Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these lovely characters are mine. Thanks, JKR! Also, I’ve read a great deal of HG/SS fiction in the last few months, so I’m sure I’ve been influenced by the wonderful authors out there. If you recognize anything, please forgive me, I didn’t mean to borrow. I really do appreciate all the great stories I’ve had a chance to read!
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Dear Professor,

By the time you receive this, I will be gone.

I am not writing this letter as a final parting shot, but it might have been easier if that had been the case. I would prefer to remain silent, but my Gryffindor courage (or stupidity as you see fit) won't allow me to keep my council.

Don't worry, sir. I can hear your blatant drawl, 'Get on with it, already!' from here.

I like you.

I am not so foolish as to say love, because while I know a great deal more about you than the average student, I know better than to assume I know enough to profess my undying devotion.

Don't snort, Professor, it isn't dignified.

I am fairly certain you will write this off as a silly schoolgirl crush. But you should know that at least one student appreciates and respects the work that you have done…

And one woman sincerely cares about your happiness.

Hermione Granger

It was the last line that undid me.

I was unaffected by her melodramatic opening, untouched by her pathetic attempts at humor, utterly unmoved by her declaration of admiration. She was an eighteen-year-old Gryffindor who had stood alongside me on the battlefield; of course she mistook that fleeting moment of camaraderie as esteem, perhaps as something more.

I, however, was not so foolish as to believe that what had occurred on the streets of Hogsmeade that day was anything more than the release of long-held stress. The feeling of her body against mine, the brush of her fingers against the nape of my neck, the sensation of her lips on mine, it meant nothing, of course.

There were countless people embracing in the streets that day, people who had never cared a whit for each other the day before. We were simply two exhausted warriors, mindless in our relief. Absolutely mindless.

“All right there, Professor?”

I looked up in surprise at Hagrid, whose booming voice was somewhat muffled by the puffing of the Hogwarts Express. We stood with the rest of the Hogwarts faculty on the platform of the Hogsmeade station. It was a silly, ridiculous idea, seeing off the students, but the faculty had voted (fourteen to one) to instate this new ritual as a tribute to the closeness of the Hogwarts community forged in the wake of Voldemort’s destruction.

No doubt Albus would shout goodbye and wave with both of his hands, looking more like a demented bird than the most powerful wizard of the 20th century. Flitwick would hop up and down, Hagrid would bawl like a baby, Minerva would dab at her eyes with a bleached-white hankie. Fools, all of them, to think that this bunch of ungrateful children cared …

One woman sincerely cares for your happiness.

“You do look a little pale, Severus,” Albus commented.

“How can he tell?” I heard Hooch mutter to Sprout, and both women giggled in a way completely indecorous for witches their age.

Ignoring them, I stared at the train. Naturally, I didn’t care if she had boarded yet, didn’t wonder where life after Hogwarts would take her. We had discussed her options several times during her year-and-a-half assistantship with me (a position only granted to her because Albus insisted I could use another pair of hands as the war raged on). Some days, she was taken with healing, other days, with research. She had several years to decide, as the Cambridge Institute of Magical Sciences would prepare her well for either path. Personally, I could have cared less what she did with herself, but I did think, given her bossy, know-it-all attitude, she would make a fine teacher one day.

“Where are you going, Severus?” Minerva called after me as I headed to one of the train doors. The opening was crammed with eager students and their belongings, but, being the bat of Hogwarts, I had no trouble clearing a path for myself. All it took was a brusque, “Move aside!” and I was striding through the corridor of the train.

“Snape! What’s he doing on board?”

I heard Weasley’s whiny voice before I saw him. Catching sight of him in one of the compartments, I threw open the door and demanded, “Where is Miss Granger?”

I only wanted to tell her that it had been completely inappropriate for her to send such a letter to me. That was all.

“Sir?” a voice called out, tentatively, behind me.

I spun around. That pounding in my chest was purely the result of anger at the girl’s insolence. Certainly, it had nothing to do with her warm brown eyes or her pink, slightly parted lips.

I clutched the letter in my hand. I had meant to demand an explanation, but instead I found myself grabbing her hand and pulling her down the corridor until we had reached an empty section.

Shutting the door and falling back against it, I held up the letter. What is the meaning of this! came out as, “Do you really mean this?”

“Of course,” she said simply.

“You foolish girl,” I murmured, leaning toward her.

“Foolish woman,” she corrected, her breath on my lips.

And although I really had no desire to do so, I pulled her to me and kissed her senseless. It was the best thing I never wanted to do.

*** A/N: The letter itself was written by Dryad, author of this wonderful challenge. The challenge guidelines are on WIKTT. Thanks for reading!