Where do you go when you feel lost
1.2 Severus
Severus heard the crack of her Apparation before he reached the alley. He saw only a glimpse of Hermione standing in his street before she Disapparated. He stood in the feint light of the street lamp considering where she might have gone. The Burrow was out as was Grimmauld Place. He didn’t know where her home was. On a hunch, he Apparated for her parents house. He could still feel her wards, protecting her childhood home and smiled. He’d taught her several of them her sixth year. He slipped past them easily enough and entered the back garden. A family he didn’t recognize was sitting in the lounge, eating as the telly broadcast the news.
Severus shook his head. Hermione obviously hadn’t come here. He reconsidered about going Grimmauld Place, arriving on the pavement. He could see the house, but had no idea as to his reception. Harry Potter had come to terms about him and his actions, but it was a kind of truce at best. Severus approached the door and stopped, thinking twice about his actions. That inner voice told him she wasn’t here, that instinct that had served him so well those years he served the Dark Lord as avid follower and turncoat spy. He scoffed; Rita’s book had portrayed him as the long suffering wizard trapped in servitude for half his life, lamenting with his guilt of his unrequited love. He’d only spent a little over two years as a devoted follower, and one as Dumbledore’s spy the first rising, and three years in his role the second rising.
Sure he felt guilt over Lily’s death, and he mourned the loss of their friendship, but she was his first love and he’d never allowed any other woman into his life. How could he; those few years as a Death Eater it had been unwise to care for anyone who could be used against him. As a professor, he wasn’t about to engage in any tryst that would endanger his relationship with Dumbledore or find himself in Azkaban for molesting a student. Not that he didn’t have trysts, but with mature witches and those affairs were few and far between, whenever his teaching schedule permitted.
Then along came Hermione. That insolent, know-it-all of a girl who had forced herself into his world, who by association he had been forced to watch over, protect, and came to admire, reluctantly. She was a thorn in his side that grew into a tree he couldn’t avoid, and his association bore a fruit he craved but didn’t want. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Well, he wanted but couldn’t have. Shouldn’t want but seemed to crave beyond reason.
It was that bloody kiss. He should have pushed her away, sneered at her for taking such liberties with his person. But her lips on his had sparked a desire so intense, he’d wrapped her in his arms and savored the moment, his mind screaming that it was all wrong.
He should have asked her where she lived, himself. He had no idea if she’d confided in her friends about him or their arrangement. Knowing her, he doubted it. Ignorance was bliss, and Hermione wouldn’t have wanted to disrespect him. That, and he’d insisted that their arrangement be kept private, the upmost secret, as it could’ve been disastrous for him and dangerous for her if she hadn’t. She understood that his comportment had always been one of aloofness, solitude, not only by choice but by necessity. He turned, walked along the pavement and Apparated home with a soft pop.
Severus stood on his front porch, leaning against the stone wall, watching the tall grasses sway in the breeze coming off the river. There was no way he’d inquire with any of her friends and arouse suspicions. Every excuse he could devise sounded lame and didn’t have enough urgency that it couldn’t wait until Monday when she’d come to his lab again at Spinner’s End.
He wanted to see her, standing in her amber dress with her hair in that kind of upsweep she’d done with all the loose ends framing her face. She’d actually looked as lovely as she had at the Yule Ball, more so in his opinion. “What made her leave, I wonder?” he asked the night. He didn’t want to go inside. He had no idea where she’d be.
He had wanted to see if she remembered how to waltz. He’d wanted to hold her again. “This is bloody ridiculous!” he snarled as he turned to go inside.
Severus heard the crack of her Apparation before he reached the alley. He saw only a glimpse of Hermione standing in his street before she Disapparated. He stood in the feint light of the street lamp considering where she might have gone. The Burrow was out as was Grimmauld Place. He didn’t know where her home was. On a hunch, he Apparated for her parents house. He could still feel her wards, protecting her childhood home and smiled. He’d taught her several of them her sixth year. He slipped past them easily enough and entered the back garden. A family he didn’t recognize was sitting in the lounge, eating as the telly broadcast the news.
Severus shook his head. Hermione obviously hadn’t come here. He reconsidered about going Grimmauld Place, arriving on the pavement. He could see the house, but had no idea as to his reception. Harry Potter had come to terms about him and his actions, but it was a kind of truce at best. Severus approached the door and stopped, thinking twice about his actions. That inner voice told him she wasn’t here, that instinct that had served him so well those years he served the Dark Lord as avid follower and turncoat spy. He scoffed; Rita’s book had portrayed him as the long suffering wizard trapped in servitude for half his life, lamenting with his guilt of his unrequited love. He’d only spent a little over two years as a devoted follower, and one as Dumbledore’s spy the first rising, and three years in his role the second rising.
Sure he felt guilt over Lily’s death, and he mourned the loss of their friendship, but she was his first love and he’d never allowed any other woman into his life. How could he; those few years as a Death Eater it had been unwise to care for anyone who could be used against him. As a professor, he wasn’t about to engage in any tryst that would endanger his relationship with Dumbledore or find himself in Azkaban for molesting a student. Not that he didn’t have trysts, but with mature witches and those affairs were few and far between, whenever his teaching schedule permitted.
Then along came Hermione. That insolent, know-it-all of a girl who had forced herself into his world, who by association he had been forced to watch over, protect, and came to admire, reluctantly. She was a thorn in his side that grew into a tree he couldn’t avoid, and his association bore a fruit he craved but didn’t want. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Well, he wanted but couldn’t have. Shouldn’t want but seemed to crave beyond reason.
It was that bloody kiss. He should have pushed her away, sneered at her for taking such liberties with his person. But her lips on his had sparked a desire so intense, he’d wrapped her in his arms and savored the moment, his mind screaming that it was all wrong.
He should have asked her where she lived, himself. He had no idea if she’d confided in her friends about him or their arrangement. Knowing her, he doubted it. Ignorance was bliss, and Hermione wouldn’t have wanted to disrespect him. That, and he’d insisted that their arrangement be kept private, the upmost secret, as it could’ve been disastrous for him and dangerous for her if she hadn’t. She understood that his comportment had always been one of aloofness, solitude, not only by choice but by necessity. He turned, walked along the pavement and Apparated home with a soft pop.
Severus stood on his front porch, leaning against the stone wall, watching the tall grasses sway in the breeze coming off the river. There was no way he’d inquire with any of her friends and arouse suspicions. Every excuse he could devise sounded lame and didn’t have enough urgency that it couldn’t wait until Monday when she’d come to his lab again at Spinner’s End.
He wanted to see her, standing in her amber dress with her hair in that kind of upsweep she’d done with all the loose ends framing her face. She’d actually looked as lovely as she had at the Yule Ball, more so in his opinion. “What made her leave, I wonder?” he asked the night. He didn’t want to go inside. He had no idea where she’d be.
He had wanted to see if she remembered how to waltz. He’d wanted to hold her again. “This is bloody ridiculous!” he snarled as he turned to go inside.