Hermione sat in the headmistress' office, a cup of tea in her hand. She still found it disconcerting that there was no portrait of Severus Snape in the office.
It bothered her.
Especially because Headmaster Dumbledore, by way of Minerva, seemed to believe there should be one. Minerva hadn't gone into detail as to why the late headmaster thought that, and as curious as Hermione was to know, she didn't want to pry.
Well, she did. Badly. Minera had proven too good of a friend and mentor, though, to push. So, Hermione restrained herself, hoping that one day Minerva would expound on what the late headmaster had said about a Severus Snape portrait.
There'd been conjecture abound as to why a portrait was absent: he abandoned his post, he wasn't really a headmaster, he'd been assigned to the position by someone trying to use it for evil, he was so hated for his one year in the position there that a portrait wasn't warranted.
Those were among the most prevalent theories.
Well, she wasn't buying any of it. It seemed there was nothing she could do to ensure there was one either. And Headmaster Dumbledore was (not so shockingly) rather close lipped about the portrait process.
Severus Snape had been able to get into the headmaster's office. That meant he'd been recognized by Hogwarts for the position.
Something that, if she'd known about at the time, she liked to think she would have realized that the castle was trying to tell all of them something with that.
She hadn't been here, of course.
She'd wondered more than once over the years if Albus Dumbledore had presumed she would be absent from her seventh year. Had that been a part of his plan? Whether due to going with Harry, or not coming due to her not being allowed to due to her being muggleborn. She'd be insulted if he didn't believe she'd figure out what his being able to get into the office meant.
The castle had not let that vile pink toad gain access to this office, but had allowed Severus Snape entry for almost a year.
Why didn't anyone else see that? See what that meant?
Forget anyone!
Why hadn't Minerva specifically, someone who'd known the man for over twenty-five years at that point? And knew Hogwarts and its workings rather well? Why hadn't she seen it?
Immediately? Hermione could understand anger and emotions getting the better of the woman. Eventually, though, months of knowing he was getting into the office when Umbridge had been unable to.
Why hadn't she noticed?
This thought was accompanied by a glance in the headmistress' direction. A woman Hermione knew felt guilty about that year, so Hermione tried not to bring things up. She didn't like upsetting people in general, but particularly this woman. Her treatment of Severus Snape was only one of the things causing her to feel that way. Doubly so, because she felt she'd let him down while he was a student here, too. Hermione didn't enjoy making her feel bad, so learned to stop bringing some topics up.
His missing body still bothered Hermione to this day as well. She'd quit talking about it because it seemed morbid, or bordering on obsessive, to still think about it after six years even to her.
It still bothered everybody, she knew that. They just didn't say anything anymore. (Unless they'd had too much Ogden's.) Many felt they'd failed him, and the idea of something being done to him, or his body, when he should have been protected by them, left everyone with a foul taste in their mouth.
Did death eaters abscond with him?
Had someone from their side, before finding out he was on their side, done something to him?
Had he escaped?
He deserved to be buried properly. To be recognized for his contributions to the Order of the Phoenix. It seemed as if the end of the war was somewhat incomplete without that last thing being done. Complete closure. At least to her mind. She knew she wasn't alone in thinking that.
"So, school? Your research?" Minerva said.
Hermione smiled at now having the headmistress' attention. She'd stopped in for a visit without an invitation, so waiting until Minerva finished what she'd been working on was expected. She always visited Hogwarts after her first day back on campus. She wasn't sure why. Coming home, but not really.
"Good. I'm scheduled to meet with a new professor in the department tomorrow. I haven't even seen him yet, but he is planning on teaching about the Salem witch trials. Douglas, Professor Andrews, suggested I might assist with the unit. I guess it's a test to see if he'll let me. The meeting with him tomorrow, I mean."
"Oh," Minerva said, lips thinning in a familiar gesture. She saw a glint in the witch's eyes Hermione was familiar with, too. "Douglas, is it?"
Hermione shrugged. She'd worked with the man for four years now. She quickly became his favorite student. Calling him Douglas didn't seem unusual, or romantic in nature, to her. Minerva wanted Hermione to settle down. She seemed to think the fact she hadn't found someone to even contemplate doing that with yet was odd. Or that she hadn't officially become an adult yet. As of getting her graduate degree wasn't being an adult. "He's nice."
"Well, nice is good, isn't it?" Minerva asked.
Hermione sighed softly. Minerva wasn't wrong. Nice was good. Minerva knew she had a couple of dates with men that hadn't been so nice. In a misogynistic way anyway. All of the wizards her age seemed set on marriage and children.
"It is, just not in the right way. He's just my advisor, Minerva." She sort of wished she could like Douglas in that way. He was attractive, intelligent, a good professor, and divorced so was single. She didn't know him real well personally, but they had good conversations over the years that extended beyond history and academia. There was just nothing between them. Even now when she was no longer an undergrad. Honestly, she liked their relationship. They were friendly without being invasive.
"I see," Minerva said with a shake of her head.
She was one of the ones who, while disappointed her relationship with Ron hadn't survived the end of the war, understood why it hadn't. Very few did, other than Harry. She wasn't one to air her dirty laundry, and preferred her personal life to be, well, private. She'd worked very hard to not be fodder for the Daily Prophet once the war was over.
Harry "taking her side" in things caused Ginny to break up with him . That surprised Hermione, as she thought the witch would never let him go once she had him. Ginny Weasley had a crush on Harry since before she'd even met him. They hadn't reconciled either. Such a stupid thing to break up over.
"I'm busy. It's fine. I'm in no rush."
"I know, but there's more to life than books and schooling, Hermione! You know I don't think your foolish for going to university, but I just think you can have a life while you do it."
"I do. I don't tell you, or even Harry, about every detail of every day. I have a few friends and we have dinner or see a movie sometimes. I've never been a hugely social person. That's not going to change. It's graduate work. I'm almost done. It's supposed to be my focus. I'm not planning on going to school for the rest of my life!"
"I know. The magical world misses you."
That was the crux of it. Minerva wanted her back. Hermione knew she wanted her here . At Hogwarts.
"No, it doesn't. You miss me. Hogwarts misses me. That's not enough."
Her former head of house, and the woman who had become a mentor and friend to her as she went through the process of applying at university, shook her head. She thought Hermione was running away.
She really wasn't. Anymore. Had she been at first? There was a very good possibility that was true, but she didn't think running away to university was bad. Nor did she think taking some time away after a very intense seven years was wrong. She just wanted to get her education. The magical world didn't offer university courses. So she had to go to the muggle world. Six years removed from the war, well, she couldn't deny it was probably a good decision she'd made.
Distance from … everything … was good.
And everyone.
The only people she saw with regularity were Harry and Minerva. She saw others on occasion, but she didn't go out of her way to talk to them. Minerva didn't know where she lived. Or how to get a hold of her, other than to go through Harry.
She wasn't hiding. She just really valued her privacy right now. She didn't want Molly Weasley, or anyone else, showing up at her door. She knew when she didn't feel that way anymore, it would be time to come back here.
Would Harry tell Minerva where she lived if she asked him? Likely so. He knew who she would want to see.
"How is Harry?" Minerva asked.
"Fine. You know, he's Harry. Busy. You probably talked to him more recently than I did."
"He lives with you!"
She wasn't wrong, but it wasn't totally accurate either.
Harry usually spent his weeknights at Grimmauld Place and the weekends with her, unless auror business kept him working through those. She was pretty sure there was a witch recently, too, though he hadn't mentioned anyone specifically. If there was one, it was a new thing, so she wasn't upset he hadn't told her yet.
"When he comes to the house, he's fine."
They weren't dating, and he was under no obligation to come to her house on weekends. He liked doing it, though, because growing up as he had and then going to Hogwarts. Well, there was a slew of muggle things he'd missed out on. So, on weekends, one could find them watching out of date movies and TV shows, or possibly listening to music. They went to museums and other places, too. They traveled when time allowed them both to. Sometimes it was an overnight in Dublin just to be somewhere different for a few hours. Always, though, they tried to do or see something new while they did thing like that.
Truthfully, even with the access she had thanks to her parents, she still wasn't "current" on things before her time at Hogwarts.
He was busy with work. She was busy with graduate studies. The weekends weren't for in depth talks.
He read a couple of books she recommended and they'd talk about them. That was about as serious as their weekends together usually got. He even got a date out of reading one. He'd been reading it at a coffee shop and someone started talking to him about it, having just finished reading it herself.
Because of course he'd get a date out of reading a book!
(The date hadn't gone all that well, but he took her reading recommendations more seriously since that had happened. She'd be upset he was just reading something on the off chance someone would see him with it and start a conversation with him about it. He did finish the books, though, so she found it hard to get truly upset.)
He'd suggested she start reading at coffee shops and maybe it would happen to her, too. She wasn't that desperate yet.
"Good, I'm glad. I don't hear much and, as much as I'd like to, requesting him every time an auror comes here to do a spot check isn't plausible. I can't show such favoritism, nearly all of them were students here."
"I know. I'll tell him you asked about him."
"Please do."
They talked from there: Hermione filling her in on her studies to this point, whether teaching a lecture appealed to her (it did), and Minerva catching her up on the students for this year.
Albus Dumbledore's portrait was always quiet during these meetings.
He was always here in this one when she visited. Today's visit was impromptu, excitement that Douglas had approached Professor Davies on her behalf. He hadn't been here when she arrived. He'd returned to this one within a few minutes of her arrival, though. There was plenty she wished to say to the former headmaster. As of yet, she kept her mouth shut. She was fairly certain nothing good would come out of her starting down that path.
What would the point be? The man was already dead! The war was over. Voldemort was defeated. Harry had survived.
She stayed for dinner, which was always a bit strange. Students recognized her. Few knew why she was absent from the wizarding world. With the end of the war came the discovery that not just Rita Skeeter but a few other Daily Prophet reporters were not credible. There was a housecleaning of sorts and, as a result, Hermione's post-Hogwarts activities were not so scrutinized.
Thank goodness.
Not to say that she and Harry (and Ron) weren't gossiped about, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been while they were students. And most of the articles were at least rooted in some bit of fact.
She hugged Minerva at the doors that would take her out of the castle and to the gates. She had been here for hours. She knew she likely wouldn't get the chance to come here again until Christmas.
It was time to take her leave, even if she didn't really want to go. Going home to an empty flat didn't hold much appeal today. She could go to Harry's, but she really did have things to do. She never rushed through time with Minerva. There were times that was better than others.
This was the other reason Harry spent weekends with her when he could. Neither felt alone that way.
"Thank you for your time."
"You don't have to thank me for spending time with a friend, Hermione."
"I know, and I appreciate you saying so, but I still know you're busy."
"I'm never too busy for you, Dear."
She left then, walking to the gates that would lead her to the area outside of Hogwarts' property and the ability to apparate. Soon it would be chilly, but today it was warm enough that a jumper and a light jacket over it was more than sufficient. She never wore robes when she came to visit. She had two sets of dress robes (one more casual and one very formal) at her flat for times she had to attend something and that was it.
For now, anyway, Hermione Granger was pretty firmly planted in the muggle world.
*****
Hermione knocked on the door to Professor Davies' office at the appointed time the next day. She truly was surprised Douglas had arranged for this appointment. He told her the new History professor was doing a unit on the Salem witch trials in his American History class. She told Douglas that she was a little upset someone was teaching it without her. She was venting. She wasn't expecting anything to come of the comment. No one was under any obligation to include her in their unit. Then she supposed it was part of his job as her advisor to do what he'd done. (No, he wasn't her advisor any longer, but she still talked to him as if he was.)
She was a little early for their ten o'clock appointment, but she preferred to be punctual.
"Enter," came a voice from the other side of the closed door. She smiled a little because Douglas described the new professor in the department as seeming a bit aloof. And being rather short and to the point.
She opened the door.
"Hi, Professor Davies. Thank you for…" she paused, unable to stop staring at the man sitting at his desk. He was writing something, not paying her any attention yet.
He.
Professor Davies.
Was this Professor Davies?
Was she hallucinating?
Was she dreaming?
Now he was looking at her. He'd clearly expected her to finish her sentence by now. He also caught her very obviously staring at him.
How embarrassing!
He … it wasn't really a smirk but not a leer either.
Amusement.
It reached his eyes, whatever the look meant, where there were a couple crow's feet visible with the gesture. Between the smirk/leer thing and the crow's feet, his hair worn a bit longer than the other professors in the department did, as well as his prominent, but well-placed, nose, she thought he looked rather striking.
"Has the cat got your tongue?"
He fidgeted when she didn't stop staring at him, trying to cover it up, by straightening a pencil on his desk, which drew her back to the present.
Embarrassing didn't begin to cut it.
Except.
Well, it wasn't every day she saw someone who looked like Professor Snape.
Right down to that prominent nose, and his jaw.
And the eyes. Those she noticed last even though she'd looked at them.
"Um, no," she said. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. You just look, um, like someone I know." What else was there to say?
"Is that good or bad?"
This was said with a smile. Gone was the smirk/leer. Points going in favor of it not being Severus Snape, as she'd never seen the man smile.
Smirk cruelly, maybe.
Smile, no.
And that made her a little sad, truth be told. That in six plus years, she couldn't ever remember having witnessed that.
She tilted her head a bit, regarding the man, and pushed down the realization that she liked the smile there. From what Douglas said, Professor Davies hadn't seemed too thrilled at the idea of her honing in on his class covering a topic she was exceptionally well-versed in.
For very personal reasons, of course.
She made it her goal since leaving Hogwarts to research all mass murders of her race over the years. She was sure there were some not known about, because the history books didn't flat out say witchcraft, wizardry, or sorcery were suspected.
His smile widened, and she realized that it made a very … normal and unassuming-seeming face rather fetching. Complete with a slight dip just under his left cheek that almost looked like it could be a dimple.
Morgana.
The realization dawned on her that she had no idea if Professor Snape had such a thing. She doubted anyone ever noticed that about him, and she enjoyed possibly having information about the man no one else did.
If this was Professor Snape, of course.
Which was absurd, because the name on his door clearly said NOAH DANIELS, not Severus Snape. And he did not recognize her. Severus Snape was an accomplished spy, but she didn't think even James Bond could hide seeing someone so unexpectedly as well as this man was doing. That being zero recognition.
She'd been quiet for too long. He was going to think she was an imbecile! Way to make an impression that she was not a clueless chit!
"I think it's good," she said, finally answering his question. She knew she was blushing, which probably made it worse!
"You think. So, you're not sure?"
Dear Lord, he even sounded like Professor Snape. And that wasn't easy to do, as she'd come to find that no one sounded like him. Except he was teasing her, and Professor Snape didn't tease.
Not in fun.
Something she'd never told a soul, not even Harry. Or Ginny, before they had their falling out. (To which she was very glad that she hadn't told her any real secrets!) She loved his voice. He'd captivated her from the moment he started talking in their year one Potions class.
How was it possible that this man not just looked but sounded like her former professor?
Was it wishful thinking? Had she dreamt about Snape last night after thinking about him while at Hogwarts so that he was on her mind this morning? She didn't think so. She did sometimes. It wasn't near the anniversary of the final battle or his birthday, so no reason why he should come to her mind. He did, though, with some frequency.
Visiting Minerva and Hogwarts yesterday? Maybe.
"He was a good man," she said simply. What else was there to say to a muggle? He died a war hero, only no war you'd know about, wouldn't work.
"I see. Well, all right then," he said, standing from his chair and offering her his hand. "I'm Professor Davies."
"Hermione Granger," she said.
His handshake was firm. Not ferociously so, as if he was trying to hurt her or something, but strong. She took advantage of him being this close to her (not that the distance from the door to his desk was that vast) to really look at him.
Graying a bit in spots of his hair, but otherwise it looked like his. And that wasn't easy to do. She'd … heard he'd been made fun of for his hair, accused of not being hygienic, and she'd felt bad for her professor. She understood what it was like. No, her hair wasn't oily, but the curls could have a mind of their own at times and make it look as if she hadn't brushed her hair. (A rat's nest her mum had called it.)
Nothing. No reaction. No widening of his eyes. No flinching. No indication her name meant anything to him. Of course, that wasn't proof, as the war hero this man resembled was a seasoned spy.
For all she knew, Douglas told him her name prior to today so he'd had days to prepare.
A seasoned wizarding spy who she'd never seen wear a button up shirt, khakis, and loafers. The shirt and khakis weren't black, or green, either. (The shirt, in fact, almost looked like it could be salmon colored.)
How utterly bizarre. Boy, would she have something to tell Harry the next time she saw him.
"I understand you'd like to sit in, and possibly assist, when I teach about the Salem witch trials at the beginning of term."
No derision or appearance of laughing at her for staring and being unable to form functional sentences as to why she was even here.
"Yes," she said, removing her backpack from her shoulder.
She always carried it with one strap over her shoulder, hanging loose instead of a strap over each shoulder. It had nothing to do with the fact she still, six years later, felt the need to be able to drop it and defend herself quickly if she had to.
Nope.
She just preferred it.
And, yes, liked knowing she could just drop it if the need arose.
Harry thought she was a little insane when she hunted for the type of backpack she wanted. She wanted one with two larger compartments. One compartment, she kept notebooks and such in. The other compartment had an undetectable extension and a weightless charm on it, allowing her to have whatever she needed on her at any given time. Six years post-war, she no longer carried everything with her, but she was still prepared to flee on a moment's notice if necessary.
Preparation includes a stash of both muggle and wizarding money, ten days' worth of clothes and rations, and a passport. She didn't count on ever needing it, but she never wanted to live like she had those nine months again.
"I brought some notes with me, so that you can see an example of the research I've done. May I?" she asked, gesturing to the empty chair next to his desk.
"Sure," he said.
He did not sound overly convinced this wasn't a waste of his time. And probably his patience (which reminded her once again of Professor Snape). She couldn't blame him. She likely wouldn't want a graduate student sitting in on a new unit she'd brought to the university either.
*****
She was pretty sure the fact that they spent close to three hours going over her notes surprised Professor Davies. She'd managed to find four descendants of three women persecuted during the witch trials. Ironically, two of the descendants were married to one another. They allowed her full access to their family documents. She'd spent an entire summer break in Salem, Massachusetts going over those documents.
Hermione was putting everything away, ensuring all was in the order she kept it in, a little frustrated that he hadn't said she could join his class while teaching this subject. She could tell that he was impressed with her knowledge. He knew she was thorough. Likely he'd reviewed her transcript, which spoke for itself as to her abilities as a student.
She really wanted to assist now that she knew this unit was going to be taught.
"Will I hear from you then, Professor?"
"I don't see the need for that."
Her heart plummeted lower than her stomach at those words. She went from feeling confident and happy for the chance to devastated in the blink of an eye. She was lucky the sob she wanted to let out stayed inside. Being emotional wouldn't get her what she wanted.
She really thought she'd been quite convincing. He hadn't contradicted her, or seemed to think her research was useless And really, they'd spent three hours going over everything. That didn't point to him thinking she was an idiot.
He reached to the edge of his desk where her arm was resting then, patting her hand. Her head jerked up in surprise at the gesture. Not just out of surprise, but because of the jolt of what had to be static electricity that arched from the spot he touched.
Only not like any static electricity she'd experienced before.
"I meant, Miss Granger, that I don't see the need for letting you know at a later date. You are welcome to assist me during the unit."
So he knew she was disappointed. And he'd gone out of his way to … be kind. To comfort. To assure her.
Clearly, another sign he could absolutely not be Professor Snape.
Not to mention, she couldn't imagine him ever touching anyone in such a fashion. He wouldn't have gone out of his way to make anyone feel better about themself either.
"Oh," she said, knowing she was smiling like a fool now. She tucked some hair behind her ear, knowing she was likely blushing, too. That static electricity made her feel … warm. From the inside out. It was strange, and made her want to rub the spot on her hand he'd touched.
"I was going to work on my lesson plans in my office at home over the weekend."
"Okay," she said.
"I'll be honest. I did not expect you to have anything of value to offer or add to my plans."
"I assumed," she muttered, and he chuckled.
"Since it seems that you do, I could shift my plans to do my work here. However, if it doesn't seem too forward, we would be far more comfortable going over lesson plans in the office at my home rather than here," he said, gesturing to his smallish office. The offices really weren't designed for one person to do research and plan lessons, let alone two.
"Oh, sure," she said. "Tell me where and when."
"You are sure?"
She assumed the university did their due diligence when hiring him, which meant he wasn't a real-life version of Hannibal Lecter. She'd, of course, tell Harry where she was going. She wasn't entirely stupid as to go to someone's house and give no one that information.
"Yes, that should be fine."
It wasn't as if she'd never been to a professor's home before. More than one had study sessions over the years. She'd even joined Douglas and some others for poker one night. (She was not good at it, but she'd been invited so said yes, appreciating being included.) So he wasn't offering something that was never done.
"Good," he said. He turned then, writing something on a piece of paper before handing it to her when finished. "Ten o'clock Saturday morning?"
"Yes," she said, glancing at the paper so that she could read the address. "That will be fine."
"Good. See you then, Miss Granger."
"Hermione," she said.
He nodded then a bit. There was another … smile. Be still her heart. With the smile, there was that dimple again. "And I am Noah."
"Oh, I wasn't asking…" she said, grazing over the spot he'd touched her with the pads of her fingers. She wondered why the warm feeling wasn't going away. It should by now, shouldn't it?
"I know that you weren't, but something tells me this won't be the last time we work together. You are a graduate student in my department, I'm certain our paths will cross."
She brightened at that. "Yes, Professor. Noah," she said. "Thank you."
*****
"So, that means I won't get you this weekend," Harry said at dinner that night after she'd filled him in on her day. She sent him an owl to come to the house when he could, preferably that evening. She made sure he knew that it was nothing urgent.
"You will. I'm going there at ten in the morning!"
"I know you, Hermione. If he's interested in your research, that means he's probably pretty smart, too. That means that you could be there all day!"
Harry wasn't wrong. He'd been very interested in her research, offering her more than a few of his own tidbits of information on things. It was clear he studied the Salem witch trials more than just surface deep as well. Another thing that made her question who Nathan Davies was. Particularly, who he might be to Severus Snape. Not that she owned the rights to researching the Salem witch trials, but it was odd. (Then she was sure others thought she was odd, so supposed this could just be a case of her seeing things that weren't there or an instance of the pot calling the kettle black.)
"Well, I'll certainly be home that night. So I'd see you on Sunday."
Harry waggled his eyebrows a bit. "Are you sure?"
"Harry Potter!"
She was blushing. She knew she was. The idea wasn't abhorrent . Not at all. Harry didn't understand. He'd tried to set her up on dates. Yes, looks were important. To a point. When she was ninety, though, she wanted (mind allowing anyway) to be able to talk to her partner.
"I'm just teasing you. Not that there'd be anything wrong with it." He sobered then, frowning. She could see his mind working. She loved watching Harry think things through. "Is there? He's an undergraduate professor, so not your supervisor or anything. So you totally could spend the night. Right?"
"You're right. He's…" she sighed softly. He was right, there was nothing stopping her from spending the night with him if things went that way. She wasn't counting on it. She'd just met the man. Harry knew that wasn't her style, too. "He looks so much like Severus Snape, I thought I was seeing a ghost."
"Well, maybe I'll finally come visit you on campus one of these days to see this Severus look-alike."
"Good! Please! I'd like to know if I'm crazy or not. Maybe I'm just seeing similarities that aren't there?"
"I doubt it. You're not crazy, and you're not irrational. They do say everyone has someone who looks like them out there."
"Hopefully my look-alike has an easier time taking care of her hair, and her parents allowed her to get braces when she was younger."
Harry laughed. She was much better at it these days.
Her hair.
The teeth remained fixed thanks to Poppy Pomfrey. She still wasn't the girlie girl type, but she liked to look nice: hair, subtle make-up, clothes that made her look like a woman, not a frumpy person of indeterminate age. Not that there was anything wrong with that style. That just wasn't the picture she wanted to present. She'd learned to like and embrace herself the past six years.
It was bad enough being known as the person researching the history of witches. Everyone thought it was a crazy topic to focus on. While he'd never said anything, she was fairly sure Douglas knew that magic was a thing. He hadn't given any indication he knew her either, which, if he knew about magic, he would. So she wasn't sure, it was just a feeling she had. She wasn't going to be the one to break the Statute, and if he was familiar with the magical world, he'd know her name. So, she figured one day he might just tell her he knew.
"Neville won't go with me."
Hermione chuckled. "No, I suppose he wouldn't want to."
"And he invited you to his house. Are you sure you plan on being home Saturday night? You know I'm not going to judge you…"
"Oh my God, Harry. It's not a date. I'm going there to work! He's right. His office isn't big enough for both of us to work."
"You're not transferring, are you?"
"What?" she asked.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You liked him."
"It's been six years, Harry. You think I'm just suddenly going to latch onto someone now?"
She didn't deny she'd liked him. Nor did she wonder how Harry knew she'd liked him. She wouldn't call it a crush. It wasn't the type of thing the girls who followed Viktor around felt. She could tell that he was intelligent. That meant something to her. Was wishing she could have had the chance to get to know his mind, and the man, better wrong?
"No, I suppose you wouldn't do that."
"Thank you!"
She leaned her head against his shoulder then, and they sat back to watch the next episode of Quantum Leap they had queued up. Harry hadn't been sure from the show's description he'd like it, Hermione was pretty sure that he would. She'd been right.
He kissed her goodnight before leaving her half asleep on the couch.
"I'll still sleep here Saturday night whether or not you come home. So, I will expect Sunday brunch and details."
She groggily rolled her eyes with a scoff. She wasn't a one-night stand kind of woman. Nor did she think sleeping with a new professor she'd literally just met in her last year of graduate studies was a wise path to go down. That was not the reputation she wanted.
"Good night, Harry."
"Night, Hermione."
"Love you," she murmured.
"Love you, too."
"Oh, and Harry," she said. Groggy or not, a thought occurred to her. She didn't think he'd do this, but she had to make sure.
Did she want to make sure in case she was right?
Or in case she was wrong?
She wasn't sure yet.
"Yes?"
"Please don't go to work and tell anyone that Severus may really be alive."
"Severus, huh?" he said with a low laugh. He winked followed by another waggle of his eyebrows and she blushed, shaking her head. "I hadn't planned on doing that based just on this conversation, no."
"Thank you."
Again, she didn't think that he would, at least not until she had more concrete proof than thinking Noah Davies looked like Severus Snape.
She heard him leave then, the familiar wash of his wards sealing the area around her flat with a soft pop that told her she was protected for the night. Sleeping on the couch wasn't an unknown thing for Hermione. Crookshanks gave a soft meow as he jumped up onto the couch to join her.
What would she do if he wanted to sleep with her?
No, no. Not the path to go down. She was going there to work. Not have sex with the man.
Or to see his dimple, she mused giving a smile when Crookshanks first butted his head against and then licked the spot on her hand Noah had touched her earlier. How did she know it was the same spot? Because it felt warm as it had earlier when Crookshanks did that.
"Feels nice," she murmured.
Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com