Work Text:
Severus’s moonlight-created shadow desecrated the white tomb. The cool night air crept beneath his robes, making him shiver and soothing his burning eyes. Had he ever not tainted another being, dead or alive? He deserved the stain on his soul.
‘Punishment enough,’ the Wizengamot decided. ‘Not guilty.’ The verdict reeked of the Order’s guilty conscience.
Their opinion meant little to him. The exception lay buried before him, the ticket to salvation, a confidant and friend, killed by his filthy hands and by his magic that poisons everything in its vicinity.
Not anymore, at least in part.
Each touch to his wrists reassured Severus of his new life’s truth. A sentence of his own making, the magic-suppressing bracelets let through enough power for the potion-brewing required by Hogwarts and St. Mungo’s, but not a trickle more. If someone attempted to harm him, and there was a not-insignificant part of him that desired a fatal outcome, Severus would be powerless to defend himself. Unless he messes up a potion, he won’t be able to harm anyone with his magic again.
There were times when the yearning for desire made real, as much a part of Severus as breathing, became almost unbearable. A phantom pain for a not-quite-lost limp, magic-starved for the rest of his pathetic existence. For the first time, he felt a strange kinship with Nearly Headless Nick. Nearly Magicless Snivellus, wouldn’t the Marauders have a field day with that?
A nudge to his left knee snapped him out of the mocking laughter and taunts that had infested his mind. Yellow dots in a ginger mess reflected the moonlight.
Insufferable creature. Pets mirrored their owners in everything, didn’t they? This one had the uncanny ability to appear at the most inconvenient times to force its company on him, often when he was most vulnerable.
The kneeling position made it easy for the fur ball to hop onto his lap and reach for his face, trying to lick away the undried moisture. Crookshanks buried his claws deep into the fabric of Severus’s robes, close to his scarred neck. He tensed, and the urge to throw the cat off was strong. Not wanting to hurt the infernal creature, he tried to lift it gently, but all his touch elicited was a low purr. The sound and the subtle vibrations were so soothing that Severus couldn’t help but pull the animal closer to him again, running his hand through the soft fur. Would Hermione’s hair be as soft?
He scolded himself for the thought. Severus had no business thinking about her hair, let alone touching it.
As fellow castle residents, they often dined together in the Great Hall, somehow ending up in adjacent seats each time. It could have been the meddling paws of another cat or the impossible young woman herself, Severus Snape being her latest lost-cause project. He couldn’t think of any other reason for her sudden interest in seeking out his company.
Much to Severus’s dismay, he started looking forward to their discussions, having found in the Transfiguration Professor an intellect and wit that matched his own quite well. His gaze lingered on the lovely shade of her warm and vibrant chocolate eyes, the tiny freckles on her upper cheeks, and the occasional spark of magic in her curls. And he wondered what those constantly moving lips might feel like pressed against his own or any other part of his body.
Don’t go there, Severus. How Albus would scold him for lusting after a student, former or otherwise—damn, did he miss the old codger.
Severus buried his hooked nose in Crookshanks’s fur, hugging him tightly and wishing he could hold his insufferable know-it-all instead, who wasn’t quite as bothersome to him as he liked to admit. But beggars can’t be choosers, and he needed something to cling to, something to give him some respite from the images of Albus begging, green light, and then falling, falling, falling… Dead.
A thousand Crucios were raging in his chest. Wet patches darkened Crookshanks’s orange hair auburn.
“Severus?” He drew in a sharp breath, his battered heart pounding against his ribcage. How hadn’t he noticed her before? She sounded concerned, or was that wishful thinking on his part? “Are you trying to suffocate Crooksie?” Ah, worried for her familiar, not him. Of course. Why did it still hurt?
Severus looked down on his companion. The cat seemed fine enough, gazing at him intently. It had left a decent amount of fur on his robes, though. At least he’d have something of hers stuck on him now. I’m pathetic.
“Your creature is just fine. Felt the need to attack me out of nowhere.” There was some hope left that Hermione hadn’t noticed his mental breakdown, although his tear-splotched face should be enough of a clue for an intelligent person like her.
With a sigh and a cautious step forward, she reached out to him with her right hand, let it hover uncertainly, took it back, and said, “Severus, are you—do you want to talk about it?”
“There is nothing to talk about.” This entire situation was humiliating enough. It didn’t need to be put into words that would only further embarrass him in front of her. What must she think of him?
Severus stood up, taking the animal with him.
“If you’re sure…?” she paused, nibbling at her lip and letting her gaze slide from him to Crookshanks and back again. “I feel so silly being jealous of my cat.”
“That does seem rather silly, indeed.” What was there to be jealous of, after all? Of being held by him? Severus wondered whether he had managed to botch a potion for once. There must have been something wrong with the adjusted Invigoration Draught he had brewed for her persisting cold yesterday. She was delirious. She must be because he couldn’t dare hope… His heart rate picked up pace.
Hermione moved closer and rubbed the cat’s head. His shoulders tightened.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to take him away from you,” she murmured.
Blood rushed to his cheeks. Hermione was much too perceptive for both their sakes. What a miserable picture he must appear to her, his sanity so dependent on clinging to an animal.
“Do you mind if I…?” she said, nodding at one of his hands.
He shook his head, curious and wary about what she was about to do, breathing quickening in anticipation.
Hermione slid a finger slowly over one of his clothed wrists. His skin burned beneath, and his body couldn’t decide between shying away and wanting more. “One day, when you’re ready, we’ll find a way to get rid of them,” she swallowed thickly.
“And if that day never comes?” What he meant to say was, ‘Will you still be there when you finally realise that project ‘Returning Severus to a Normal Being’ has failed just as spectacularly as S.P.E.W.?’ which was both cruel to her and far too vulnerable a thing for him to admit out loud, because he desperately wanted her to stay with him forever, regardless of his numerous failures.
“Then I will try my best to convince you that you deserve a life full of happiness. You’ve punished yourself more than enough.”
“You are doomed to fail, then. Let me save us the trouble and end this right here and now. Goodnight, Professor Granger.” He was about to stand up and head back to the castle when a hiss in his ear stopped him. This cat had come from hell to take him with it.
“Severus, Dumbledore asked far too much of you. He used your guilt and self-hatred to wield you as his weapon in the name of the greater good. I refuse to let you wield that same weapon against yourself.”
“Are you to be my new master, then, Granger?”
“Of course not. I care about you, and it hurts to see you shackling yourself to this half-life, this prison cell you’ve created for yourself. The bracelets, living here in the castle that holds so many painful memories, coming to this tomb every night—When do you even sleep? You don’t, do you? You can’t rely on potions forever.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m your friend.”
“In that case, you might want to prepare your will because my friends’ life expectancy is non-existent.”
“Minerva is in good health and quite capable of looking after herself, as am I.”
“Minerva is not—”
“I know things are still complicated, but I’m sure you will work it out in time.” If the Headmistress weren’t so connected to Albus in his mind, and if there weren’t still the apologetic glances…
“Foolish Gryffindors.”
“Ah, but you have a secret fondness for us.” Such pretty smiles should be forbidden or kissed. Fucking hell.
“I’m not fond of Potter,” he protested.
“You haven’t denied your fondness for Minerva or me, though. And Crooksie, of course, Gryffindor by default.” Impossible, lovely woman.
Without him having noticed, they had moved even closer together. The moon highlighted the delicate bones of her face, inviting him to caress her features where light and shadow met.
Her lips slightly parted, and her breath warmed his chin. Severus lowered his head, drawn in by temptation, their mouths touching. Her lips brushed like silk against his, turning his heart into molten liquid.
Hermione buried her hands in his greasy hair, tugging him closer, and he put an arm around her waist. He was terrified that this would mark the end of paradise. Potion fumes and sheer exhaustion often messed with proper hair hygiene. Any moment now, she would draw away from him in disgust. Her parents were dentists, so she must feel his teeth were a disaster.
Instead, she deepened the kiss, gently parting his lips, and he could taste the mint of her favourite evening tea. Severus forgot what he had been thinking before, lost in her and the sensations she elicited.
The feeling of being watched made him pull away. Yellow eyes looked back at him.
“Your cat is a voyeur,” he said, still slightly out of breath.
“You could have put him down,” she answered, her chest rising and falling against his body.
“I’m certain that wouldn’t have stopped him.” Severus was strangely reluctant to let go of them both in his arms. It felt wrong. “Do you do this with all of your friends?” he asked, his tone sharper than intended as he tightened the grip on her waist.
“Only with the special ones.” There was a teasing glint in her eyes.
Severus lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not fond of being called special alongside Weasley.”
“We were young and foolish. There was a war. Eventually, we decided we were much better friends than anything else. It happens,” Hermione shrugged as if it were nothing.
“Do not remind me how young you are. I feel enough like an old lecher already.”
“You aren’t old, not even by Muggle standards, and I never want to hear you calling yourself a lecher again.” Irritation made her nose crinkle adorably, and he couldn’t resist kissing it. He was in a lot of trouble.
Crookshanks chose that moment to purr loud and deep, the vibrations going through all three of them. He appeared smug and satisfied as if he had planned it all. Somehow, Severus couldn’t find it in himself to be angry, far too content and strangely at home with the cat and his favourite human in his arms.