Disclaimer: No, I still don’t own the characters. I’ll let you know when I do.

Three cheers for my superlative beta shuldham! May the ducks be with you.

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Apprentice Break In, Breakdown and Breakthrough



Oh shit, shit, shit and shit!

She was definitely not supposed to do this.

‘Be firm now Hermione,’ she scolded herself in a tight-lipped whisper. ‘Of course you are not supposed to do this. You are, after all, making a forced entry into the, up to now, most hermetically warded office of Hogwarts’ dungeons.’

Keep your resolve!

Her hands rummaged with feverish haste through the drawers of his desk.

This is a straightforward plan conceived with clarity of mind. As on countless occasions before, her Gryffindor courage abetted her without hesitation.

Born out of desperation is more like it, dear, her dispassionate logic contradicted snidely.

Momentarily startled, she wondered since when her inner logic had acquired such a snarky velvet timbre.

I should have known…I should have turned around never to come back…

An irrational anger propelled her to the next drawer at hand.

Where is it?

She should have Obliviated herself that first day his eyes had brightened for a fleeting second. She had been teetering on the topmost rung of the storeroom stepladder, and his hand had found the small of her back to steady her. Startled, she had cursed out aloud, and then she had met his gaze; a shiver had poured lazily down from the nape of her neck to melt through her skin and nest in her chest. Once inside her she could not banish it. It fed on next to nothing, the hint of a glance, the accidental brushing of hands at the work bench, the suspicion of a withheld smile on guarded lips… one insubstantial thing added to another nothingness to become something utterly invincible.

She cringed at the recollection of having attempted to broach the subject months ago. He, the bastard, had cut her short with pungent cold and the sardonic advice to communicate in writing should she ever become as incoherent again.

I’m certain it was on eggshell vellum.

A new drawer and a new paper cut.

Damnation.

So, she had put some of her mind in writing. It was an eloquent half measure. Still, it had been an honest inquiry about his reasons for pushing away anyone who tried to befriend him. Anyone, of course, meaning her; the candidate list being one name close to non-existence.

What if he has disposed of it?

She had placed her letter mid-stack in her research notes. Then she had placed the lot on his desk earlier today, or rather yesterday as it was already past midnight. She was convinced he had seen it. He must have. All her notes had been returned with his customary commentary, which had been as prolific as ever.

Has he burned it?

Her eyes flickered to the grate and its soothing glow. There was no more ash than usual so back to the desk then. He had seen it. She knew it. And to top that, she bore the burning conviction that he had begun to pen her an answer. She had seen him use his blue ink which was a sure sign of private communications. The answer had never reached her, but, if still in existence, she would find and read it.

It must be here. It simply must.

Her pained fingertips dived into the last drawer.

Oh, honestly! Were his papers as sharp as his tongue? How many paper cuts could you get in five minutes? Elf sweat!

She grinned involuntarily and made a mental note to tell Ginny that her friend’s vocabulary had finally infected her. Straightening, she sucked the tip of her bleeding ring finger. The Accio command was too risky. She had a sneaky feeling that restraint from unnecessary magic was of essence if she wished to stay devoid of certain company.

The last drawer was explored, and she was none the wiser.

Bugger this.

Leaning back on the desk to contemplate her next move, she felt a sudden surge of realisation; there was something tucked in under the desk-pad. Her fingers coaxed the parchment out of its hiding place, ignoring the unfriendly scrape from a stray paperclip.

This must be it.

Sinking back into his desk chair, right now standing up was an unwise option, she let out a long, shaky breath and unfolded the note. Most of the contents had been harshly covered in ink thus rendering the majority of the parchment into a non-decipherable mass of lines. Only four lines were legible:

Miss Granger,

Where shall I fly? Where hide this guilty head?

Alas! No rest the guilty find from the pursuing furies of the mind.

No rest.

The anticlimax was merciless. Had she just committed a crime to find this?

Focus, Hermione. It may not be the answer you have fought for, but it is still an answer.

What had made him, the master of clever retort, struggle with his words and fail? What words had he over-lined into obscurity? And the ones that still remained, as she read the note anew, the words singed her heart.

Guilty?

Unease flooded her. Was it so distressingly simple? Was he still hiding and hurting; allowing himself neither the redemption nor the happiness that he deserved? The war had brought forth the worst in some and the best, most altruistic, in others. All what of all the lives he had saved while ignoring the risks he took himself?

Damn you, Severus Snape! Why can you not see that you have repaid your debts countless times? Have I to fight for myself as well as for you?

The unwelcome prickle behind her closed eyelids begun to overshadow the stinging sensation in the pads of her fingers. Tears.

Bloody useful, her helpful inner commentator enunciated on cue.

She rested against the back of the chair, clutching the note to her. While providing support for her frame, the well-used piece of furniture could offer her no moral sustenance. She still lacked the answer she wanted most of all. Who was she fooling? He would never acknowledge it to her face, or ears for that matter.

Her reverie was interrupted by a statement that, despite its perfect sotto voce, startled her like a hand of ice clasping her neck. ‘In quest of knowledge, as usual, Miss Granger?’

Ah. Here we go. Shit, shit, shit and all of shit’s shitty friends and relatives.

Three seconds of respite were all she allowed herself before opening her eyes to meet her doom in black. Severus Snape was calmly contemplating her from the other side of the desk. His words drifted effortlessly to her. ‘Any surprise on my part would be such a squander of my effort. After all, the restricted sections have always been more alluring to you, haven’t they?’ The gleam in his eyes told her, rather superfluously, that he was not referring to the library. He advanced on her in a restrained manner that blocked her line of retreat efficiently. His next address bore all the signs of jaded indifference. ‘For future reference, Miss Granger, any mail I wish to be read I send to the recipient. That is the custom in a civilized society, I believe.’

Upon this, he extended his hand to take the note from her. Only years of training in his class could have prepared her for this moment. Not crumbling under his gaze, but still not trusting her voice, she glared at him and crumpled the slip of parchment into the palm of her damp hand with foolhardy determination. She would not have him confiscate the note and send her to bed like some first-year out after curfew. The second part of her plan had included confrontation. It had just come somewhat earlier than expected. Sensing her resolve, her adversary lowered his hand and fixed her with his most unfathomable gaze.

‘And on whose authority have you invaded my premises?’ He was still seemingly unperturbed, but she was not fooled. He was poised to strike.

‘Mine.’

A small twitch of one of his eyebrows was all she got for a reaction.

‘And your reason, if I am not too indiscreet as to enquire?’ His face hovered at a hand’s length from her, granting her the dubious pleasure of watching his chilled silk words form at his lips.

‘You.’

At least, he blinked at her honest confession.

Let the cat out of bag now, Hermione, and vanish the bag.

‘Why won’t you let anyone near you? Can’t you stop punishing yourself? Is this what it’s all about?’

He was, truly, indifference embodied. ‘I believe our pleasant little heart-to-heart has come to an end Miss. Would you be so kind as to vacate my premises?’

Her tears threatened a much unwanted return. It would not do to be reduced to a sniffing female.

‘You will have to throw me out, Severus Snape. I’m not leaving until I get an answer.’

How did I end up in this?

‘Tell me, what have I done to offend you?’ Catching a hint of bewilderment by the shift in his frame, she added, ‘Apart from burgling your office at one in the morning, that is.’

He strode away from her, and she was left with the view of his back. Catching up with him in four strides, she whirled round to face him.

‘Can you not even look at me when I stand here and beg for answers?’

Oh my…I said that aloud.

Not daring to advance closer to her opponent but not wanting to leave, she lingered. Her one brave step forward was instantaneously ruined by her next twitchy movement in reverse.

I’m pleading with Severus Snape. Is this Hell or merely the forecourt?

‘Is my offer of friendship so abhorrent to you?’

I’m aching with love, and you do not even answer me.

At last, he spoke. His reply was so quiet that, had she moved, the swish of her robes would have drained it of all sound. ‘Sometimes, sleeping Crups are best left sleeping, Miss Granger,’ and then, like the spectre of a breath carried across an ocean, he breathed, ‘Anyone in their right mind ought to accept and treasure you affections.’

The first of numerous, treacherous tears launched itself down her cheek. Her usual self-restraint had at last curled up and died. Apparently, her only way out of this was to reach the bottom of the pit before she could ascend.

Fine. So I have to resort to melodramatic honesty.

‘Severus Snape, you are worth more than you ever give yourself credit for.’

‘I don’t want your, or anyone else’s, pity,’ he said acidly and launched himself at her. With reptile-like precision, he snatched the note from her hand. His sudden attack spiked her ire.

‘NO! This it is not pity.’ Her venomous hiss did startle him. ‘It is pure sorrow and grief. I am to suffer because you are unworthy of my good opinion?’

He followed her frustrated speech with reluctant curiosity. Hermione Granger deprived of her usual rational professionalism made an equally disarming and dazzling display.

‘Tell me then, Miss Granger, what am I for you?’

His unreadable expression tormented her. Why could he not show himself to her? She had seen glimpses of the person behind the façade, and even those small snippets had been enough to make her weary with longing.

‘You…you…’ Pulsating stars of anger begun to glow in the corner of her eyes, and several deep breaths were required before she could force herself to continue. ‘I’m afraid you will have to help me with my English vocabulary, Professor, if I am to answer your question,’ she managed between clenched teeth.

‘I am at your disposal,’ he said with perfect equanimity.

She ran one of her hands over her damp face and pushed back her escaped hair. Finally, she had his undivided attention. Excellent. Everything was still according to plan, albeit she was not in control.

‘What do you call… a man…’ She addressed the bookshelf behind him.

Don’t lose your nerve now!

‘…A thief…’ Now, she had to look at him.

Ah, so his gaze could become even more abysmally deep.

‘…Thief that…’

Intriguing colour, black that is: devoid of light yet so full of radiance.

‘…That has…’

When did he get so close?

‘Yes, Miss Granger, a thief that…what?’ he prompted.

Damn him. Damn him for standing so near her that she just wanted to burrow into his chest and inhale full breaths of him. She was lost in his gaze, and not until he captured her arms with his warm hands did she realise that she had a sentence to finish.

‘…A thief that has stolen one’s heart?’ she supplied miserably, without any of the gusto she had intended.

‘Now then, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ His effortless statement mocked her laboured words.

Suddenly, a sparkle of amusement illuminated his features. The effect was so stunning that her ability of coherent thought dashed off for a long since anticipated holiday not even leaving a forwarding address. Abandoned by her most trusted ally, she could but exhale slowly and observe Severus as he left her field of view in a flurry of black.

Running away now, are you Severus!?

The feel of his hands shifting her hair aside to find the nape of her neck arrested all her ambition to follow him. From behind, one finger followed her jaw line in a feather-light caress that melted her. She felt one second of burning breath on her ear. Then his voice overflowed her senses.

‘As I am no expert in soppy language, I cannot provide you with the correct address for such a person.’ Freed at last, the omnipresent shiver plaguing her chest raged through her whole body with inordinate force so that trembling became her only way to answer. ‘I am, however, acutely aware of such…’ A hand found her waist and pulled her in. ‘…Scandalous behaviour…’ His lips met her ear lobe. ‘…Having suffered from the craftsmanship of the guild myself.’

Meticulous fingers trailed the side of her neck and made her abandon all pretence and lean into him, head tilted invitingly. Uncontrollable moaning and the complete loss of her dignity lurked around the corner of her immediate future.

‘But the note…?’ The slightly coarse interjection was a pathetic echo of her usual brisk manner.

I can still speak?

‘A scrap of paper to test my quills after sharpening and a passage from an opera libretto.’

The cusp of her shoulder was claimed with a passionate hunger that did cause her to moan, loudly and conspicuously.

Regain your control Hermione, he is only kissing you…oooh. Gods. So good.

‘But I saw you write an answer.’

‘Probably off with some incompetent screech owl that thinks a detour via Wales is an absolute must for a within Hogwarts delivery.’

In order to distract herself from the creeping sensation of stirring embarrassment, Hermione desperately wanted to pull his head down and continue her burglarious activity by stealing a kiss that would show him that she was a real know-it-all. Although excellent in theory, this plan failed miserably as none of her limbs would comply. Preying on her during her flagrant moment of conflicting emotions, Severus swiftly gathered her in his arms and exited through the one door in his office that Hermione had never previously used.

His private chambers? Yes, suits me fine. Saves me the trouble of breaking in.

Several stairs in semi-shadow and diffusely pronounced passwords later, Severus surprised her by letting her down in front of his bathroom cabinet. Her astonishment must have shown judging by the discrete smile that she saw hiding in his eyes as he addressed her reflection in the mirror over the washbasin.

‘As further information for your line of inquiry, if you do manage to enter my quarters without my permission, I have wards to alert me to the fact that there is an intruder.’

She tried and failed not to look abashed. Trapping her between his chest and the washbasin, Severus unstopped a frosted glass bottle with one hand and placed it next to the tap. He took her hands in his, and with a conspiratorial smirk he continued his admonitions.

‘In addition to that…’ He turned her to face the mirror fully. ‘…My desk is charmed to be…how shall I put this?...’ He pressed his lips to her still bleeding fingertips. ‘…Hostile to people in pursuit of my belongings.’

Exasperation, tempered with pain, caused her to wince at her own blunder as he washed her fingers and administered Essence of Dittany.

‘Not only is it discouraging, but it also serves a purpose. Even small traces of blood offer the means of identification and localisation of the culprit.’

Of course, trust Severus Snape to have a biting desk.

Noticing that her initiative was slipping, she removed her healed hands from him with all the haughtiness she could muster and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. The gesture was completely spoilt by the fact that he still had her ensnared in his arms to the point that she was fully framed by his black-clad body.

‘Just for your information, I don’t intend to be sent off to bed without supper like some disobedient child.’ She attempted a sturdy glare at his refection.

Please make me stop; I’m rambling!

The mirror image told in no uncertain ways of his amusement. Smiling lips dipped down to her head and spoke languidly in her hair. ‘Oh no. That was never an option, Hermione.’

Her name, in his voice, seeped through her body, leaving it inflamed with hitherto unknown desires that formed a chorus of whispered demands. Dazed, all that she could do was to follow the scene in the bathroom mirror. Now, his hands closed in on her with consummate lethargy and left the brim of the washbasin to travel her chest in an aggravating non-touch. After a meandering route, one of his long fingers came to rest on her top shirt button.

‘It wasn’t?’

Great comment, Hermione. Really witty.

‘Hermione…’ There it was again: her own name. This time, her starved blood sang aloud. His poised finger left the button to grip her chin. Gently, he steered her to face him. For a fraction of a second she felt certain that she was about to panic. After all, she had never been so close to him face to face. Now they shared each others breaths. Eyes cowardly downcast, she watched his lips move as he continued to speak while he pulled her even closer. She felt his words rather than heard them. ‘Possible as it may be to break into my rooms, it is, regrettably, impossible to escape from them once inside.’

Curious as to where his line of argument was leading, she raised her gaze and met his eyes. Warmth and hunger embraced her, intoxicated her. She was transfixed by finding emotion where there was usually none to find. Maybe this was how it felt to drown, to die.

Soppy language indeed, Miss Granger. Her mind sniffed at her loftily, but she sternly ignored it.

As if by a miracle, her right hand suddenly made a move that made complete sense; it found his cheek and snuck back to entangle itself in his hair. Severus tilted his head down and spoke in a voice that had melted down to a viscous whisper.

‘And what I find here…’ Every word made his lips tease hers. ‘…I see as mine to take.’ He seized her mouth with irrevocable fortitude. ‘And keep.’

You’d better.




Finis

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N/A: The opera libretto quotation stems from Handel’s ‘Hercules’ of 1745. Thomas Broughton, the librettist, has described Dejanira’s fit of despair after unwittingly killing her husband Hercules in a way that really makes my visual mind fire with images:

"Where shall I fly? Where hide this guilty head?
Oh fatal error of misguided love!
O cruel Nessus, how art thou revenged!
Wretched I am! By me Alcides dies!
There impious hands have sent my injured lord
Untimely to the shades! Let me be mad!
Chain me, ye furies, to your iron beds,
And lash my guilty ghost with whips of scorpions!

See! See! They come! Alecto with her snakes,
Megaera fell, and black Tisiphone!
See the dreadful sisters rise,
Their baneful presence taints the skies!
See the snaky whips they bear!
What yellings rend my tortured ear!
Hide me from their hated sight,
Friendly shades of blackest night!
Alas! No rest the guilty find
From the pursuing furies of the mind!”

If I would have written this today, the anti-melodrama swat team (I'm sure there is one) would have hauled me out into the street and charged me with overuse of exclamation marks.