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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.

Chapter List
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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 5

Professor Dumbledore stood in the entranceway, staring down his crooked nose at the younger wizard. Snape was visibly startled at the sight of the old man, but tried to calm as he invited the headmaster to take a seat.

Shutting the door behind him, the old wizard obliged. “Now, if you were to ask me that very question, Severus, I would probably say that you are a terribly lonely man, desperate for worthy company.” Snape scowled at this apparent insult, but Dumbledore disregarded it. “However, if you were addressing a student, perhaps… Mr. Potter, the answer would in all likelihood be entirely different.”

“Well, Headmaster, with all due respect – the question was actually quite rhetorical,” Snape growled.

“But perhaps, if you were to ask Miss Granger, I bet she would offer ‘nothing’ as an answer,” Dumbledore considered. “Speaking of which, how is she doing?”

Snape considered Dumbledore’s motives for a moment. Did he really travel to the dungeons for idle small talk with the Potions Master, or was there something else up his sleeve? Deciding to play along, Snape answered:

“Astoundingly well, actually. I admit I am not surprised that she far exceeds seventh year level, but her knowledge of alchemy appears far more advanced than even postgraduate level.”

The headmaster steepled his bony fingers before him as he listened. Snape thought for a moment that perhaps he had no ulterior motives; perhaps Dumbledore was simply wondering how all of his employees’ apprenticeships were doing.

A knock at the door distracted both men, but Snape answered with a gruff “come in.” The door opened and Hermione Granger found herself under the gaze of two of the most powerful wizards she knew. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she absorbed the sight before her. She smiled faintly at Dumbledore and greeted him cordially.

“If I’m interrupting, I can come back later,” she offered awkwardly, her eyes darting nervously between Snape and Dumbledore.

“Oh, no, no, dear girl, that’s quite unnecessary. We were actually just discussing you, come in, come in! Join in on the conversation, it would be terribly rude to talk about you behind your back, after all,” the old wizard was beaming at her.

Hermione nodded slowly, her confusion apparent in her face as she looked at Snape. He gestured to the very chair she had taken when they had their discussion, and nervously, she sat down.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

She considered his question for a moment, wondering what he was talking about. The metaphorical light bulb flashed on as she realized he was asking about her apprenticeship.

“Oh, yes, very much so, sir! It is so exciting to learn to brew such advanced potions. It’s only been a month, and yet, I feel I’ve learned so much!”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Dumbledore clapped his hands in delight. He stood from his chair, looking down at Snape. “Well, your apprentice seems to require your assistance, and I hate to interfere. Professor Snape, if you would be so kind as to visit me in my office tomorrow afternoon following classes. I have something to discuss with you.”

Snape nodded, “Yes, of course. Good evening, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore bowed out, leaving Hermione and Snape alone. She waited until she heard the classroom door click shut. “Does he… know?”

“I cannot be sure, Miss Granger,” Snape replied dryly. “Though I can assure you, that if he did, I would in all likelihood be unemployed.”

Hermione nodded slowly in understanding. “So he was just asking about how I was doing?”

“It seemed he had no ulterior motive,” Snape said, looking at her evenly. “Though I suspect he did come here to discuss other things, when you interrupted.”

Hermione moved to sit in the chair that Dumbledore had occupied. Snape sat up a little straighter as Hermione sat down across from him, her eyes flickering to the meat-filled dinner he had provided himself, and her stomach growled loudly.

Uncertain how to act in such situations, the Potions Master pushed the plate of food towards his apprentice in offering. She waved her hand in an unintentionally dismissive manner.

“No, no, thank you. I don’t eat meat,” she replied softly. “I came here because… I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

Snape stared at her from across his desk. Suddenly he had become her solace, after being the cause of her distress? She was a peculiar young woman indeed. He considered her for a moment; he could deny her now, and perhaps she would smarten up and avoid any more tête-à-têtes with him. Would his conscience allow him that?

I’m a former Death Eater, for God’s sake. And yet somehow, he could not deprive her of her only consolation in her time of need. She had made it perfectly clear she intended to tell no one of the event. He was all she had.

She wasn’t a sappy second year Slytherin who needed counseling, she was an intelligent, mature, seventh year Gryffindor – his apprentice – and she was not whining over a pathetic relationship or an unfair grade, though the latter he may not have put past her.

“Yes, Miss Granger,” he allowed.

“Well,” she began, staring at her hands. “It’s about the draught. As far as I can tell, I have followed the directions exactly as they are in the text. I have done everything the same as I had before, and yet I’m receiving different results. And they’re not the proper results, either. At this stage, the cauldron is supposed to emit a manure-like odor and the potion is supposed to be a dark red, and right now, the entire lab smells like lavender and the potion is lime green.”

“What cauldron are you using?” Snape asked, relieved she hadn’t decided to confide in him some deep emotional frustration.

“The same pewter cauldron I had used to brew before,” Hermione replied sullenly.

“Let me see,” Snape stood from his desk and Hermione followed suit. She led him to the problem cauldron, and surely enough, all was as she had explained.

“Curious,” Snape said. “Did you clean out the cauldron before you began working?”

“Of course, sir,” Hermione replied, almost insulted that he would insinuate such lack of care.

The pair of them stared into the cauldron for a moment, Hermione’s hair falling loose out of her ponytail. Something occurred to Snape suddenly, and looking up at Hermione, he considered tucking the tendril of hair behind her ear.

Instead of violating the trust she had somehow managed to return to him, he settled for words. “Miss Granger, your hair.”

Absently she pushed the stray piece back behind her ear, and then it occurred to her what he was suggesting.

“Oh, no. A piece of hair fell into… oh, no,” she looked completely defeated. “How could I have been so careless? Professor, I’m sorry, I’m wasting your time…”

Snape stared at her in shock. Wasting his time? Was she completely mad? She was still in the painstakingly long process of recovering from assault, let alone still associating with her abuser – and here she was, chastising herself for a bit of carelessness.

“Miss Granger,” he began. “If you had begun our lessons again as the student you were before, I would have been entirely amazed. You have undergone a great deal of trauma, and I do not expect from you complete perfection. You are healing, recovering; let alone doing so with the very person who” – he gritted his teeth against the word – “raped you. It would be cruel of me, after what you have done for me, to punish you for making a simple mistake.”

Hermione looked at him, her eyes wet. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been… distracted these past few days. Every day I second-guess my decisions, and I used to be so confident in my ability to make decisions. And yet, here I am, screwing up a potion simply because I can’t tie my hair back in a stupid ponytail!” She slammed her fist down on the desk. “Why is this so hard?”

“Miss Granger… Hermione,” he dared, “I will never try to prevent you from reporting me to Professor Dumbledore. If you feel you need to do so…”

“No!” Hermione interrupted. “No, it’s not that. Professor, you don’t understand. I can’t do that. In order to protect the students from a potential threat, Professor Dumbledore would be forced to fire you or face the wrath of parents and the Ministry alike. And if that happened, not only would you be at risk, but so would Harry, and the Order, and… it’s just not worth it.” She let her gaze fall to the floor, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“You are such an honorable young woman,” Snape said, slowly reaching a hand out with intentions to cup Hermione’s chin, but then thought better of it. He let it fall to his side. “Ever since you began demonstrating your true potential, I had always wondered how you had ended up in Gryffindor over Ravenclaw or Slytherin. But, as cunning and brilliant as you are, you are just as noble and honorable. And even now, when the only person you should be caring for is yourself, you are taking it upon yourself to care for the entire wizarding world.

“Hermione, look at me.” She lifted her face to meet his eyes, and the intense sincerity took her by surprise. She barely registered the fact he was using her first name. He continued speaking:

“In these past few weeks, you have demonstrated to me that you are not simply the insufferable know-it-all I had presumed you to be. You are truly an intellectual, your intelligence struggling to survive in this world of dunderheaded Quidditch players and incompetent Ministry officials. You are brilliant, Hermione, but you are also an honest, good person. But because of your desire to protect those you love, you are willing to neglect your own well-being, which is anything but brilliant.”

Hermione stared at her professor. She wondered if whom he was presenting to her now was the person he truly was, and the cold, snarky persona of the professor she was so familiar with was simply a façade.

The silence that overtook the room weighed heavily down on its attendants. Hermione, having had taken a seat as she listened to her professor, stared up at the man standing barely two feet away. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but both were slightly uncomfortable, unsure of what to do, and unsure of what their company would do.

“I should probably go back to the common room,” Hermione said quietly, letting her eyes fall to her hands. “I promised Harry and Ron I would help them with their homework. Not potions,” she added quickly, looking up at him. “Defense against the dark arts. Professor Huxley is a very talented wizard, but his teaching methods are a little confusing at times. Sometimes I think Harry should just take to instructing the class himself,” she let out a small laugh.

Snape was not amused, but he didn’t say anything on the topic either. “Well, there is not much here we can do.”

“I’ll clean up and leave,” Hermione said, standing and gathering up the vials of ingredients. Snape nodded to her and lingered for a moment. Hermione brushed past him, the contact stirring something deep inside her. She made for the stores, forcing her thoughts from her mind, and returned the jars back to their proper location.

When she turned to close the door, Snape had crossed the room to his desk. With a wave of his wand, Hermione felt the door grow slightly colder, and she knew he had replaced the wards. After Hermione had finished tidying up her work area, she closed the door behind her and felt a similar sensation of a sudden coldness on the door. Snape was not in the room any longer, so she assumed he had cast the wards to activate as she closed the door and left for his rooms.

Exiting the classroom, she made her way towards Gryffindor tower.

Severus climbed the stairs that led to the main castle. He was in a terribly foul mood; the classes of the day had been nothing short of horrendous. The third year students were directed to brew a simple shrinking solution, and by the end of the class, four students had been escorted to the hospital wing with shrunken appendages and a fifth with a missing (or perhaps, microscopic) ear.

His fourth year class was no better. The students were required to brew Wit-Sharpening Potions, and yet none of them had succeeded. Two cauldrons had been melted, one student was sent to the hospital wing with burns to their arms, and another student had somehow managed to explode their cauldron, sending two more students to the hospital wing with wounds from cauldron shrapnel.

Needless to say, the poor saps in his final class of the day were in for a treat.

“Butterscotch drops,” he snarled at the gargoyle, which leapt from his path and allowed him entrance to the stairwell.

As the staircase brought him to the entrance of Dumbledore’s office, Snape rolled over the possibilities of why he had asked him there. He had always suspected Dumbledore knew more than he let on, and perhaps even without Granger reporting him, he already knew. Or, perhaps, it was something else entirely; the only other possibility was equally as dreadful.

Snape knocked on the door and opened it without awaiting invitation. The headmaster was seated behind his desk, his great phoenix perched on the high back.

“Ah, hello, Severus!” he greeted kindly, holding out a dish of sweets. Snape declined with a shake of his hand. “Very well then. Do take a seat!”

Snape sat down, instantly irritated by Dumbledore’s apparent cheery mood. Glowering, he asked, “For what reason did you ask me here?”

“Ah, yes,” his face darkened. “You have not received a summons from the Dark Lord in quite some time, yes?”

The minute the word “summons” left Dumbledore’s mouth, the younger wizard’s foul mood became even more so. Staring in the direction of Dumbledore’s desk but not at anything in particular, Snape nodded.

“Which leaves me to suspect that he either currently has no schemes planned, or that he has decidedly left you out of them,” Dumbledore considered. “Both of which are equally unnerving.”

Nodding gravely, Snape remained silent. Dumbledore continued: “For what reason would he choose to leave you in the dark as to what he is planning? You are his right-hand man, so to speak. If he has chosen to exclude you from any activity, that leaves me to fear that perhaps Lestrange’s accusations have finally come to the forefront of his attention.”

“She has been questioning my loyalties the moment the Dark Lord returned to power, Headmaster. While I do understand your reasoning, I highly doubt that anything else she has claimed is any more valid than the past six years of accusations,” Snape replied.

“But perhaps she has offered some information he has not heard before,” Dumbledore replied.

“I cannot think of anything that she might have deemed as suspicious behavior, Headmaster.” Snape leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees in contemplation.

“I suppose we will simply have to wait and see. Has young Malfoy spoken to you of anything?”

“If he had, Headmaster, I would have informed you already,” Snape replied sourly. “We have not spoken much since the year started. I had assumed he would have come to me about the seventh year project, but I have heard nothing from him. The only time I see him is during class.”

“He’s lying low,” Dumbledore considered. “Curious.”

“Actually, Headmaster, I believe it would be more likely that if the Dark Lord were plotting something, Lucius would have ordered his son to be in my company more often than usual. I would not put it past Lucius to use young Malfoy as a spy, especially if the Dark Lord put him up to it,” Snape looked hard at Dumbledore. The old man nodded.

“Perhaps.” Silence fell between them as both men sat, thinking. Dumbledore finally excused Snape from his presence. “I will let you return to your business then, Severus. There is nothing more we can do now. We must wait.”

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room for the first time in what felt like years, Hermione curled up in the chair beside the hearth with a book open in her lap. She had finished her homework assignments an hour ago, and while Ron and Harry continued to pour over theirs, she had taken to the comfortable seat by the fire.

She felt so calm and relaxed in the company of her schoolmates. She had not seen much of them since the beginning of the school year, and even in the brief period of avoiding Snape, she had retreated to her private rooms the majority of the time.

She let her mind wander from the novel in her lap as she stared in the direction of her two friends. They both seemed very absorbed in their work, and she smiled to herself. Seven years had passed since she met Harry and Ron, and yet it seemed like a blink of an eye. The two boys had grown into very charming young men, and if they weren’t like her brothers, she could possibly desire to pursue more than their friendship with either of them.

But no, Harry was very much in love with Ginny, which was blatantly obvious as the two spent the majority of their time snogging in the seventh year boys’ dormitories. Ron had taken to it lightly; it was his best friend and his younger sister, and if anyone was going to treat her right, it was Harry Potter.

In the past, Ron had obvious intentions of deepening his relationship with Hermione, and while they attempted a romance, it was simply not intellectually satisfying enough for her. One morning she awoke following the nightmare of having to listen to talks of Quidditch at the breakfast table every morning for the rest of her life, and it simply would not do. Ron understood enough, though it was horrid for Hermione to break her best friend’s heart.

That was last year. Ron had since come to accept the fact that he and Hermione were simply meant to be only friends, and slowly began to pursue other girls. Unfortunately for him most of his classmates were less than charming, but he was at least able to exert some of his sexual frustration.

Hermione, on the other hand, decided to focus on her schoolwork and her future, and abandoned romance to the furthest most corners of her brain. She had always believed in saving oneself for marriage, and she was in no rush for that. The Head Girl wanted to find steady employment and have a settled life before allowing anyone in it.

And up until a few weeks ago, all had gone according to plan. She wanted nothing more than to become a potions mistress, and when Professor Snape accepted her apprenticeship she was nothing short of ecstatic. The first month of working together had been simply phenomenal; she was learning so much about the intriguing subject and was able to put to practice so many of the potions she had been so interested in but never allowed the ingredients to brew.

She had even begun to grow comfortable with Professor Snape. They had developed a comfortable routine in which she was allowed to come and go as she pleased so long as she produced acceptable results and made an appearance on the days he required. He even went so far as to allow her unlimited access to his private stores and laboratory; the only thing he did not do, it seemed, was offer the passwords to the wards.

She had begun to trust Snape in ways she had not before. Previous to their working together, she simply believed in his loyalty to Dumbledore. Beyond that, he was nothing more than a cruel professor that was very skilled and intelligent, but one she did not wish to spend too much time with.

And then he raped her. While being the most horrific event of her entire life, she couldn’t help but also feel that it was… what was the word? “Wonderful” was putting it a bit far. He had forced his way into her, but it seemed at the same time that he wanted to pleasure her, and gods, had he! True, the moment he took her virginity she had felt like he was tearing her in two, but up until that point and shortly thereafter, he had made her feel amazing.

But there was no denying that had he not forced himself upon her, she would have never felt that way. And while a part of her wished that it had never happened and resented him for it, a deeper part of her wished that it could develop into something more.

Needless to say, Hermione Granger was terribly confused about how she felt towards her mentor. And his “speech” to her yesterday evening only proved to baffle her even more. Following the events of that fateful evening, Snape had nearly changed his demeanor towards her entirely. It left her wondering whether the professor she had always known him to be was simply an act.

As her professor, he was a cruel, sarcastic, vindictive, sadistic man. As her mentor, he was understanding, regretful, kind, sympathetic; all adjectives that if anyone used to describe the well-known Professor Snape, they would immediately be admitted to St. Mungo’s.

And yet last evening, he had called her “intelligent” and “honorable,” among other things. He had cascaded upon her a waterfall of compliments and comfort, and it seemed so unlike the professor she had known for the past six years. Then, she had been an “insufferable know-it-all,” which had been a title she so abhorred. But now, she was an intellectual trying to survive in a world that did not value intellect any longer.

He had used her first name, as well. It may have seemed such a minute thing to (and from) anyone else, but coming from Professor Snape to Hermione, it was a term of friendship, if that wasn’t too ludicrous to assume. And when she had managed to look him in the eye, the sincerity and sorrow was so apparent in the darkness of them.

And for a brief moment, she wanted to take his hand and forgive him entirely for what he had done to her.

She had never seen a person bear so much remorse before. Especially considering his past as an active Death Eater, she could only imagine the atrocities he committed before he joined Dumbledore’s alliance.

Perhaps the difference was that Hermione had known him, trusted him? Perhaps if she had been a complete stranger he wouldn’t have reacted so strongly.

She would never be sure.
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Matters of the Heart