Not mine, never was. And there’s no plot, really; this series just kind of meanders here and there through the castle .... Hermione is a fourth- or fifth-year in this story.

The idea of a semi-sentient castle comes from Warded Portal’s brilliant story Falling. Beta-read by Subversa.

***SSHG***

Severus hated that he needed reading glasses. To others, he grumbled that he especially hated Miss Granger, whose writing was so minuscule that his always-marginal eyesight had deteriorated since she’d arrived. Minerva argued that Granger was just a convenient person for him to blame.

He set a deterrent charm on the area outside his open office door and settled down to mark essays. Granger, serving a detention, would hesitate long enough for him to maintain appearances.

Or so he’d thought.

She stomped through his ward as though it didn’t exist, interrupting his train of thought by calling out, ‘Professor, I — ’

***

She stopped talking, letting out a squeak of surprise as she stared at his face.

Damn! He whipped the glasses off, scowling fiercely at the boorish girl. Then his scowl deepened; removing the glasses had only drawn her attention to them even more. ‘What is it?’ he snapped.

Granger gulped, gesturing vaguely over her shoulder, though her eyes never left his face. ‘I’ve finished, Professor, and cleaned up.’

Two minutes later, he’d inspected the Pepperup Potion, disgusted. It was perfect, of course. ‘Adequate,’ he sneered, giving his voice a tone that implied it was anything but.

She frowned, clenching her fists.

***

The scowl had not entirely left his face, but now he felt it soften into a frown. ‘Show me your hands,’ he ordered.

Not looking at him, she held them up. Two fresh cuts graced her fingers; her skin was dry and red from frequent hand-washings. And frequent exposure to harsh ingredients caused a great deal of discomfort. Wordlessly, he pulled a jar from one of his shelves, pouring a measure of a viscous ointment inside into a smaller container. ‘Use this on your hands every night,’ he said gruffly, holding it out.

She took it. Her fingers were cold.

***

A teapot appeared on his desk, telling him the time. Now that it was after curfew, he’d have to walk her to her dormitory, but he refused to sacrifice his nightly routine. ‘It is nine o’clock, Miss Granger,’ he said quietly. He pulled two cups from a shelf. ‘Sit.’

‘I don’t want to inconvenience you any more —’

‘Sit.’

Eyes on his spectacles again, she sank onto the chair.

They drank unsweetened tisane in silence, steam drifting in front of their faces. He held each sip under his tongue, letting the lemon flavour swirl around his mouth before he swallowed it.

***

The main doors were still open, and a cold breeze washed over them as they ascended from the dungeon. Granger turned her face towards Severus ... no, she was turning to the wind, eyes half-closed. Her nostrils twitched, and her lips parted in a tiny smile.

‘Wait here,’ he said, deciding to close the doors himself. The breeze picked up as Severus bolted the right-hand door into place, bringing with it the wild tang of the Forest below. It was a beautiful smell, but it reminded him of everything out there that frightened him. He quickly bolted the other door shut.

***

The castle had learned long ago that Severus preferred to walk in darkness. They had to pause at one point; a staircase hadn't quite decided where it wanted to be yet. He glanced at the girl on his right. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, and he saw a gentle sparkle where Granger's eyes were.

When they finally reached Gryffindor Tower, she said, ‘Thank you for the ointment.’ Granger murmured the password to the portrait, and the light from a dozen torches blazed through the entrance. The girl blushed, adding quickly, ‘And ... your spectacles suit you, Professor.’

She scrambled inside.

***SSHG***