Bei Mir Bist Du Schon
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,580
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
2,580
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Four Leaf Clover
Chapter Three
Four Leaf Clover
As he approached his office, Severus remembered some Muggle saying concerning the best laid plans of mice and men. There, in front of his door was the bushy-headed profile of Hermione Granger. Laying in wait. He was unsure he could handle this meeting at the time being, but had no choice as he was certain the Gryffindor had already seen him; the corridor was straight and fairly well lit.
Hermione was extremely nervous. Professor Snape was very nervous-making to begin with, and what she was about to ask was the unthinkable. Especially because he had already denied her multiple times. But that was in front of the class, and he had an image to maintain.
She knew he couldn’t stomach the sight of a woman crying, based on several memories Harry had accidentally accessed during their disastrous meetings several years ago and a memory that had been buried in Dumbledore’s pensieve. Something about a woman with dark hair and something much later with a woman who greatly resembled Narcissa Malfoy… Maybe, just maybe, she could out-Slytherin the Slytherin.
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, Hermione prepared for the worst.
“Professor,” she called, hoping her voice didn’t betray the fear she felt. “Professor, I need to talk to you.”
“That much is evident, Miss Granger,” he purred, remembering that he had the upper hand, “why else would you be in front of my door on a Saturday morning… unless of course, you had detention?”
“Oh,” she breathed, flushing at the very insinuation that she might have done something to earn a detention. Taking a mental step back, Hermione realized she could not afford to become flustered, and that was just what he was trying to do.
“Professor,” she tried again, “I really must insist you give me back my notes.”
“Miss Granger, the way you are persisting on this topic, one might think you had written something inappropriate,” he stressed the last word, “on those notes.”
So horrified was Hermione that she used her trump card inadvertently. She could not help tearing up, face flushed with embarrassment.
“Professor, did you look over the notes yet?” she asked in a very small voice.
“Miss Granger,” he said softly, “I never intended to look over the notes. It would be a waste of my time. I merely collected them so the dunderheads you call classmates would not lose them before we all meet again.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, almost inaudibly.
“Pardon?”
“Thank you, Professor, that was all I needed to know.” She felt lighter now she thought she was off the hook.
“If that is all, Miss Granger…”
“Is… is that -dirt- Professor?” Hermione inquired, indicating his knees and shins.
“Yes it is. If that is all?”
“Why do you have dirt on your trousers, so early in the morning?”
“That is none of your business, Miss Granger. Now, if you will excuse me…”
Severus opened the door to the Potions classroom, only to be followed closely. He stared at the girl and tried once again to make his escape. No dice. She followed him into his office, studying his face with uncomfortable scrutiny.
“You are exhausted,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Have you been crying?”
He turned his head from her. He could deny it all he wanted, the evidence was still on his face.
“You have!” she exclaimed, stepping closer to him.
“You’ve been somewhere and you were crying… somewhere with dirt…”
“You are inconveniently bright, Miss Granger,” he said hoarsely, “has anyone ever told you that?”
“Only every day, Professor.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”
Suddenly feeling quite brave, she stepped closer still, until she was within arm’s distance of him. His back was to her, which helped her confidence level considerably. She didn’t dare think about her next move—it was something that had to be done impulsively, maybe regretted later, but she doubted it.
She reached out and laid her hand lightly near the crook of his arm, grasping it lightly.
“You went to the cemetery,” she said with certainty now.
He did not answer, but the way he hung his head told her all she needed to know.
She stepped closer still, facing his back and resting her other hand on his other arm. She was shocked when she realized he had not resisted this gesture.
“You know,” she began tentatively, “often the mere act of acknowledging something aloud can bring about a feeling of peace.”
She barely perceived her professor shake his head.
“Oh, not with me here, of course. Later, when you’re alone, remember that.” She gave his arms another firm squeeze and briefly rested her head against his back, between his shoulders.
“You deserve peace.”
After several moments, Hermione raised her head and dropped her arms back to her sides; she had not been expecting a response. She did not know what she had been expecting, this whole affair had been rather impulsive. But she was glad she had been here.
She registered vaguely that her professor now had his wand out and was doing something; she could feel strong magic in the air, but she wasn’t afraid. If he was going to eject her, she imagined it would be like the time he threw a jar of pickled cockroaches at Harry. More physical… Muggle-style. Such actions, she imagined, stemmed from a perception that Muggles were inherently violent and crass as a whole, a generalization she did not care for. Still, he was half Muggle himself, a fact she couldn’t reconcile with what she knew of his life.
When the professor turned around, he was paler than usual. In his hand was a beautiful rose; the petals were crimson outlined with an intense gold color.
“For your silence on this matter,” he stated simply.
Hermione nodded and accepted the flower. She took this as her cue to leave and closed the door behind her.
Once she was gone, Severus entered his quarters immediately, deciding to wash his face and change clothes so that no one else would recognize his morning jaunt for what it had been. He should have been deeply unsettled with what had just transpired, but found he could not bring himself to be. It had felt so good to be comforted by another human being. No one had ever done that for him before, in all his memory.
Four Leaf Clover
As he approached his office, Severus remembered some Muggle saying concerning the best laid plans of mice and men. There, in front of his door was the bushy-headed profile of Hermione Granger. Laying in wait. He was unsure he could handle this meeting at the time being, but had no choice as he was certain the Gryffindor had already seen him; the corridor was straight and fairly well lit.
Hermione was extremely nervous. Professor Snape was very nervous-making to begin with, and what she was about to ask was the unthinkable. Especially because he had already denied her multiple times. But that was in front of the class, and he had an image to maintain.
She knew he couldn’t stomach the sight of a woman crying, based on several memories Harry had accidentally accessed during their disastrous meetings several years ago and a memory that had been buried in Dumbledore’s pensieve. Something about a woman with dark hair and something much later with a woman who greatly resembled Narcissa Malfoy… Maybe, just maybe, she could out-Slytherin the Slytherin.
Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, Hermione prepared for the worst.
“Professor,” she called, hoping her voice didn’t betray the fear she felt. “Professor, I need to talk to you.”
“That much is evident, Miss Granger,” he purred, remembering that he had the upper hand, “why else would you be in front of my door on a Saturday morning… unless of course, you had detention?”
“Oh,” she breathed, flushing at the very insinuation that she might have done something to earn a detention. Taking a mental step back, Hermione realized she could not afford to become flustered, and that was just what he was trying to do.
“Professor,” she tried again, “I really must insist you give me back my notes.”
“Miss Granger, the way you are persisting on this topic, one might think you had written something inappropriate,” he stressed the last word, “on those notes.”
So horrified was Hermione that she used her trump card inadvertently. She could not help tearing up, face flushed with embarrassment.
“Professor, did you look over the notes yet?” she asked in a very small voice.
“Miss Granger,” he said softly, “I never intended to look over the notes. It would be a waste of my time. I merely collected them so the dunderheads you call classmates would not lose them before we all meet again.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, almost inaudibly.
“Pardon?”
“Thank you, Professor, that was all I needed to know.” She felt lighter now she thought she was off the hook.
“If that is all, Miss Granger…”
“Is… is that -dirt- Professor?” Hermione inquired, indicating his knees and shins.
“Yes it is. If that is all?”
“Why do you have dirt on your trousers, so early in the morning?”
“That is none of your business, Miss Granger. Now, if you will excuse me…”
Severus opened the door to the Potions classroom, only to be followed closely. He stared at the girl and tried once again to make his escape. No dice. She followed him into his office, studying his face with uncomfortable scrutiny.
“You are exhausted,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Have you been crying?”
He turned his head from her. He could deny it all he wanted, the evidence was still on his face.
“You have!” she exclaimed, stepping closer to him.
“You’ve been somewhere and you were crying… somewhere with dirt…”
“You are inconveniently bright, Miss Granger,” he said hoarsely, “has anyone ever told you that?”
“Only every day, Professor.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”
Suddenly feeling quite brave, she stepped closer still, until she was within arm’s distance of him. His back was to her, which helped her confidence level considerably. She didn’t dare think about her next move—it was something that had to be done impulsively, maybe regretted later, but she doubted it.
She reached out and laid her hand lightly near the crook of his arm, grasping it lightly.
“You went to the cemetery,” she said with certainty now.
He did not answer, but the way he hung his head told her all she needed to know.
She stepped closer still, facing his back and resting her other hand on his other arm. She was shocked when she realized he had not resisted this gesture.
“You know,” she began tentatively, “often the mere act of acknowledging something aloud can bring about a feeling of peace.”
She barely perceived her professor shake his head.
“Oh, not with me here, of course. Later, when you’re alone, remember that.” She gave his arms another firm squeeze and briefly rested her head against his back, between his shoulders.
“You deserve peace.”
After several moments, Hermione raised her head and dropped her arms back to her sides; she had not been expecting a response. She did not know what she had been expecting, this whole affair had been rather impulsive. But she was glad she had been here.
She registered vaguely that her professor now had his wand out and was doing something; she could feel strong magic in the air, but she wasn’t afraid. If he was going to eject her, she imagined it would be like the time he threw a jar of pickled cockroaches at Harry. More physical… Muggle-style. Such actions, she imagined, stemmed from a perception that Muggles were inherently violent and crass as a whole, a generalization she did not care for. Still, he was half Muggle himself, a fact she couldn’t reconcile with what she knew of his life.
When the professor turned around, he was paler than usual. In his hand was a beautiful rose; the petals were crimson outlined with an intense gold color.
“For your silence on this matter,” he stated simply.
Hermione nodded and accepted the flower. She took this as her cue to leave and closed the door behind her.
Once she was gone, Severus entered his quarters immediately, deciding to wash his face and change clothes so that no one else would recognize his morning jaunt for what it had been. He should have been deeply unsettled with what had just transpired, but found he could not bring himself to be. It had felt so good to be comforted by another human being. No one had ever done that for him before, in all his memory.