I'm Not in Love

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Severus walked from the Great Hall with the Sorting Hat in his hands. His speech had been short and to the point, and this year’s new students were in no doubt as to who was in charge at Hogwarts School. It was irritating to him that this old, moth-eaten bit of head wear had to stay in his office. It gave its opinion as and when it felt like it, most often at inappropriate moments. Like now, for instance.

‘It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.’ The Hat sprang into life in his hands, and he sneered at it.

‘What are you mumbling about?’ Severus intoned slowly.

‘The Gryffindor.’ The Hat managed to sound smug.

‘To which particular Gryffindor are you referring? You seemed to give them more than their fair share this year.’ Severus narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

‘Mmm, still loyal to Slytherin, I see, Headmaster?’ The Hat gave what passed as a chuckle and shook in Severus’s grip.

‘When the need arises,’ Severus said softly as he stopped in front of the gargoyle.

‘Wolfsbane,’ he murmured and stepped quickly onto the revolving staircase, eager to rid himself of his cargo.

‘I am referring to your Gryffindor, of course,’ the Hat continued. ‘The one who takes up most of your heart. I can see her there, you know. Love is powerful indeed.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Severus pushed the Hat back onto its shelf.

The Hat shivered slightly and started to speak again.

‘Just as clipping the wings of a phoenix would take the joy of flight from its life, denial is disabling your heart. You could stay on your perch and remain unhappy. Or you could spread your wings and fly. The student always chooses, in the end.’

Severus stared at the Hat, which had fallen silent again.

‘Ridiculous,’ he muttered and sat at his desk, looking over the staffing schedules and waiting for Minerva. Her retirement was long overdue, and he felt he should address the delicate situation now so she could prepare herself.

Severus tried to focus, but the words of the Sorting Hat were filtering into his brain, and he found himself thinking about Hermione for the umpteenth time that day. He put his head in his hands and sighed deeply before reaching inside his robes to pull out her latest letter to read again.

***

Hermione stirred her potion and stared into space. The sun shone through the window of her lab, but she didn’t look at the view. The rolling hills went on for miles, just reminding her how far away she was from Severus. She sighed and checked her ingredients list one more time and then glanced at her watch.

The French school system worked on a different time frame to Hogwarts, starting early in the morning to allow a few hours respite for a leisurely lunch before classes recommenced. Hermione didn’t mind it; it gave her time to work on her own personal projects. Today, however, she was running late, and she hadn’t written to Severus yet.

She itched to write to him every day, but their correspondence was friendly, bordering on formal, and she didn’t want to pester him. On one particularly low day, when she had missed him so much her heart was aching, she had written him a love letter, begging him to see her and declaring her unending passion. It was the truth, but she had read it with disgust and incinerated it with her wand. They were not lovesick teenagers; they were adults who had just happened to have spent an amazing week together. That’s all. So she forced herself to only write to him once a week and was glad he replied consistently.

Hermione had no idea that receiving her letter was the high point of Severus’s week and that he awoke earlier than usual, a spring in his step when he knew her owl would arrive. She didn’t know that he traced her handwriting with his fingers and tenderly touched the parchment, imagining her hands there.

Hermione grabbed a folder of papers and left for her next class, resolving to write to him as soon as her students were set to task.