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Hermione shoved his hands away and exclaimed, “I don’t deserve you.”
Severus scoffed, “Don’t mock my own feeling of unworthiness, Granger.”
“I might as well have ki—” Her voice caught in her throat, pierced with shards of her broken heart. “K-Killed my mother.”
“Without your interference, the Dark Lord’s minions would have done away with her sooner, and it is not even the worst they could have done.”
Her mind conjured memories of Fiendfyre burning in her veins and cold sharpness cutting hateful letters into her arm.
Black spots replaced the images, and dizziness caused her to lose balance. Strong arms prevented her from knocking over the bubbling cauldron next to her.
“Hermione?” a voice filled with worry said, as one hand cupped her cheek and another grasped for her own, guiding it to rest against warm, moving firmness. “Breathe with me.”
She gazed into Severus’s dark eyes, trying to synchronise her breathing with the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers.
“My father said—”
“Your father is grieving and needs time, as do you,” Severus interrupted her. Hermione doubted he’d ever be able to forgive her. How could he if she couldn’t forgive herself? Vision blurring, she clenched Severus’s shirt in a fist, guilt weighing heavily in her stomach.
Gentle fingers wiped the wetness from her cheeks, followed by soft lips tracing the path they had taken. With every tender kiss, Severus whispered soothing words to her heart, glueing it back together, piece by fractured piece. While still fragile, it felt safe from shattering in his caring and capable hands.