Their lessons were going quite well. At least Hermione thought so. She supposed no news was a reflection that Professor Snape thought that they were too. Surely he'd have stopped by now as he had with Harry if she wasn't getting the hang of it.

She'd been lying to Harry and Ron for weeks now about what she was doing each night. They never questioned her going to the library, but more than one detention would be suspicious.

She still wasn't sure what to make of the memories she'd had restored. She had been tempted to ask, but as he'd been unusually kind to her of late she hadn't wanted to push her luck. Kind for Professor Snape was relative, of course, but he hadn't been rude, snide, or short with her. She'd take it!

She wanted to figure out what it all meant before confronting him anyway. She guessed he'd expect as much from her.

There had to be a reason behind it. She wasn't dense, but it was taking much longer for her to unravel than she would have liked.

She'd paged through her copy of The Crucible more times than she could count. Though it seemed to thrum in her grasp there was nothing special about it otherwise.

It was merely a book.

Given to her by Professor Snape.

Lavender had touched it and didn't seem to feel anything different about it. Hermione had questioned her discreetly, not wanting to seem insane for asking the other girl how a book felt to her.

She assumed it was his magic, but why did she feel it? React to it the way she did? If more than a couple of days went by that she hadn't paged through it it was almost like a compulsion for her to reach for it. It was off putting to say the least. And if it was just because it had contained his magic why did Lavender feel nothing?

She made her way to his office. They did their lessons in his old office. She wasn't sure if he held his office hours there or not, as she never had any reason to use the hours he offered.

"Enter," came his voice in response to her knock.

She barely had the door shut and he expelled a huff. She breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed it didn't seem to be directed at her.

"Miss Granger," he said.

He wasn't rude exactly, but he was clearly not happy. She wasn't late so she wasn't sure why.

"Sir?"

"I'm afraid I should cancel tonight. My first years were a bit unruly this morning so they got unexpected essay assignments. I am now responsible for grading them."

"Oh," she said, dejected.

She looked forward to these lessons. To her time with him. When they were alone he was … maybe not nice exactly but genuine. Yes, genuine. She felt during those lessons she was catching a glimpse of the real Professor Snape. Well, those lessons coupled with the memories he'd given back to her.

"Tomorrow then," he said.

She sighed softly, watching as he returned his attention to the piece of parchment he'd been looking at when she came in. One of the essays in question presumably, judging by the jar of red ink on his desk.

"Can I help?" she offered without thinking much of it.

"Help?"

"Grade," she said.

"I think not. You would be much too lenient," he quipped.

"You don't think I know what you expect by now?"

"Tone, Miss Granger."

She bowed her head, biting her lower lip.

"Yes, Sir. I meant no disrespect, just that I am familiar with your expectations."

"Indeed," he said.

He wasn't going to let her do it. He was going to say something harsh; she just knew it.

He surprised her, though, gesturing for her to take a seat next to his desk. He set a quill out for her while she got comfortable.

"I'll give you two to start, I'll review to ensure they're to my standards before we continue with more."

"Yes, Sir," she said.

She watched as he drew the next two essays from the stack and set them in front of the spot she'd be sitting. She noticed his fingers, not for the first time. During their occlumency lessons he gestured more than he did in his classes. They were slender and graceful. She wondered if he would find it insulting that she thought so. She could see him playing the piano very easily. Instruments like the saxophone and clarinet came to mind, too.

"Do you play an instrument?"

The question was out before she could stop it. He was going to think she was crazy.

Silence.

Stupid.

She lowered her head, and brought her attention to Thomas Collins' essay. She snorted softly but still distinctly unladylike as she read his name a second time.

"Something amusing, Miss Granger?"

"This kid's name is really Thomas Collins?"

"Yes," he drawled, clearly not appreciating not being in the know of her joke.

She started giggling.

"Miss Granger!"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but Tom Collins. Really?"

"I'm not familiar."

"It's an alcoholic beverage."

"And you know this how, Miss Granger?"

"My dad," she said. "I just can't believe no one thought to tell them."

"They likely don't know anyone who's aware."

"I'm aware!"

"You had a muggle upbringing. Mr. Collins has not."

"Things like that, I just don't get it."

He shrugged.

"I can't explain it."

She returned her attention to Thomas Collins' essay, focusing on the words on it as she was supposed to be.

"I have been known to attempt to play the piano," he said after about ten minutes of silence between them.

"Really?" she asked, smiling at this confession.

"I dabble. Play by ear I believe is the phrase muggles use."

"Oh, yes. Some people can be very good that way. My grandfather can't read bass clef."

"That means?"

She lifted her left hand. "You know, the lower keys."

"Ah," he said, nodding. He shifted a bit, so his left hand moved a bit further away from the inkwell they were sharing. "It's been a few years since I had any musical instruction."

"Anyway, he plays with his left hand by ear. I'm not sure how he manages, but he does."

He nodded simply and returned to the essay he was working on. She handed the two essays she'd graded to him, nibbling her lower lip as he reviewed her grade and the accompanying comments.

"These are acceptable," he said simply, handing her a few more essays.

She beamed at him. An Acceptable coming from Professor Snape was almost an Outstanding from anyone else. He paused for a moment, regarding her before getting back to work.

"Where do Potter and Weasley think you are this evening, Miss Granger?"

"Where they think I have gone every night the past month, Sir."

"And that is?"

"The library," she said with a shrug.

"Every night we meet?"

"Yes, Sir. I can't tell them I have a detention, they know better."

"Agreed. Perhaps we can come up with something to appease them in the event they look for you at the library and find you're not there."

"They haven't yet," she muttered and he chuckled softly in response.

"Has the idea of teaching ever crossed your mind?"

"Well, sure," she said, not understanding his reason for asking the question.

"Perhaps we can tell them that I'm giving you the opportunity to see if teaching is a career choice for you. A look at the mundane, behind the scenes work that goes into preparing to teach a class."

"They would surely wonder why you are doing such a thing, Professor."

"You approached me the night of your detention and I agreed. I'm not a monster, Miss Granger. If someone were to sincerely approach me regarding their future I would do whatever was within my power to enable them to get the exposure they need."

She paused, not sure what to say to that. She was so confused. If it weren't for the memories she'd recently gotten back she wouldn't believe that statement. Or would she have? It was hard to reconcile because while she recollected her feelings about him before the past month, the nicer memories, the ones she was - dare she say - fond of made her think he wasn't nearly as bad as he pretended to be.

"I'm not sure they'll buy it, but I can try."

"Well, I am tutoring you."

"True."

"So you're not lying exactly."

He hissed then, grabbing his left forearm.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

"I've been summoned, Miss Granger. Go," he said.

"But your essays."

"They can wait."

"I can stay until curfew and work on them," she offered. "If I have any doubts as to a grade or critique I will set it aside for you."

He nodded simply then.

"Be safe, Sir," she called as he left the office, heading through a doorway she hadn't noticed before now.

Interesting.

She imagined she wasn't supposed to notice it. Did it lead to his rooms? What were they like? Did he surround himself with nothing but black like some of the death metal fans she'd seen in downtown London? She giggled to herself at that picture.

What do you listen to, Professor Snape?

She stared at the door he'd left through for probably longer than was truly necessary. She hoped he would be alright. She saw the pain in his eyes as whatever magic the Dark Mark used to summon a follower coursed through him.

April 1995

Hermione's parents were at work and she was kind of bored in the house by herself. She took the bus to the library to check out some reading material to tide her over through break. Her parents had books to read, but she was always looking for something different that piqued her interest. And, okay, she liked the library.

It was a rainy day and she'd forgotten her umbrella, but had a raincoat with a hood. This prevented her from looking like a drowned rat by the time she made it from the bus stop to the library steps. Just barely. She knew what rain and humidity did to her hair.

She took a deep breath. Was it normal to be almost sixteen and think of her local library as a home away from home?

"What are you contemplating, Miss Granger?"

She let out a soft squeak upon hearing Professor Snape's voice here of all places. What was her potions professor doing outside of her library?

A second squeak followed suit when she noticed how he was dressed. He was dressed very muggle in black denims and a faded The Who T-shirt with a black leather biker jacket over it. The black Doc Martens completed the picture very nicely, which she imagined was the point. She had to admit as her eyes moved from his boots back up to his face the picture he made was pretty damned hot.

Wait. What?

"Nothing, Sir," she answered finally once done with her appraisal of him. She'd been doing that more and more lately, and she wasn't sure why. Other than Gilderoy Lockhart she wasn't prone to teacher crushes. She chalked Lockhart up to stupidity. Even she was allowed one stupid crush in her lifetime. Yet Professor Snape had crossed her mind more than once this school year. And she'd just thought of him as hot. What had come over her?

He smirked a little. It was gone in an instant, but she saw it just the same.

Only because you were gawking at the man.

"Nothing?"

"Just going to see about some books."

She gestured toward the library.

"Ah," he said with a slight nod of his head. "All caught up with your school reading then?"

"Well, yes," she said simply. "I will read through some of it again, of course."

"Of course," he said. He didn't sound condescending either, which surprised her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, realizing that he was at her library. What were the odds of that?

"On my way to the museum actually," he said, gesturing down the street in the direction she knew a small contemporary art museum was housed.

"You don't strike me as the modern art type, Professor."

He arched a brow at her statement. Here came the tongue lashing for deigning to assume what type of person he was.

"Would you care to accompany me?"

That was not the response she'd been expecting from him at all for that comment. Certainly she'd heard wrong or he was under the imperius or something. Except she couldn't picture someone like Professor Snape allowing someone to get the upper hand on him to cast that unforgivable.

"To the museum?"

"That is where I'm going," he said dryly.

"What's the exhibit?"

"Something to do with Piero Manzoni I believe."

"I don't have enough money I'm sure," she said, thinking over how much she had. "I have just enough for the bus and maybe a coffee or something."

"Don't worry about it," he said.

"I can't…" She couldn't let him pay for her. That wouldn't be right. Would it?

"I'm offering, aren't I?"

She nodded her head slightly. He was offering. She just couldn't figure out why he was offering.

"Would you like to go?"

Very much so.

"Yes," she admitted.

She did want to. She had no idea who the artist was, but she very much enjoyed the idea of spending some time outside of Hogwarts with her normally surly professor.

"Well then," he said, gesturing for her to go with him.

It was, dare she say, a lovely way to spend the majority of her afternoon. She didn't get much of the art, some of it was just lines and such. Professor Snape didn't really seem to get it all either as they'd both snickered at more than a few of the pieces on display. She watched him almost as much as she paid attention to the works of art hanging on the walls. She caught him watching her a time or two.

What did he think?

Why do you care?

"So," she said, sliding her hand between his arm and side as they left the museum. It had stopped raining while they were there so she didn't bother putting her hood back up.

"Yes?"

"Are you going to tell me why you were really here?"

"Miss Granger, you wound me."

"I'm sure you can stand it," she said with a soft giggle.

"Ten points for cheek."

"That doesn't work here."

"I suppose not."

"You're avoiding my question."

"Would you believe I truly was coming to see that exhibit?"

"Not really," she drawled. "No offense, but it just really doesn't seem like your type of art."

"What is my type of art then?"

She shrugged, surprised that he hadn't removed her hand from his arm yet. She'd done it as sort of a joke, but she couldn't deny the warm feeling that coursed through her at the contact with him even if it was through their respective outer gear and clothing.

"Well, for muggles, I'd think of you as more of a classic type person. You know, DaVinci, Van Gogh, I suppose Monet or Picasso if you wanted to delve into someone more recent."

"Van Gogh wasn't really that much before Monet."

"No, I know," she said, a thrill rushing through her that he knew that off the top of his head. No guy she'd ever talked to about art knew such a thing! "Different movements."

"Well, perhaps you'll have to show me a museum with the type of art you think I'd enjoy then sometime."

Her breath caught. Was he proposing another afternoon together sometime? And why did that make her absolutely giddy?

"I'd be happy to," she gushed.

"Does your passion for art rival that of reading, Miss Granger?"

"Hardly, but it is nice to be visually stimulated sometimes, too."

She felt herself blush profusely at that statement for it could mean all sorts of things she wasn't sure she wanted him thinking about.

"Indeed," he said.

"No trips for your holiday?"

"No," he said simply, raising his left arm casually. "I don't dare stray too far lest I be unable to respond promptly."

"I suppose," she murmured.

"Speak, Miss Granger."

"What is it like? How do you do it?"

"You must be more specific if you expect me to formulate an appropriate answer."

"He must think that you're actually on his side, share his beliefs."

"You don't think that?"

She thought on that for a moment.

Did she? Did she think he was betraying The Order as Harry and Ron believed?

"No," she said simply.

"You're one of a few."

She wagered she was the only one, really. She didn't have to be in Order meetings to know that everyone was suspicious of the former Death Eater.

"I'm sorry that's the case."

"You do realize, Miss Granger, I did join the Dark Lord willingly."

"I understand that, Professor, but I also understand that you were very young. My age even?" She wasn't sure exactly, but she thought she'd heard from Harry or someone that was the case. "I've read that he could be quite charismatic."

He snorted. "That is a polite way of putting it."

"Everyone's made mistakes, Sir. It's what you do once you realize you've made the mistake that matters. Somehow I doubt he recruited you with ‘we're going to exterminate all of the muggles'. That rhetoric would have come later, after you were already ensnared and committed. And probably had already committed a few questionable acts so you couldn't really just leave without fear of punishment, whether it be him or the DMLE. You're on our side now, fighting to right the wrong."

She felt him stiffen beneath her hand, as if what she said gave him pause. It was true. Of course evil leaders had some terribly evil people who followed and believed in them, but not everyone did. Sometimes they were merely caught up in the mayhem such evil brought with it. She wasn't naive enough to believe Professor Snape had never done anything bad, something told her that the steps leading up to qualifying to get the Dark Mark and ranking as high as he was rumored to among the death eaters were no walk in the park. Still, she meant what she said, what mattered was here and now not before she was even born. And from what she'd read and heard about the first war, he'd been a spy since well before Voldemort had been defeated the first time. Certainly that spoke of someone who regretted what they'd done.

"You've saved my life."

"As you've pointed out to me before, Miss Granger, I've made a commitment not to allow harm to fall to any student at Hogwarts."

I did? When?

She must have, he didn't strike her as the type to issue ownership to a topic of conversation that wasn't warranted.

"True, but I'm not sure putting yourself at risk of being killed is what they had in mind."

"Maybe not. We'll never know now, will we?"

He was so casual about it. No matter how calm he seemed about it now, placing himself in between them and a werewolf had to have been terrifying.

"You could have been killed."

"Likely it would've been a better way to die than the end I will endure."

"You shouldn't talk that way, Sir."

"Come now, Miss Granger, you're an intelligent witch. We both know spies don't have lengthy lifespans."

"Well, you're an intelligent wizard, Professor. I'm sure you can find a way to make yourself an exception to that rule."

"Perhaps," he said. "Can I offer you a side-along?"

"Really?" she asked.

"If you trust me."

She squeezed his bicep lightly. Just a touch of pressure to go with her, "I do."

They found an empty alleyway and just like that they were in her backyard.

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

He nodded politely.

"And thank you for the museum."

"You didn't get your books," he said, seeming to notice that they hadn't returned to the library.

"I don't mind. Today was more fun," she said, knowing she was blushing a little at the admission.

She'd spent the day with Professor Snape.

She'd had fun with Professor Snape.

She'd seen Professor Snape in muggle clothes.

"Enjoy the rest of your break, Professor."

"Same to you, Miss Granger."

"I'll probably go to the library again the day after tomorrow if you decide you want to be in the area again."

His lips twitched into the hint of a smirk again.

"Mayhaps," he said with a slight bow, whispering something before she found herself standing in the backyard alone. With no books to show for her day.

October 1996

He had met her again at the library, she remembered. They'd sat in her favorite solitary alcove away from everyone else and talked about Charles Dickens no less. Talking about books with him was intellectually stimulating because he knew what he was talking about and challenged her if she said something unconventional. Hermione smiled at the memory as she returned to grading the papers for him.

And you, Professor Snape, evidently like The Who.

Not that she had any idea what to do with that knowledge, but she stored it away anyway for future use.

Severus returned to Hogwarts, Death Eater mask in hand as he made his way toward his office via the hidden corridor he used for just these occasions. Fortunately, the summons hadn't been an information gathering one. Well, not really. Of course he reported on the doings of Albus, Potter's spawn, and Hogwarts in general, but that hadn't been the primary focus. Tonight had been an opportunity to rub elbows with other like-minded individuals. Wine and hors d'oeuvres flowed freely. Severus usually didn't mind these particular gatherings so much. He enjoyed talking with Lucius and a few others, being holed up at Hogwarts limited his opportunity to do so. Tonight, though, he'd found himself wanting to be back in his office, grading essays alongside Hermione.

He found himself reaching for his left ring finger on more than one occasion when passing over a witch who desired a dance would be construed as rude. None of them really wanted to dance with Severus Snape, Potion Master and Professor at Hogwarts. No, they wanted to dance with Severus Snape, Death Eater, considered by many to be second-in-command to the Dark Lord. They wanted an in to gain access to the inner sanctum. He never took the witches up on their not-so-subtly veiled offerings beyond a shared dance.

He was, and had done, a lot of things in his life, however, lying with someone without true emotion behind it did not fit into his beliefs. He'd heard his mother's tears too frequently over his father's indiscretions for him to believe that casual dalliances were appropriate. A true gentleman would not treat a lady, muggle or witch, in such a manner, and those who wanted to be treated that way were not women Severus wanted to associate with. At least that was what he had told the Dark Lord in the beginning to escape the expectation. He'd take being looked at as a prude or for being too old-fashioned then bedding women who were not willing at all or too willing to lie with every wizard in a room.

The fact of the matter was to bare himself so completely in such a manner required trust, and Severus Snape trusted no one enough to allow them to get that close to his person. Mentally or physically.

Women could be assassins, too.

The sight of Hermione Granger still seated at his desk, head resting on her arm startled him. He also felt an odd sense of warmth go through him at the idea that she'd possibly … waited … for him. He'd never in all of his life had anyone wait for him. In fact, every time he'd been summoned when she was nearby she'd told him to be safe or careful (or both). No one other than his mother he supposed had ever done that.

He realized quickly as he closed the door that she must have fallen asleep because she did not react to his presence. He took the opportunity to take her in. It was a rare thing for Severus to witness someone sleeping before him. He, in fact, couldn't remember it happening since his days as a student here at Hogwarts. That was different, assigned sleeping arrangements that he had to share with others.

This, though, her falling asleep here, willingly or not, implied a degree of both comfort and trust. Trust he wasn't sure how he'd earned from this witch. She knew now that he had withheld memories from her, and yet she allowed him into her mind repeatedly the past few weeks. And tonight when he could not find time to work with her on occlumency she offered to help him instead. Almost as if she enjoyed spending time with him.

Odd.

Unexpected.

Heart-warming.

He chuckled to himself as he noticed her left hand near the inkwell, as if she'd fallen asleep while moving it out of her way. He approached her then, allowing his left hand to hover over hers. He saw her soul mark flare to life in response to his mark's proximity. Rumor was once the bond was accepted by the couple the marks would then be visible to anyone.

It would be simple to touch her hand and find out just what their marks would do when such a thing happened. He wouldn't do it, though, she couldn't know. He wouldn't do that to her. At least not yet.

One day.

Maybe.

He remembered their conversation during Easter holiday last year, and after Arthur Weasley had been attacked by Nagini started working on protecting himself against such an end. He had witnessed the Dark Lord's use of Nagini more than a few times to know he was having the snake do his killing for him these days. Severus had no idea how he knew, but if he was found out he felt strongly that Nagini would be the one to do him in.

And if I do survive?

He could not live with strapping her with him for the rest of his life merely to satisfy his curiosities about their connection and what accepting the soul bond could mean. She'd never know and no doubt she'd find a wizard to make her contentedly happy. The part of him that endeavored for knowledge, though, was dreadfully curious. He already knew her magic enhanced his, as his did in reverse. Not that she'd know that because she'd never known her magic without his presence in her life.

Odd to think.

He wondered what she thought the mark was. Was she aware no one else saw it? Did she think it was a birthmark? Once she'd discovered she was a witch did she think it had anything to do with that? Had she searched the Hogwarts library for answers? Would she search for a way out if she discovered what the mark was and to whom the Fates saw fit to bond her to? Would it repulse her, as he fully expected it would, to discover the Fates had deemed him appropriate for her?

That was the part he'd attributed to it being a joke upon discovery of her soul mark. Even the person he'd been before joining the Dark Lord had not been an overly good or kind one. He hadn't been raised to be that and was never afforded the opportunity to learn. The deck had been stacked against him from the beginning, growing up in a home filled with violence and devoid of love or kindness. Even his mother, try as she did in the beginning, eventually could no longer be bothered. Add to these things his age and that he was plain looking, at best. Well, what witch in their right mind would be happy to find out they were destined to be with him?

This witch, though, was kindness and goodness epitomized. Anyone who aspired to be either of those things only had to look to Hermione Granger to lead by example. He'd never tell her that, of course, but it was so obvious even without the benefit of tapping into her mind. She was pure, unadulterated Light. Loyal to a fault and a lioness when protecting those who fell under the umbrella of having earned that loyalty. Goodness.

And she could be yours.

"Miss Granger," he whispered, voice sounding husky from lack of use.

"Mm," she murmured.

"Miss Granger," he said, noticing only now that her part-Kneazle was by his witch's feet. Her familiar seemed to sense it was time for his witch to return to where she belonged and stood with a stretch before brushing up against her legs. He made his way to Severus' legs, brushing up against him, too, before returning back to his mistress.

She lifted her head then, eyes looking very glassy and unfocused from sleep. She gave him a smile that sent a jolt to his system.

"Professor. You made it back!"

"I did," he said. She sounded so … happy about that fact.

Very odd indeed.

"I wasn't sure…"

"Miss Granger?"

"I didn't like the idea of leaving not knowing if you'd need help when you came back."

"As you can see I'm none the worse for wear."

She nodded, eyes assessing him none too discreetly. She'd done it before, too, more than once now. Her slow scan of him the day they'd gone to the museum came to mind. It was one of the few times she'd seen him in muggle clothes, and not just that but casual attire as well. He couldn't help but notice once again that she looked at him as if she liked what she saw. It was a look he recognized, not that it had ever been aimed at him in his lifetime but he'd seen it when Lucius first met Narcissa years ago. He'd have to admit Arthur and Molly Weasley looked at one another in that manner, too.

"Are you?" she asked?

"Indeed, nothing terrible occurred tonight."

"Oh," she said with a frown.

"Sometimes the Dark Lord likes to convene his followers for no reason other than to mingle."

She scrunched her nose, but nodded seeming to understand.

"I finished grading the essays, Sir," she said, gesturing to the stack to her right.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

She gave him a smile that even though not as big as the previous one he was quite sure could light a room. "You're welcome."

"If you give me a moment to change," he scowled, gesturing to his Death Eater attire, "I'll escort you back to your house's common room."

"That won't be necessary, Sir."

"It's well past curfew."

"Oh, is it that late already?"

He nodded simply, making his way to his quarters. Her familiar followed him.

"Crooks," she said hastily, following him in turn. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"It's all right, Miss Granger," he said, making his way to his bedroom. He closed the door, taking only a moment to put his Death Eater robes and mask away. He found her holding the cat in her arms, perusing the bookcase nearest the door.

"Find anything you like?"

She turned to face him, holding the copy of The Firm she'd given him.

"You kept it?"

He nodded simply. She'd given it to him, though she didn't realize that she'd actually only given it to him a couple of months ago despite seeming like years to her.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"It was enjoyable," he admitted. He wasn't much of a legal thriller fan, but he had to admit it held his interest well enough. The characters had been well written.

"Good," she said. "There's a movie based on it."

"Is there?"

"Yes."

"Is it good?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Perhaps if you come to visit me over Christmas break we can find out."

"Miss Granger," he said carefully.

"Professor, you've sought me out for years, gave me back my memories of those encounters. I don't know your reasons behind either of those things, and haven't asked admittedly only because I'm still trying to work it out myself before I do. All I'm suggesting is a planned one."

"I have not sought you out."

"Oh really," she said, that brilliant smile was there again. "Please tell me how you knew which library I'd go to?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

"I know that's what you said."

"As you recall," he said simply, not willing to actually confess to being there for the sole purpose of seeing her, "we met at your library more than once."

"True," she said.

"It was a calculated guess," he shrugged.

"So, is that a no to watching the movie with me?"

"I don't think it would be appropriate, Miss Granger."

"Who would know?"

"I would know."

"Are you planning on doing something untoward or unbecoming?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, then. I'll even make popcorn."

"You realize a lot could happen between now and Christmas break."

"I suppose you're right, but it would still give me something to look forward to."

She would look forward to seeing me? Watching a movie with me? Eating popcorn with me?

"He's released a few others since this one. I'd be happy to pass them on to you."

"Has he?"

"It seems he's quite prolific. I think there are four or five since this one and when I gave it to you it was a newer release."

"I would take any recommendation you have for me."

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded, not exactly sure what she was thanking him for.

"Have you read Marlowe's Doctor Faustus?"

"I have not," she seemed to regret admitting such a thing.

He stepped toward her then, using his right hand to pull his copy of the play from the shelves she was standing near. He ensured he kept a responsible distance from her.

"You like to give me interesting reading material, Sir. Witch trials and now necromancy and deals with the devil."

"Just doing my part to help broaden your mind, Miss Granger."

"Are you trying to suggest I may be too keen to accumulate as much knowledge as I'm able?"

"I thought you hadn't read it."

"I have not, but am familiar with the plot."

"I see, and no."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I did," he admitted.

Looking back at things, he supposed some comparisons between Faustus and the Dark Lord could be made and that Severus had indeed made a deal with his own devil.

"I'll read it tomorrow then."

"Remember your school work."

"You mean, there won't be a test?"

He chuckled softly, stepping a little closer toward her so they could leave. "No. Shall we get you to your common room then?"

"Sure," she said, slipping the book she'd given him back in its spot on his shelf. She slid Marlowe's book into her bag.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, noticing she'd stiffened and scrunched her nose as if she found something distasteful. There were no inappropriate books in the vicinity of them so that couldn't be it. Not that he had anything she'd deem truly offensive anyway. He imagined his darker books would pique her interest and not offend her.

She shook her head, but he could tell there was. In true Gryffindor style her feelings were clearly displayed a vast majority of the time.

"It's nothing, Sir."

"Miss Granger," he said, his voice low. "It's best not to lie to me."

She huffed softly, shrugging her shoulders.

"It's just that it's none of my business, Sir."

What the devil was she talking about?

"I promise you I have no ulterior motive in recommending the Marlowe work."

"It's not that, Sir," she said.

"Then what," he said tersely. "It's late, you need to be in bed."

"You just," she said and stopped.

"Go on," he prompted.

She lowered her head so he couldn't see her eyes any longer. He didn't think that was a very good sign. Had he overstepped boundaries somehow? He didn't think so. She'd come into his quarters, chasing after her familiar but nevertheless he hadn't invited her in here. She'd invited him to watch a film with her, that had not been his suggestion.

"Your person smells rather strongly of perfume, Sir," she murmured.

He frowned then, glancing at himself before looking at her again. He hadn't even really taken the time to notice.

"Witches are Death Eaters, too, Miss Granger," he said.

Was she offended or jealous? And why did he hope it was the latter not the former?

"Of course, as I said, it's none of my business," she muttered, unwilling to look at him. "I'm ready to go back to my room now."

"All right," he said, unsure of what to even say in such circumstances. He looked to be sure her familiar was following them.

"I do have questions," she said once they were in the corridor leading from the dungeons.

"About the perfume?"

"No, Sir."

"Okay," he said cautiously.

"I realize now is not the time as school is in session, but I would like to know what some of those memories mean."

"Mean?"

"Yes," she said simply.

He knew what she was referring to. He'd shared with her seeing her as a newborn as well as her time a few months ago unconscious in the infirmary.

"In due time," he said simply.

"It's important, is it not?"

"That's a matter of one's perspective. Does it have a bearing on upcoming battles against the Dark Lord? Likely not."

"Likely not, but not definitely not?"

He'd never thought about it like that. Was he weakening himself? Her? By not acknowledging the bond was he putting her in harm's way? He didn't care about himself, if the antivenin he was producing to counteract an attack by Nagini didn't work or the Dark Lord chose another means to murder him. Well there was nothing further he could do for himself. He was willing to give his life so that she could survive, it was imperative she do so.

He knew that because Hermione Granger had the potential to do incredible things. He would not see her cut down before she was twenty. Accepting the bond, fully and truly, meant joining with her and her being a student that wasn't a possibility. However, there were perhaps benefits of his soulmate being near to and aware of him. He hadn't thought of that before now.

"If you can point me to any decision that has had a definite result, please enlighten me."

"Fair enough," she said with a nod, apparently understanding that there just were not any absolutes in life. "You never answered about the movie."

"I suppose I could be persuaded, as long as it's not an attempt to bombard me with questions outside of my classroom instead."

"You don't want me channeling Mitch McDeere then, in other words?"

"Please, no," he said with a snort.

"I will try to refrain then."

"All right."

"I will ask my parents if there are dates they know they'll be out of the house for the evening."

"I have no pending plans myself, so whatever works."

"Great," she said, now standing outside the entrance to her common room. "It's a date," she said and dashed behind the portrait before he could completely process what she'd said to even respond.

A date.

Surely she didn't mean it like that. Just a commitment to their agreement to watch a muggle film together.

In her home.

When her parents weren't home.

He closed his eyes, wondering exactly what he'd just agreed to. And why he had no desire to cancel or clarify what exactly said date was to her. He'd truthfully never had someone call anything they did together a date before in his life.

He returned to his room, thinking back to her comment about him smelling strongly of perfume as he walked. Some of the witches there tonight practically bathed in their scent of choice so it was very overpowering. He admitted he was rather immune to it after hours of exposure. He bathed when he got back to his quarters, ensuring his robes and clothes were set aside for cleaning before retiring for the night.

She called it a date was the last thing he recalled thinking.

Story ©Susan Matthews/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com