, but for him to refuse eye contact as well? In her estimation, he was being unnecessarily cold. Surely he knew that she hadn’t intended to hurt him. Didn’t he?

After everyone was seated and settled, Severus merely pointed to the instructions he had written on the board before muttering, “You have until the end of class to brew and bottle this potion. Begin.”

The rest of the class busily got to work, thrilled that they had been spared one of the Potions Master’s daily tirades, but not Hermione. As Snape tiredly slumped forward to lean on his desk, her hand shot up in a determined effort to force him to call on her.

“No, Miss Granger. We will not be meeting tonight for your independent study. Think of it as a well deserved day off,” Snape answered resolutely before her question was even asked.

“But, Professor, you didn’t even listen to my question! I didn’t say a word!” Hermione gasped in shock. She was not amused.

“I’m very well aware of that, Miss Granger. However, it was the question you were seeking to have answered, was it not?” Snape put as little effort as possible into continuing their conversation, his eyes never leaving the stack of papers in front of him.

“Yes. Yes it was. But, Sir, we will be meeting again soon?” The subtle change in her tone of voice was an indication to Severus that she was no longer discussing the terms of their independent study. She had moved on from brutal tenors of shock and frustration to a soft cadence akin to pleading. He rubbed his temples slowly as he tried to fashion an appropriate answer. He wasn’t ready to talk to Hermione. She knew too much now. Things could never go back to the way they had been before.

“The timeliness and nature of our next meeting is yet to be determined, Miss Granger.” He closed his eyes, finding some semblance of security in his own ambiguity, but was provoked once more. It seemed as though she had not been satisfied with his response.

“But you will contact me when you have come to a definite conclusion, Professor?”

“Yes, I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I, Miss Granger. Now unless you would like to receive a failing grade for this morning’s assignment, I suggest you get to work.” He glanced up at her for a brief moment, long enough to note her desperate stare, before returning to his papers.

Despite Hermione’s intentions to force him to keep conversing with her, Severus’ threat had the desired effect; she would let no one, not even Severus Snape, ruin her perfect academic record. As she returned to her cauldron, Ron placed his hand on hers in a gesture of empathy, which only served to make her even more miserable. She pulled her hand from under his in order to make quick work of their assignment. She bottled and carried her completed potion to Snape’s desk with fifteen minutes to spare, waiting for some form of acknowledgement from him that never came. As she placed her work down on the desk before him, a soft whisper fell from her lips.

“Coward.”

She turned on her heel and left the room, not waiting to see the way in which Snape’s muscles tensed upon hearing her accusation, and hurried to Transfiguration to get a head start on the day’s assignment there. She was highly dissatisfied with the way the morning had gone.

The rest of the day continued as per usual for the three friends, until they were finally able to relax together at night in the common room. Hermione sat in front of the fire reading Rare Ingredients in Potions Making and How to Use Them, while Harry and Ron fought each other in a game of Wizard’s Chess. After Ron soundly beat Harry, cornering his king and causing the group to recall their own chess victory years ago, Harry left for another of his increasingly secretive meetings with Dumbledore. They had been happening rather frequently since the start of the term, but Hermione was often too busy to catch up with her friends and learn of their occurrence. Normally, it would have bothered her that she knew so little about Harry’s plans to defeat Voldemort, but she had her own war-effort to maintain. She was sure that when the time came for her to be filled in, Harry would bring it up. As soon as Harry left, Ron looked over at Hermione, who never took her eyes off the book she was reading. He tried to leave her alone, but his inability to remain in silence for even short periods of time forced him to tear Hermione’s attention from her studies.

“So… super advanced potions making, huh? That’s… cool.” Hermione’s gaze shot up to meet Ron’s as she shoved her bookmark between the pages of the thick tome, saving her place.

“Ron, I’d be happy to talk to you. You’re only making a fool out of yourself by pretending to be interested in Potions, let alone a rare book such as this. Anyway, what would you care to talk about, Ron?”

“Well, don’t you think it’s weird that Harry keeps having random secret meetings with Dumbledore? You’d think he’d tell us what’s going on!”

“Not really, Ron. It’s Harry’s mission to defeat Lord Voldemort, and anything that can help him do that is invaluable. Clearly, Dumbledore must be trying to help him. And it makes perfect sense that Harry wouldn’t tell us anything. You know what happened last year when Voldemort invaded Harry’s mind. He could just as easily do the same to us. The spreading of information in times like these can be fatal. That’s why I probably shouldn’t have told you about the work I’m doing with Se- Professor Snape.” Hermione gripped the arms of her chair, hoping that Ron hadn’t noticed how she had almost used their teacher’s first name. She finally relaxed once he began speaking again.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But, still, I think he should tell us. I mean really, when you think about it, we’re the ones that have saved his prophetic ass all the time. I mean, you give him all the smart ideas or just whip spells out of nowhere that keep us alive, and I… well there was that one time that I basically defeated Voldemort indirectly, because if we hadn’t made it through that chess match, Harry never would have gotten to the mirror and –” Hermione smiled at Ron’s enthusiasm before cutting him off.

“Yes I know, Ron, you’ve been incredibly brave, and I’m incredibly smart but -”

“BUT NOTHING!” Ron yelled back at her, jumping up in anger. “All we get for helping Harry out is stupid house points and millions of Death Eaters trying to kill us, while he walks around in his pathetic, little bubble of glory. We’ve done just as much to save everyone, if not more, than he has! We should be getting so much more credit.” He sat back in his chair completely dejected.

Hermione watched in amusement from across the room, giving him some time to cool off before responding. “You’re right, Ron, why on earth are we friends with him?” she replied sarcastically.

“I don’t know, Hermione. I really don’t know,” answered Ron, in all seriousness.

His sudden disdain towards Harry caused Hermione to erupt into a fit of laughter that was quickly interrupted by a tap on the window. Ron walked over to open it, letting in an owl which flew directly to Hermione’s shoulder as if it were her own. Hermione smiled, taking the letter that it carried and releasing the bird back into the night.

“Wow. Sooner than I expected,” she mused aloud, not noticing Ron’s less than thrilled attitude.

“Oh… well obviously it’s from Snape then, isn’t it? I swear, Hermione, if I didn’t know you hated each other so much I’d think you were friends…or something like that.” He raised one eyebrow as if implying something more and was upset by the brief retort that followed. He had meant to get a rise out of her.

“Well, it’s good that you know then, isn’t it? I’m going to go upstairs and see what he wants. I’ll probably just stay up there and study for the rest of the night. I’ll see you in the morning.” Hermione ran up the stairs with more speed than she thought humanly possible and leapt into the middle of her bed, alarmingly giddy at the thought of Snape taking the time to write to her, regardless of the message. As soon as she opened the letter, a sudden fear came over her. She realized that she was about to find out what he had decided to do about the delicate situation they found themselves in and was hoping with every fiber of her being that he hadn’t rejected her. She hadn’t even been given the chance to state her case. Eagerly, she began to read.

Dear Miss Granger – Hermione,

Let me begin by apologizing for my cruel behavior towards you this morning in class. I will not lie to you, my cold demeanor was completely intentional but necessary to the evaluation of my own personal conflict in regards to the discoveries we so recently made together. As I imagine you would expect of me, I spent the entire night heavily considering what you want, what I want, and what I think is right: a complex pro and con list of sorts, if you will. What I found was exactly what I feared, for several reasons. I remain doubtful of your ability to make a fully informed decision about what you truly want. Whatever you may think, you do not know me, Miss Granger. And despite your high expectations, a relationship with me would not give you access to the information that you seek. As long as the Dark Lord lives, the details of my life will be a mystery to you. I will do nothing to ease your mind regarding my loyalties; you have given your trust to me far too willingly, and I refuse to take responsibility for your foolishness. As mentioned previously while being questioned in your little quest for truth, I, at this moment, cannot even tell myself, let alone you, what I want. All I know is that I feel something for you, and those feelings are stronger than I would care for them to be. I am certain that the only result of the mutual ignorance of our desires will be destruction and pain. I would rather not inflict any of that on you.

Considering this, I realize that I’ve already caused you a great deal of pain through my rejection of you this morning. Your accusation made me feel, possibly for the first time, a true sense of guilt, knowing that you were suffering because of my inability to, in your words, “let myself be happy”. Let me assure you, I am no coward. And while I have given myself every reason to say no to you and end this once and for all, I somehow find myself unable. I have come to the conclusion that the best course of action would be to conduct what I am going to call a social experiment. You may choose to label it as a “relationship” but considering that I have never been a participant in this sort of endeavor, I would not put too much value on that particular word in our situation. I will promise you nothing, except that I look forward to spending time with you that won’t involve me grading the papers of your incompetent classmates. We cannot have what many would consider a normally working “relationship” as long as I am your teacher, and I will not entertain a conversation of what will happen afterwards, until you graduate. I ask you to please refrain from beginning such a dialog. I’m sure that this is not the kind of missive you were anticipating this evening, but I would like to ensure that you refrain from developing any delusional, romanticized picture of me. As I’ve told you before, I am not a nice man; I won’t have you forget that. And while I will do everything in my power to prevent it, I am warning you now that this may not end in the way you hope.

Nevertheless, I do want to be with you, Hermione, very much so. Thank you for everything you have done; already, it has been too much. I would be honored if you would join me tomorrow evening at six for dinner in my study before continuing our research. However loath I am to admit it, you are right; we need to talk. You may inform me in class if this is agreeable with your schedule. I hope these words will bring you the rest you have been lacking.

Sleep well, Hermione; I will see you in the morning.

Severus

Hermione lay back on top of her sheets when she finished reading the letter, hardly believing that she was still awake. But it wasn’t a dream. She, Hermione Granger, was in a “social experiment” with Severus Snape. She giggled out loud as she imagined him sitting at his desk in an attempt to come up with some phrase to describe what he wanted for them. She made a mental note to devise some term in between social experiment and relationship. Social experiment sounded like some sort of laboratory project. The whole situation was absurd, and she loved it.

For once, the perfect, rule-abiding Gryffindor had a dirty little secret of her own, and nothing in the world could have made her happier.