I Wish
Title: I Wish
Team Name: Spying for the Order
Word Count: 5x100
Rating: G
Challenge: Secret Wish
Characters: Hermione/Severus
A/N: Canon compliant. Yes, this is a warning. Not betad. All mistakes are mine. Characters are not.
She didn't know when exactly this thing had started.
In her fifth year, probably.
By the middle of her sixth year, it was getting ridiculous. She knew it full well, yet couldn't help it. Following him around like a puppy, attempting to look casual; the "random" meetings - in the staff room, ostensibly there to ask a question from Flitwick or McGonagall, outside and inside the library, working out his patrol route to pass him in corridors.
All just so that she could get another glimpse at him. A fleeting smile, sometimes.
She knew better than to say anything. Too obvious.
* * *
She'd thought she'd been so clever. She should have known better.
Snape was a spy, after all. And there had been too many coincidences; too many by far.
Even if she had resisted the temptation of getting detention. She wouldn't have liked the point loss. And he might have passed her off to Filch.
"Tell me, Miss Granger," he drawled, after asking her to remain behind one Tuesday, once everyone else had rushed off, "why is it that I keep meeting you everywhere? Outside my office, in the dungeons, this morning? Really, now. What reason could you possibly have had?"
* * *
She blushed and stared at her feet, hoping he'd be kind enough to let her go without making a complete fool of her.
He'd steepled his fingers, elbows digging into the desk.
"You're seventeen, Miss Granger."
She nodded, realising full well how ridiculous she was.
Moments passed. Minutes, perhaps. She couldn't tell.
"Come back in five years. If you wish."
She'd nearly choked. Was he - was he being serious?
"I'll be done with school next year," she'd ventured. "I won't be a student then…"
His eyes bored right into hers, raised now in hope. "You'll be eighteen. Still too young."
* * *
She'd taken a deep breath, feeling bolder than ever.
"Was that a promise?"
There were little lines in his face; crinkles in the corners of his eyes. She'd never noticed before. She'd never been close enough.
"No."
She'd smiled at that. Although, knowing him, it wasn't a joke. But he'd given her reason to hope. It was better than nothing.
He'd sighed, and waved her off. "Go now. I suppose I don't need to say it, but this conversation never happened."
"Of course. Have a great day, sir." She turned and left, her back straight, her heart doing happy somersaults.
* * *
It had been five years now, since that conversation that never happened.
She placed the forget-me-nots, picked in the forest not far from here, on the grass, in front of the unremarkable headstone.
"I wish…" It felt wrong to speak aloud here. What did she wish? To have had a chance?
It wouldn't have worked anyway. Probably.
She fingered the strand of grey in her hair; it had become a habit since it first appeared, not long after the battle.
She turned around, wistful smile tugging at her lips. She'd move on, eventually. Perhaps even soon. Perhaps even with Ron.
Team Name: Spying for the Order
Word Count: 5x100
Rating: G
Challenge: Secret Wish
Characters: Hermione/Severus
A/N: Canon compliant. Yes, this is a warning. Not betad. All mistakes are mine. Characters are not.
She didn't know when exactly this thing had started.
In her fifth year, probably.
By the middle of her sixth year, it was getting ridiculous. She knew it full well, yet couldn't help it. Following him around like a puppy, attempting to look casual; the "random" meetings - in the staff room, ostensibly there to ask a question from Flitwick or McGonagall, outside and inside the library, working out his patrol route to pass him in corridors.
All just so that she could get another glimpse at him. A fleeting smile, sometimes.
She knew better than to say anything. Too obvious.
* * *
She'd thought she'd been so clever. She should have known better.
Snape was a spy, after all. And there had been too many coincidences; too many by far.
Even if she had resisted the temptation of getting detention. She wouldn't have liked the point loss. And he might have passed her off to Filch.
"Tell me, Miss Granger," he drawled, after asking her to remain behind one Tuesday, once everyone else had rushed off, "why is it that I keep meeting you everywhere? Outside my office, in the dungeons, this morning? Really, now. What reason could you possibly have had?"
* * *
She blushed and stared at her feet, hoping he'd be kind enough to let her go without making a complete fool of her.
He'd steepled his fingers, elbows digging into the desk.
"You're seventeen, Miss Granger."
She nodded, realising full well how ridiculous she was.
Moments passed. Minutes, perhaps. She couldn't tell.
"Come back in five years. If you wish."
She'd nearly choked. Was he - was he being serious?
"I'll be done with school next year," she'd ventured. "I won't be a student then…"
His eyes bored right into hers, raised now in hope. "You'll be eighteen. Still too young."
* * *
She'd taken a deep breath, feeling bolder than ever.
"Was that a promise?"
There were little lines in his face; crinkles in the corners of his eyes. She'd never noticed before. She'd never been close enough.
"No."
She'd smiled at that. Although, knowing him, it wasn't a joke. But he'd given her reason to hope. It was better than nothing.
He'd sighed, and waved her off. "Go now. I suppose I don't need to say it, but this conversation never happened."
"Of course. Have a great day, sir." She turned and left, her back straight, her heart doing happy somersaults.
* * *
It had been five years now, since that conversation that never happened.
She placed the forget-me-nots, picked in the forest not far from here, on the grass, in front of the unremarkable headstone.
"I wish…" It felt wrong to speak aloud here. What did she wish? To have had a chance?
It wouldn't have worked anyway. Probably.
She fingered the strand of grey in her hair; it had become a habit since it first appeared, not long after the battle.
She turned around, wistful smile tugging at her lips. She'd move on, eventually. Perhaps even soon. Perhaps even with Ron.