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As a girl, all Hermione had ever wanted was to effect change.
With fistfuls of S.P.E.W badges and a desperate thirst for knowledge, she had wanted to help. To make this world — this magical, incredible, backwards world that she’d been thrust into with no warning at age eleven — into a better place. To work in the Ministry, freeing house elves from oppression and ensuring that Muggle-borns had fair and equal rights; to be at the forefront of the movement to break the centuries-long tradition of systematically disregarding the rights of anyone with a less than entirely pure pedigree.
What she hadn’t considered, what no one had even bothered to mention to her in all her years of magical education, was that the Ministry wasn’t the best place for that. It was intrinsically corrupt — a lesson she learned the hard way after their vehement denial of Voldemort’s return — and her disillusionment with the institution only further intensified after their break-in during the Horcrux hunt. Despite the fact that it had ultimately been successful, the sight of Dolores Umbridge questioning a Muggle-born woman on her right to the very magic coursing through her veins was something that never really left Hermione. The thought of setting foot in that building every day made her skin crawl, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of her neck.
So when Minerva offered her a Transfiguration apprenticeship — with the promise of a classroom of her own — following the completion of her Eighth Year, it had been an easy choice.
Hogwarts was, after all, home.
Hermione had never regretted that decision. She adored teaching; moulding the young minds of magicals as they matriculated through Hogwarts. And the dream that had coloured most of her childhood — that desperate, cloying need to make a difference in the world that meant so much to her — became a reality as her yearlong apprenticeship came to a close and Minerva transitioned from part-time Professor to full-time Headmistress. She instituted a massive overhaul of the Hogwarts curriculum, utilising Hermione’s knowledge of the Muggle world and their education systems. As it turned out, in addition to his multitude of shortcomings, Dumbledore had also neglected to update the learning objectives of the entirety of Britain’s magical population for the last thirty years.
It shouldn’t have surprised her, all things considered. But she still found it personally offensive.
So she’d taken to the work in proper Hermione Granger fashion; researching until her vision blurred and her mind ached. And slowly but surely, Hogwarts changed around her. The coursework improved, with actual syllabi implemented in all of the major courses. Minerva made the decision (at Hermione’s persistent behest) to reinstate the apprenticeship program school-wide — allowing any full-time Professors who had obtained a mastery to take on an apprentice at their own discretion. Seven years later, despite the influx of new professors, some familiar faces still remained.
Including a miraculously healed Severus Snape.
The truth of his recovery was a secret the two of them shared; an unspoken agreement that neither would tell how the illustrious spy survived that fateful night in May. She’d told no one, not even Harry, and as a result, the foundations of begrudging respect had solidified between them. Which was — rather unfortunately — how she ended up assisting Madam Pomfrey with most of Severus’ care throughout her Eighth Year.
She volunteered at the beginning of term to help with the seemingly endless number of new patients following the war. Her knowledge of field medicine, borne of a paranoia that refused to leave her during the Horcrux hunt, had been invaluable to the overwhelmed mediwitch, so she stayed on throughout her apprenticeship as well. When it became obvious that Hermione was one of the only people who could handle Severus without wilting under his withering glare, he had been assigned to her roster permanently. It had taken nearly a year of him residing in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey’s unyielding care for nearly sixteen months to get back to full strength.
And while Severus’ acidic attitude did not reduce Hermione to tears, it had made her want to rip her hair out. He was obstinate and snarky and patronising; constantly fighting her on every single ounce of help she attempted to offer.
Gods, he wasn’t much better as a co-worker, returning to his position as Potions Professor once Harry ensured his name was cleared in the aftermath of the war. Despite the fact that he seemed lighter — the removal of the burden he’d carried for the length of two wars practically visible in the way he held himself now — he still remained true to the man they’d always known. He was caustic; biting and bitter both in and out of the classroom. Sarcastic comments were handed out left and right, never hesitating to highlight the sheer idiocy of a student or colleague.
Hermione couldn't for the life of her understand how she’d fallen in love with him.
Gods, she’d tried to ignore it.
Because being in love with Severus Snape was an exercise in futility. He would never return her affections — her, the girl who used to be his student, who saw him at his most vulnerable, who nursed him back to health. Hermione knew that — she had earned those twelve N.E.W.T.s, thank you very much. And the mere thought of him knowing this kind of secret, of what his ruthless wit and razor-sharp tongue would do with that kind of information, had given her nightmares.
But Severus was not the kind of man who catered to being ignored.
He was enigmatic and engaging; pulling her into conversations about magical theory that he knew she would enjoy. Hermione was certain she could talk to him for hours and never grow tired of the sound of his voice. That distinct timbre that dampened her knickers, leaving her pressing her thighs together as she attempted to abate some of the tension that swirled in her abdomen as he spoke.
When that didn’t work — when she could no longer ignore the feelings that had wound up her spine and slotted between her ribs — denial was next.
Vehement denial.
But when Hermione found herself tucked away in a corner booth at Three Broomsticks, grinning from behind the lip of her Butterbeer as Severus regaled her with a dramatic retelling of the disastrous results of his Second Years’ attempts at brewing Wiggenweld Potion, hope crept through the cracks he left in her façade.
“I’m just grateful no one lost any limbs,” she murmured, laughter in her tone. “At least eyebrows grow back.”
The corners of Severus’ mouth twitched into a facsimile of a smile. “Yes, well… not all of them are smart enough to brew a proper Polyjuice Potion in the loo at age thirteen.”
Hermione smirked as she drank in his expression. “I haven’t the foggiest idea of what you’re referencing.”
Severus snorted and incandescence unfurled between her sternum. She was enamoured with this side of the taciturn man she’d always known. More than anything else in her life, Hermione wanted to find the perfect combination of words to bring that kind of happiness into his stern features; to coax joy from stoicism.
“Right,” he drawled. “Of course not.”
She pressed her lips together. “I certainly would have never brewed unsupervised at such a young age. It’s just a recipe for disaster.”
Severus huffed a quiet laugh. “Like turning yourself into a cat.”
Blush crept across her cheeks. “Perhaps.”
A sudden burst of noise from the front of the pub interrupted them as the door swung open, admitting a handful of rowdy students. Snow swirled around the group of Gryffindors as they shuffled into the warm room and Hermione sighed softly at the familiar sight. She tossed back the dregs of her drink, warmth spreading through her chest as the buttery liquid warmed her from the inside out. Their loud chatter swelled in the crowded space and Severus caught her eye.
“Shall we?” he asked quietly, tilting his head towards the door.
Hermione nodded, gathering her coat and scarf. Severus followed behind her, towering nearly a foot over her petite frame as she swiftly navigated through the patrons.
Pausing as she stepped through the threshold, she wrapped her jacket around her tightly as she took in the surroundings. Hogsmeade was covered in a powdery blanket of fresh snow and the street lamps blinked on around them as the brisk January afternoon transitioned into evening. Hermione shivered lightly, tucking her hands in the coat pockets she had — rather brilliantly, if she said so herself — imbued with a warming charm. The door shut slowly behind them as Severus came to a stop by her side and the quiet enveloped them.
“Would you…” he trailed off and Hermione glanced at him. She followed his line of sight, drinking in the constellations that decorated the Scottish night sky. “Would you like me to escort you back to your rooms?”
Hermione’s breath caught. “Yes.”
He tucked his chin to his chest with a shuddering exhale. “Okay.”
They walked side-by-side, shoulders brushing against each other as they traversed the path back to the castle. A comfortable sort of silence settled over them and Hermione chewed on her lower lip to keep herself from saying something she couldn’t take back.
Despite the fact that it hadn’t been a date — that they’d just decided to have a pint together after running into one another in the village — she was almost entirely certain that there was something between them, that this had to mean something to him. They’d sat and chatted for nearly two hours; discussing everything from the widespread chaos Severus’ students were wreaking upon the school to the latest edition of Transfiguration Monthly that had come out. She’d consumed more Butterbeer in the last few hours alone than she had in the last year and her cheeks positively ached from smiling so widely.
It didn’t feel like a casual pint between co-workers.
It felt like more.
Lost in her wandering mind, Hermione didn’t notice how much time had passed until they stepped through the castle wards. Startled, she looked up at Severus, finding his eyes on her and amusement in his dark gaze.
“Knut for your thoughts?” he asked quietly.
Her cheeks pinked. “Nothing special.”
Severus made a non-committal noise, settling his hand against the aged, wood door as he pushed it open. “From the Brightest Witch of her Age? I don’t know if I believe that.”
She darted beneath his arm and into the soft, candle-lit glow of the castle, avoiding his question. The warmth of his hand ghosted across her lower back and Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest.
“I was thinking about the snow,” Hermione said softly, the half-truth slipping from between her lips easier than she’d expected. He hummed in acknowledgement and matched her pace down the hall, towards her chambers near Gryffindor Tower. “I’ve been in this world for almost twenty years now, but I still don’t know if anything has ever seemed quite as magical as Hogwarts in the snow.”
“Not your first spell? Or successfully casting a fully corporeal Patronus?” Severus paused, his tone wry. “Not even the Weasley brother’s fireworks show at the end of your Fifth Year?”
A quiet laugh, tinged ever so slightly with sorrow, escaped her. Ignoring his Patronus question — the ethereal, silver animal a topic she desperately avoided when it came to him — Hermione shook her head as they ascended one of the hidden staircases that went from the first to the third floor.
“No,” she replied slowly, trying to put her feelings into words. “It’s just— those were wonderful moments, of course. But they’re inseparable from the chaos of that time. From Umbridge and the very real threat of dementors and Fred…”
Severus was quiet and she was grateful for it.
“But there’s something about the way the castle looks, draped in snow. It coats everything in this unblemished layer that deafens all that inherent background noise we instinctively tune out. Comforting; like a fresh start, I think. It just feels so…” Hermione trailed off again, scrunching her nose as she struggled to articulate the emotion behind it.
“Magical.”
Twisting to meet his eyes, her eyebrow quirked in silent question.
A small smile graced his features and her lungs seized. “I’m a half-blood.”
She nodded, familiar with the honourific he’d given himself as a student, and he continued.
“But my father hated magic. My mum wasn’t allowed to do it around the house and despite the fact that I’d learned about magic at a young age and dreamt about Hogwarts for as long as I could remember, I still remember the way it felt the first time I saw the castle.”
Severus’ tone was wistful. “Like all the Muggle storybooks and fairytales I’d spent my life hearing had come true. ”
Hermione grinned up at him. “Like magic.”
“Precisely,” he said quietly, holding her gaze.
It wasn’t until he came to a stop that Hermione broke the connection, glancing around in surprise. The familiar gilded frame of her portrait door caught her eye; the older woman that normally guarded her chambers notably absent. Twisting to face Severus once more, she found him watching her, something indistinguishably soft in his expression.
“Thank you,” Hermione murmured, amber sinking into obsidian, “for walking me home. And for the Butterbeer.”
The tips of his ears grew pink. “Of course. It was my pleasure.”
Drawing upon the kind of brazen courage that had characterised her reckless youth, she stepped closer. “I had a lovely time.”
She watched as the breath caught in his chest; his mask slipping ever so slightly at her proximity.
Softly, he replied, “As did I.”
His eyes darted to her mouth and Hermione fought the urge to fidget beneath his gaze as nerves engulfed her. The silence between them lingered and the first thing that popped into her mind spilled from her lips unbidden.
“I have detention in the morning.”
“What?” Severus asked, amused, if not a little startled.
Hermione wished she still had Minerva’s Time-Turner as white-hot mortification washed over her.
“Erm, well,” she began, wringing her hands. “ I don’t have detention, per se, but I’m monitoring detention. I don’t know if you heard about the prank wars that have recently taken over Gryffindor Tower?” Hermione didn’t give him time to answer, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “But gods, it’s been awful. Just the other day I had to send four different students to the infirmary to have bits of scales and feathers removed. Scales! And feathers! It’s been absolutely horrendous and as a result, Minerva has instituted house-wide detentions until it st— mmpf! ”
Shock rooted Hermione in place as Severus silenced her with a fleeting kiss, his lips brushing hers before she could even react. She gaped at him as he jerked away, leaving only the faintest, lingering taste of spearmint behind. Emotion flitted across his eyes until his Occlumency forcibly shuttered into place; a blank expression replacing the horror she found there.
Hermione took a half step back in confusion, swiftly followed by the sharp sting of rejection. Nausea churned in her stomach and despite the fact that he had kissed her , embarrassment burned deep in her chest. But still, she stared at him, searching for an answer.
Severus gave nothing away; his features hard and unreadable as held her gaze for one heartbeat, then two, before spinning on his heel and disappearing around the corner in a maelstrom of dark robes.
A hollow ache settled beneath her sternum as she mindlessly raised a trembling hand to her lips. Unable to look away from the spot where he’d just stood, Hermione exhaled shakily, warm breath puffing against the pads of her fingers.
“What the fuck?”
Surreptitiously, Hermione checked the Muggle watch that adorned her left wrist as her students pondered the question she’d just posed.
Half one. Another forty minutes before the class period ended.
She huffed, blowing a wayward curl out of her eyes. Fucking Salazar.
The exclamation did nothing to diffuse her mountain frustration; the familiarity with which Salazar Slytherin’s name rolled off her tongue only served to remind Hermione of her former professor turned co-worker turned pain-in-her-fucking-arse.
One of her students raised a tentative hand and she called on them mindlessly, barely processing their response as her thoughts drifted to the infuriating Potions Master across the castle.
Seven days.
Hermione hadn’t seen him for seven bloody days.
Not since he fled the scene of their kiss, leaving her decidedly off-kilter as she lingered outside her chambers. Some part of her brain had almost thought Severus would come back, providing explanations for his erratic behaviour, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply this time, like he meant it.
He didn’t. Nor did he attend meals in the Great Hall. For the past week, he’d been hiding from her; skulking about the dungeons and avoiding Hermione at all costs.
And now she was livid. The need to confront him — to scream at him — burned through her veins like Fiendfyre.
“Class dismissed,” she blurted, unsure if she or her students were more startled by the abrupt declaration.
The group of Fifth Years hesitated; jaws agape and wide-eyes trained on her as they shifted from side to side, gauging their notably stern Professor’s intentions.
The corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m not testing you, for Merlin’s sake. I have to run an errand that I’d forgotten about. So, really — class dismissed. Use the rest of the class period to study.” Quiet snickers spread across the room; the Hufflepuffs were already plotting a pickup Quidditch Game. “And don’t forget you owe me twenty-four inches of parchment on the Inanimatus Conjurus spell first thing Monday morning.”
When her classroom was miraculously, blissfully empty, Hermione inhaled deeply, leaning against the edge of her desk.
“Fuck,” she exhaled heavily, the expletive echoing through the empty classroom.
She glanced at her watch again.
Quarter to two.
Hermione bit back an audible growl.
This was ridiculous. Severus’ classes didn’t end for nearly another hour (because yes, of course she memorised his timetable) and for all of her accolades, she had never been a particularly patient woman.
And if she waited, she might lose her nerve.
With a decisive nod and a steadying breath, Hermione stepped through the doorway and warded her office behind her with a lazy flick of the wrist.
She could do this.
It’s not like he could give her detention for mouthing off.
Hermione swung open the familiar classroom door with a twitch of her wand, the resulting bang against the stone wall nearly sending several students out of their seats. Severus turned from the chalkboard with a dramatic whirl, the edges of his black frock coat twisting in his wake and a scathing condemnation on the tip of his tongue. When his eyes landed on her face, she could have sworn concern flitted across his face before he raised a stern brow.
“Is there a reason you’re interrupting my class, Professor Granger?”
The emphasis in his address didn’t go unnoticed. There were several sharp intakes of breath around the room and her hands curled into fists, nails biting half-moons into her palms.
Hermione grit her teeth. Two could play this game.
“I need to speak with you.” She paused, a loud silence filling the room. “Professor.”
His eyes narrowed. “Surely it could—”
She cut him off. “Immediately.”
“I—” his brow furrowed and he hesitated. His dark gaze traced her features, cataloguing the emotions he found there. Hermione instinctively tightened her Occlumency shields and she saw the moment he felt it; eyes widening ever so slightly, jaw going lax. Severus nodded once, a harsh gesture, and unwanted relief filled her chest. “Very well then. Class dismissed.”
The Third Years swiftly gathered their belongings, and when the last student had finally exited the classroom, Hermione met his gaze once more.
Severus didn’t speak; he merely stared.
Hermione fumed.
“The silent treatment? Really? What are you, eight?” she bit out.
“I would rather think that were you,” he demurred. “Storming into my classroom in the middle of a lecture and demanding my attention. You’re lucky I wasn’t teaching a practical lesson today or the results could have been catastrophic.”
Hermione bit back a scoff. Obviously she had known that before bursting in — she wasn’t an idiot. “You’re an arsehole.”
Severus waved a lazy hand. “I’ve heard it all before. Was this just an exercise in being a complete and utter nuisance?”
“I didn’t think you the vindictive type,” she muttered, ignoring his question.
He snorted. “Why ever not?”
When she didn’t answer, he growled; annoyed. “Well?” Severus asked sharply. “What is it? What is so important that it couldn’t wait another hour?”
“I just—” Hermione cut herself off with a groan.
“Did someone curse you, Granger?” he replied, incredulous. “Is that why you aren't making any sense?”
The words slipped from her lips in a rush. “Did you have a good laugh at my expense?”
Something flickered across his face, his severe features faltering, as he processed her words.
“You kissed me,” Hermione whispered.
Severus nodded warily.
“You kissed me and then you fled the scene,” she practically hissed. Her voice grew louder and louder, indignation threaded throughout her tone. “Was this all a joke to you?”
“No! Of course not,” he protested quickly. Too quickly.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t seen you for a week, Severus.”
He winced, having the decency to look abashed. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
“You thought I wouldn’t want to see you?” she repeated slowly.
He blinked at her. Hermione scoffed.
“Really, Severus? Why in Merlin’s name would you think that? ” Hermione was on a roll now, barely even acknowledging his presence as she paced along the back row of tables. “What part of going on a date with you and kissing you at my door, somehow meant that I wouldn't want to see you?”
“It was a date?”
Hermione stilled, horror coursing through her veins.
This couldn't be happening. The only explanation was that she’d fallen asleep at her desk and this was nothing more than a horrifyingly accurate nightmare, or maybe a stray boggart lurking in one of the far corners of her classroom.
But no, as the familiar scent of her Amortentia drifted towards her — juniper berries and pine and the slightest hint of eucalyptus — Hermione knew this was real.
Painfully, unfortunately, embarrassingly so.
She pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut. “I bloody well thought so. I was under the impression that sharing a pint with someone you fancy is generally considered a date but—”
Severus cut her off. “You—” he made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat, “—fancy me?”
“Oh my gods,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “How is it humanly possible that this keeps getting worse?”
Deafening silence filled the room for a second and Hermione briefly contemplated the success rate of casting a confringo at the floor with the hopes that it would simply open up and swallow her whole. But then the sound of tentative footsteps drew near and she braced herself for rejection as Severus came to a stop in front of her.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
She shook her head, eyes trained on the floor.
“Hermione,” Severus tsked lightly. “Look at me.”
The sound of her name caught her off guard and she glanced up. His gaze was soft as he met her eyes and the fleeting remnants of a smile stretched across his cheeks.
“There she is,” he said softly. “Now, you ridiculous witch, I want you to listen to me.”
Her teeth sank into the soft skin of her lower lip and she watched as his stare followed the action, darting down to her mouth. He swallowed thickly before slowly raising his hand to brush her cheek, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.
“I’m in love with you.”
Hermione choked. Amusement lit his expression.
“It’s true, despite the fact that you looked properly horrified when I kissed you the other night.” He paused, tilting his head. “You truly have no idea how far gone I am for you?”
She shook her head, thoughts racing.
His tone was fond when he continued with an affectionate shake of his head. “You daft woman. I’m fairly certain I’ve been in love with you since before I even care to admit. Probably around the time you dragged me out of the Shrieking Shack and back to life with nothing but your magic and sheer force of will.”
Severus’ lips twitched into a mock frown.“But that most certainly was not a date.”
She recoiled, a soft sort of wounded noise escaping her, and he smiled. A genuine, effortless smile.
All the air left her lungs in a rush. Joy was breathtaking on him.
“Hermione,” he murmured, tugging her closer and threading his fingers through the soft curls at the base of her neck. “Our first date won’t be at Rosmerta’s. I might be from Cokeworth but Salazar, even I know you deserve better than that. We’ll go to some posh, overpriced restaurant in Muggle London and I’ll bring you flowers and we’ll pay more than we should for a bottle of Italian wine and when I kiss you goodnight at your door, I won’t run away.”
“You’ve thought about this, then?” she asked, voice airy and chest tight.
“On occasion.”
“Please kiss me,” she exhaled, unable to stand another moment of waiting. “Like you mean it this time.”
He softened, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slight smirk. “I’m trying, witch.”
And then he did.
Capturing her lips with his; Severus descended upon her like a man drowning. He cradled her cheeks as if she were something precious, nipping at her bottom lip and sweeping his tongue across hers.
He tasted like spearmint.
Pulling back, Hermione rested her head against him, chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath. Her knees were weak; pulse frantic. She felt giddy with the rightness of it all.
Softly, he asked, “Will you go on a date with me? One where we’re both aware it’s a date?”
“Yes,” she nodded, eyes fluttering closed as Severus pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good,” he whispered, pulling away. “I’d like that too”
His lips met hers once more and warmth bloomed beneath her ribcage.
“Especially if it keeps you from storming through my classroom like a hellion,” he whispered against her mouth.
Hermione tossed her head back and laughed.
Severus kissed the sound away.
And at breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning, when they ignored their normal seating arrangements in favour of sitting side-by-side, the pair was so engrossed in conversation that neither noticed as Poppy slid Minerva a handful of galleons, muttering in defeat.