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Matters of the Heart	By : strawberryf1re Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 34556 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (characters, settings, etc.) ŠJ.K. Rowling. No profits are made from this work.

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Rating: M – inappropriate for readers under the age of 16; contains scenes of explicit sexuality and violence.

Disclaimer: Characters and settings ©J.K. Rowling

Matters of the Heart

K. Marie

Chapter 4

Hermione’s amber eyes met Snape’s steadily. Neither party knew what to say, and for a moment, they both stood still, staring at each other in silence. Snape’s face was set in an expression that was entirely foreign to Hermione, and she almost didn’t recognize him.

Finally, and without invitation, Hermione sat down in the uncomfortable chair in the corner of the room, her belongings within reach. She folded her legs next to her, and finally broke the gaze she held with Snape. Her eyes moved to the window, where she could barely make out the Quidditch goal hoops in the distance.

The irony that Hermione felt almost comfortable in the potions office was not lost on her.

She heard the whisper of fabric that suggested Snape had returned to his seat. A few more minutes passed in silence, and then Hermione looked at the man who had raped her. She felt the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes, but she forced them away.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Snape simply looked at her, the lines in his aging face more apparent than she had ever remembered. In his eyes, she recognized something she thought might be sympathy. She did not overlook how tense his shoulders were, and she suspected the only reason his elbows were supporting his weight was to prevent him from shaking.

“Pr-professor,” she began, feeling pathetic.

Snape did not reply; he only stared at her. Absently she began picking at the soles of her shoes as she averted her eyes from Snape’s face.

“I didn’t…” her voice was soft. “I didn’t report you.”

Snape bristled at this news, adjusted his body slightly to face her a little more, but still he did not respond. She continued:

“I spent the last few days torturing myself, trying to do the right thing. Part of me wanted so badly to tell somebody, anybody. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.” The tears forced their way onto her face. “I couldn’t do that to you. T-to… to Harry.” She brushed at them roughly with the sleeve of her robes. “You are too valuable to our cause, and if I had told Dumbledore, he would have been forced to fire you. And without his protection… and the protection of Hogwarts… you could be subjected to Death Eater attacks. You could be… killed.”

She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. But she continued: “And if I told, I would be putting Harry at unnecessary risk because without you, we would be in the dark as to what Voldemort could be doing, and that would make Harry vulnerable. And I couldn’t do that to him, I love him too much.” She rubbed at her eyes with her trembling hands. “And yet, you stand as a danger to the students here. As Head Girl, it’s my responsibility to protect the students and report any potential threats. But as Harry’s friend, it’s my responsibility to protect him, and the entire world, from Voldemort.”

Snape simply stared at her, at a loss for words. The very woman he had raped not even a week ago sat within five feet of him, confessing that she could not bring herself to report his crime. She had every right in the world to tell Dumbledore, to have his ass tossed unceremoniously out onto the streets of Hogsmeade. And yet, because she realized his value to the cause, she did not. Because she realized that her friend’s life practically rested in his hands, she did not. He could not believe the words she was speaking.

“Can…” she began, slowly. She raised her face to look at him, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “Can I ask you a question?”

Snape nodded. “Of course, Miss Granger.”

“Does it always hurt?”

Snape could have laughed at the innocence of her question. She was not asking why he had raped her, why he had lost his self-control and stolen her innocence, why her. She was asking if every time she engaged in the act of love-making, if it would hurt!

“No, Miss Granger,” he answered softly, staring her in the eyes. “It only hurt because… because it was your first time.” His voice nearly cracked, but he maintained his composure. “And because I was so rough.”

“Oh,” she replied simply, quietly. She let her eyes fall back to the soles of her shoes, which she commenced picking. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Anything, Miss Granger,” if it had been any other student, he would begin to grow annoyed. But not her, not now.

“Do you think I should have reported you?”

Her question was simple enough. Unfortunately, the answer was not. Dropping his gaze to his calloused hands, Snape began. “Yes, I do. The other night was a heinous, despicable crime against you, Miss Granger. You did nothing to deserve it, and I do not want you to believe otherwise. What had happened was the result of my own lack of self-control. It had nothing to do with anything that you had done, and I want you to know that,” his voice was stern as he addressed her. So badly he wanted to reach out and grab her hands in an assuring manner, but to do so would be terribly inappropriate. “Miss Granger, I do not regret anything more in my life than what I did to you. It was terrible, and you have every right to report me. And while I am entirely grateful that you have not, I will never prevent you from doing so.”

She simply nodded, chewing her lip as she looked at him. In the matter of fifteen minutes, she had been reduced to a seven-year-old girl, desperate for answers to questions that had none. She was terribly confused. Although she should, she did not hate the man who sat so remorsefully before her. In all honesty, she had no idea how she felt about him.

“I went to Madame Pomfrey the day after,” she began slowly, looking at nothing, still chewing her lip. “I asked her for a contraception potion, and she asked me a lot of questions about why I needed it. She informed me how disappointed she was in my lack of responsibility, especially as Head Girl. And she reminded me of it several times before I was able to leave. But… I didn’t tell her it was you.”

The Potions Master stared sadly at her. She was being blamed for his actions, and he hated it entirely. The longer they sat together in his office, the more he hated himself. She was so small, so innocent, so… scared.

Hermione raised her eyes to meet his again, and they were red, but no longer wet. She tried a slight smile, but it only resulted in an awkward face-twitch. Even if Snape wanted to smile at her, he couldn’t. The atmosphere of the room was just too heavy.

“Do you think it would be all right if I continued my apprenticeship?”

If Snape could gawk, he would have. But his facial features were simply not suited for such an expression. Regardless, he replied, if not a little confused, “Of course, Miss Granger. That decision is entirely up to you whether or not you desire to continue with it. I would not have forced you either way.”

“Okay, thank you,” she whispered.

She began picking nervously at her nails as the silence between them wore on, but Snape interrupted it. “While I do not wish to force upon you any circumstances that may be uncomfortable, I do request your attendance as I did before: every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at four o’clock. I do not expect you to be present any more than that, and if it can be helped, I will not require you to remain past dinner.”

She nodded slightly. “Of course, thank you.”

The silence that weighed on the room was not uncomfortable. Oddly enough, the both of them seemed a little at ease with one another. Hermione shifted in the chair; Snape turned back to his desk and folded the parchment back into the envelope.

For the rest of the evening, they sat in a comfortable silence while Snape graded second year essays. Hermione, who had moved her chair next to his desk, offered to assist him in the evaluations, and he obliged. She dipped her quill in red ink and corrected along with him.

The hours ticked by until it was nearing midnight. Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes and Snape suggested she go to her rooms.

“Thank you, professor, for… talking with me,” she said quietly as she picked up her things.

“Of course, Miss Granger,” came his tired reply. “I shall see you Monday.”

The following Monday proved to be much less comfortable than their previous discussion. Hermione arrived right on time, waiting for the professor’s invitation before letting herself into his classroom. Upon entering the dungeons, she had a sudden flashback to the events that had taken place, and nearly fled.

However, she took a few deep breaths, and managed to calm herself. Snape had answered her knock from his office, and so he did not witness the spectacle of a near panic attack on Hermione’s behalf, and she was grateful. While the man had every reason to feel guilty, she didn’t want to inflict more shame on him (which, it occurred to her, seemed a little strange).

Setting her bag down beside the door, Hermione headed in the direction of the laboratory. She tested the door and realized it was unlocked; Snape must have already lowered the wards. She entered slowly, and her workstation remained as it had been, except it had been restored to its previous tidiness.

Setting her potions book on the desk, she flicked it open to the last page she had read. The same draught she had been working on; she intended to recreate it, and properly this time. Snape respected that she needed to be distant from him for the time being, and she hoped he would only speak to her if she initiated conversation.

And so, she began to work. All the ingredients she needed had been conveniently laid out for her, as if he anticipated her desire to recreate the potion he ruined. He didn’t bother her at all during the afternoon, and only once the dinner bells sounded and Hermione opted to remain in the dungeon to continue her work, did he let himself into the room, leaving the door wide open as to not panic Hermione.

“So you will be missing dinner, then?” he said simply as he watched her from the doorway.

“Yes, I think so,” she replied, looking up briefly from the pages. “I’m not very hungry, and this draught requires my attention, so…”

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, professor.”

“Good evening, then, Miss Granger,” he turned on his heel and left.

Snape took his dinner to his office, where he ate in quiet peace. His mind whirred, mainly with the thought that Granger had been brave enough to return to the very room where she had been violated to continue her work. Even as he sat in his office, he was nearly shocked to be there; he should be outside the safe walls of Hogwarts, away from the poor girl. She was truly a wonder.

In any case, the Potions Master was eternally grateful; Hermione had not reported him, and therefore, she possibly spared him his life.

He still could not fully explain what had happened that terrible night. The course of events replayed in his mind like a horrible film.

“Sir, I can’t find the black beetle eyes.”

Her voice was quiet, but sudden, and he had not been expecting it. He snapped his head up to look at her, an eyebrow raised. Last he was aware, the eyes were towards the front of the shelves, and within plain view. Silently he cursed the house elves; if they had dared touch his stores, there would be hell to pay.

Granger had stared at him expectantly, and he stood slowly. The door to the storeroom was wide open and Snape eased himself onto the stepladder. Sure enough, the beetle eyes were right where he recalled. He plucked them off the shelf.

“You didn’t look very hard,” he growled at her, handing the jar to her. His rough fingers brushed against hers softly as the jar was exchanged.

Pushing past her, Snape left her bristling in annoyance as he returned to his desk. He bent over the essays that his fourth year students had turned in; the students were lucky if they received a “Dreadful” for the pitiful bunch of assignments.

Instead of insult his intelligence with the homework assignments, Snape decided to assist his apprentice with her work. He stood from his desk and swept to the doorway of his private laboratory; she stood not too far away with her back to him, measuring out the beetle eyes.

He wondered if she realized that she was hurrying the draught along. If she wanted it brewed correctly, she should wait another half hour before adding the eyes. Her gesture suggested she thought otherwise, and before she had the chance to ruin her work, Snape interjected calmly:

“You have not waited long enough, Granger.”

Her reaction was unexpected; she jumped nearly four feet in the air, and both the spoon and the eyes fell into the cauldron. She swore; the potion was turning murky brown.

Granger turned on him quickly, and the anger in her eyes took him by surprise; he recognized it as the fury he so often times felt. “Damn it!” she cursed, glaring up at him furiously. “You scared me, and now it’s ruined!”

A pang of guilt struck Snape as he stared at her silently. He towered over her, but she was not to be intimidated; yet another trait that he had, and one he had prided himself on as well. “Thank you, professor! Thank you! Because you insist on creeping around like some sort of… I don’t know, thing! It’s ruined!”

If she hadn’t been so angry, he would have allowed his lip to curl in a sneer. In her frustration, she was babbling, and it was not becoming of her.

Severus’ eyes lifted from her face to follow the large dripping bubbles that floated into the air. When they popped, they sent drops of scalding liquid raining down on them, burning their skin. And yet, Hermione seemed so furious she ignored the pain entirely.

She was not so unlike him, this student.

“Damn it!” She turned quickly, distinguishing the flames beneath the cauldron with a flick of her wand. Slowly, she also began to pop the bubbles above them without raining molten potion down on her. “That was nearly a week’s worth of work!”

She was not so unlike him, this Hermione Granger. She had a true love for the art of potions, something that was quite uncommon in this day and age. She was a true intellect, and she proved it, nearly every afternoon they met; he could quiz her on nearly anything alchemical and without a doubt, she would have the answer to it. No matter how advanced the topic was.

And here she was, pure fury burning in her eyes because she had seemingly wasted her time on a difficult draught that he had ruined. Suddenly he saw himself in her; she was the Severus Snape of her class. Granted, she was not obsessed with the dark arts or quite the despised outcast that he had been. But she was different from her classmates.

He felt the urge to touch her. It was more than an urge. It was a longing, a need. She wasn’t very far away, not even an arm’s length away. The wild mass of her hair had been tied back at the nape of her neck with a red and gold ribbon – so very Gryffindor.

Slowly reaching his hand out to her, she unknowingly turned on him, surely to curse at him some more. Without thinking and seemingly without any control, he pulled her into his arms.

Snape shut off all thought at that point. He could not bear to relive the atrocity that was… him. His appetite had been extinguished. In fact, a nausea rose in him and he pushed the plate away. There was no logical explanation for why he raped her.

So what if she was so like him? What authority did that give him to rob her childhood, her innocence? Why did that sudden realization cause him to lose his control like that? But most importantly, why is she subjecting herself to his company once more?

For once, he was plagued with questions that Albus Dumbledore could not answer.

Slamming his fist down on his desk, Snape cursed. He did not deserve the protection of the Headmaster or his school.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he fumed aloud.

He hadn’t heard the knock at the door or the slow creak of someone entering. And so, he was startled when he received a reply to his seemingly rhetorical question.

“I suppose that answer could vary depending on who you were asking, Professor Snape."
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Matters of the Heart