AN: this was originally a one shot but turned into something longer, now it's followed by another short piece called Maybe it is. Then, the sequel to the both of them is called Four Little Words, which picks up a few months after Maybe it is. Let me know what you think.


Disclaimer: I own nothing, just taking them out for a spin.


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It’s better this way. It really is. I wonder if I repeat that to myself often enough, for long enough, I’ll begin to believe it. I know that this is the right thing to do. I’m too old for her, I used to be her Professor, she’s too young to know what she wants, she deserves better, blah, blah, blah. I can name a hundred reasons why the world disagrees with our relationship, and I don’t believe any of them. Well, perhaps one. She deserves better. I believe it, but I refuse to accept it. She deserves more than I can offer. Who is she? Hermione Granger, know-it-all champion of Gryffindor, creature of light, respected, loved. Who am I? Severus Snape, greasy git, traitor of Slytherin, creature of darkness, death and despair. Universally despised. She deserves more. The world agrees with me on one point at least.


She deserves some bright eyed, sun tanned, silky haired, well dressed rich boy who will take her on romantic picnics, recite poetry and declare his undying love to her in a way reminiscent of a teen romance novel masquerading as literature. The greater part of my brain agrees with this assessment, but I still feel an undeniable rage that any boy would touch her and a sickness in my stomach at the thought that that is what she truly wants. An annoyingly honest voice in the back of my head reminds me that this isn’t what she wants. She has told me on more than one occasion what she wants, screamed it to me actually, and that sure as hell isn’t it. She wants me. Stupid brain, interrupting with logic when I am trying for nobility.


If I am what she wants, too bad, the world never asks what people want. She deserves more. She will forget me and everything we had. She’ll forget that she loved me and do her duty to the world: get married, have babies, live a good long life and go on lots of stupid romantic picnics complete with live poetry readings with Mr. Silky Hair Rich Boy.


And I’ll go back to being the shadow that haunts the Hogwarts dungeons, sneer firmly in place and repeating to myself that it’s better this way. If I repeat it often enough, for long enough, I may just begin to believe it.