Witch Hunt

9

The rest of the afternoon found them discussing over tea. She had rummaged through the kitchen and found a tea set, Harry had packed some of her favourite tea in the basket he had left her with, along with the rest of the provisions.

Although she feared they would have nothing in common, Hermione was pleasantly surprised by the continuous stream of conversation. They discussed books, magical flora, evidently potions and technique. The conversation turned more serious afterwards, the subject of Hogwarts coming up. After his trial, Snape had become even more of a social pariah. His reintegration into the wizarding world had been difficult. Without Kate by his side to help him heal from his injuries, he had not been certain he would live through it. Despite Hermione's antidote to the snake poison, he had lost so much blood. The wounds in his neck had been deep and caused what might have been irreparable damage had she not found him in time.

Returning to Hogwarts had been trying as well. No one trusted him, his cordial relationship with Minerva had gone sour. He had acted in Voldemort's name, after all, when he took over the school and was appointed Headmaster. He had never wished for such a position. He had hated every minute of it. The only reason he returned to Hogwarts at all was because he knew nothing else. McGonagall was willing to take him on, despite their animosity, his skill was beyond compare in the domain of potion brewing.

He sighed, a heavy and sad sound that came from the very depths of his chest. As though it were the very first time he spoke of it all. "Rotten business, Miss Granger," he said, sipping from his cup.

She smiled sadly and reached out to touch his fingers, her own just barely dancing above the hand that rested upon the table. "Hermione," she replied. "If we're going to have to marry each other, we might as well be familiar. May I ask you a question?"

He smirked. "My permission has never stopped you from asking in the past. Go ahead." He teased, watching her cheeks turn pink.

The witch averted her gaze, suddenly feeling silly. He was right. She had a tendency to speak out of turn and ask questions regardless. "Um, just to know you better, I wondered what your favourite colour might be?"

It was a mundane, ordinary question. Something he had not expected from her. She was ever the curious witch, filled with an otherworldly fascination for all things academic. Yet, here she was asking his favourite colour in order to better know him. No one had asked him his favourite colour in so long, he was not certain he still had one.

Hesitation flashed in his gaze. It was only logical that she wanted to know him better before they married, but years of living in fear of people taking advantage of him and his magic had him pause. She mistook his hesitation for disinterest and turned redder in response. "I'm sorry, that's silly of me-"

"Green," he answered quickly, cutting her off. It wasn't silly at all, at least he did not think it to be. "It used to be green, though the colour has haunted me more than anything for years now. I'm not quite certain anymore."

He turned his hand to catch her fingers, his thumb idly brushing over her knuckles. He was trying to reassure her. He had quickly caught on to her little habits. Tell-tale signs as to how she was feeling. Uncertainty was the most evident of them all, he had observed it for years as her teacher when she had a question she was afraid to ask in fear of being mocked. She would bite her lip, her cheeks would turn pink, she would look down at her feet to avoid his gaze.

Hermione looked to their intertwined fingers, a small smile finding her lips again. "Because of Slytherin house?" She asked, partly in jest.

He shook his head and swallowed thickly. He might as well open up to her, if they were to be man and wife. She very might well be his only chance at being intimately known for who he really was. A chance to start over from scratch, despite their history. Someone who wanted to know him.

And it struck him then.

She wanted to get to know him. She wanted to make the most of their forced arrangement, despite his horrible behaviour in the past. No matter the way he had treated her as his student, she was willing to move past it and learn to know him.

Snape cleared his throat and met her eyes, knowing full well his answer might make her uncomfortable. "When I was a boy, my best friend had these striking green eyes. For years, it was a comfort to me." He explained quietly. "I am not certain it is comforting anymore so much as a constant reminder that all she left behind was a son."

Hermione's hand tightened on his own, her eyes watering. "I'm so sorry, Prof- Severus," she caught herself. It was a sharp pain in her chest, her heart aching for the man's pain. "I didn't mean to upset you."

His mouth ticked upward, he welcomed the squeeze from her fingers. "I am not upset. I figured you may as well know." He jerked his head toward her. "And yours, Miss Granger? Is your favourite colour red? What with being the Gryffindor Princess and all." He teased her.

She blushed, laughing. "Heavens, no. It sounds awful said like that, doesn't it?" Her other hand came up to touch her teacup, her finger tracing the painted swans on the delicate china. "I've always been partial to violet. It's quite pretty."

The man in black smirked. "Rather specific," he commented.

Hermione shrugged. "I know what I like."

Her answer had been quick, as though rehearsed. Repeated a thousand times before. He caught her eyes, staring hard. "An agreeable quality, I must confess." He said lightly. "I haven't the time nor the patience for indecision. Pray tell, Hermione, what do you like?"

His voice had dropped, like a gentle purr wrapped in sin and dripping with honey. Unspoken nuance tickling his tone as he continued to stare into her eyes. Warm brown eyes filled with wonder and trust and curiosity.

She could feel her face burning as soon as the words left his mouth. They were innocent, surely. Yet, his tone implied otherwise. The man was positively wicked and the young woman suddenly understood Kate's fascination with him. His voice dripped with a decadence in a way she had never noticed before. Dark onyx eyes glinting dangerously with something foreign... He was teasing her again, though there was something more there. Her heart skipped a beat and she realised she felt like prey. Though, surprisingly, she did not mind it as his eyes remained locked on hers.

Sensing a shift in her, he raised a brow. She did not back down, nor did she cower or fold beneath his stare. Interesting.

Hermione licked her lips, her bottom lip caught between her teeth again. His eyes shifted to her mouth and a smirk curled his own. He squeezed her fingers, his other hand coming up to pull her lip from her teeth, repeating the same movement from earlier.

This time, she did not gasp. Her breath caught and her heart hammered, though she kept her gaze on him steady. He would not intimidate her. He chuckled, pulling away his hand. "Defiant little witch," he said, more to himself than to her.

She raised a brow in imitation of him. Two could play at that game, though she had never imagined herself playing it with Severus Snape, most hated man of Hogwarts. "I like books, obviously," she retorted, as if the conversation had not taken on another tone. "I like to learn. I'm a quick study."

He observed her as she raised her chin. His finger came out to trace the edge of her jaw and he watched in amusement as her lashes fluttered momentarily, her head tilting toward his hand. "I know," he replied, bemused by the development. "I could teach you many more things, still. Beyond the realm of the Potions' classroom, I am knowledgeable in several fields of study."

With that, he stood. He pushed in his chair and offered her his hand to help her stand. Hermione's fingers slid over his palm, gripping his fingers as she swallowed thickly. She thought she might topple over if he kept looking at her that way, his eyes heavy and intense. His other hand rested at her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek as his fingers cradled her nuque. "I should go," he said softly. "I will write to you."

And he was a foot away, leaving her to stand alone in the kitchen. She leaned heavily against the table to keep from falling. "When will I see you again?" The words were a rush of air as she remembered how to breathe and she cringed at how desperate she sounded.

He raised a brow in her direction and dipped his head, amusement evident in his eyes. "Goodbye, little witch," he said, ignoring her question.

To her disappointment, her query was left unanswered, and she was far more confused about how she felt prior to his arrival. The door shut and she fell into her chair, her head in both hands. "Wicked man."