Chapter Text
They fell into a surprisingly easy routine, and though she had at first bucked against the idea of having any sort of rules, she had eventually come around to thinking of them as mostly beneficial. Of course she had given him her own set of stipulations that he had found wholly unnecessary, but considering she was now amenable to at least attempting the ones he had put forth, he bit his tongue and consented without any outward grumbling. They were as follows:
- No hiding allowed. You don’t have to stay, but if you plan remaining here with me, you best be VISIBLE at all times.
- Don’t rearrange my books ever again.
- Communicate. Don’t just storm about slamming cabinets and burning my toast with an attitude. I’m not psychic, if something I’m doing rubs you the wrong way, TELL ME.
- You can have me anytime. Anywhere. This is me officially giving you my consent, written down on paper. Look, I even signed my name: Hermione Granger
- I reserve the right to add to this list at any time.
First of all, he had already decided to remain visible to her, thank you very much. Secondly, as long as she maintained her precious books the way they were now that he had fixed their arrangement, he had no issue there. Thirdly, he never meant to slam anything. He merely underestimated his own strength one time during a heated discussion on the proper care and storage of dragon blood and would never stoop so low as to slam cabinets or heaven forbid, burn toast intentionally. He was a ghost, not some ill-mannered miscreant for crying out loud. Clearly, he was being falsely accused, but again, he had merely read the bullet point with an air of humility and made no comment.
The next item on the list had caused him endless turmoil, and every moment thereafter he had taken great pains to not only hide his internal struggle over their meaning, but to strive to forget he ever read those seductive words in the first place.
But Circe, how they haunted him. He might have been able to banish the frankly filthy images those written words inspired out of his mind, but the minx would periodically gaze at him with what could only be described as come hither, bedroom eyes, and he was immediately reminded of what she had consented for him to do. One sultry glance from her was all it took to make his whole being hum with an all consuming lust.
To say Miss Granger was a handful was a gross understatement, but he was nothing if not long suffering. As the days and weeks passed by, it became slightly easier to exist in such tight quarters with the object of his love and desire without spontaneously combusting. It was obvious that she was still struggling with his loss despite his frequent reminders of how grateful he was that she was safe and whole, at least physically. Though it ran against every fiber of his being, he had begun to speak openly of his innermost thoughts – and no, this had nothing to do with her ridiculous list of requirements, he had come to this decision fully on his own.
More and more often, he found himself admitting to her – and himself – how special she was to him. He let her know that seeing her alive and carrying on with life gave him a deep sense of joy. He told her nightly as she cried into her pillow, that he would have had it no other way.
It was incredibly difficult for him to get the words out, and many times they fell from his lips, disjointed and awkward, but she always simultaneously blushed and brightened when hearing his honest sentiments. Obviously, she needed to hear them. Nonetheless, he was grateful she hadn’t confronted him as to if he had indeed loved her while he was alive. He still felt uncomfortable disclosing that, worrying that the useless knowledge would only add to the burden she now carried on her shoulders.
However, with how forthright he was now with his true feelings, she must have quietly deduced that he had cared for her deeply, even while alive. However, she remained blessedly silent on the topic.
Meals were always a hassle, and he eventually took on the role as resident chef as she did not yet have much of an appetite and more often than not forgot to fuel her startlingly small frame. He was forced to continually thrust nourishment before her face, blocking whatever current book she was lost in. Sometimes arguments would ensue, but he was like a hound on the scent of a rabbit, doggedly following her around the cottage and wearing her down with his incessant demands that she eat something. When she would inevitably capitulate, he tried not to gloat too much as she would take small bites, all the while glaring up at him in defiance.
If only she knew how much those dark looks casually thrown his way thrilled some unholy part of psyche, how he constantly had to reign in a corrupt part of himself that wanted to goad her further, to push her to her limits. It was positively monstrous of him on every level, but he had become addicted to her latent fierceness and craved to see that all consuming fire in her eyes … especially when it was directed at him. It was somehow far more alluring a sight than her coy, suggestive looks – he supposed that it was because her anger was more honest and less of an act meant to entice. No, her temper was all natural and glorious to behold, and he found himself fantasizing with increasing frequency about what it would be like if she lost control all together.
Clearly, Miss Granger was not the only one in need of a hobby. As he had mostly perfected the art of using his ghostly hands to manipulate objects with a high level of precision, he decided there was no time like the present to continue with his potion making as he would have done had he still been alive.
Unbeknownst to Miss Granger, there was a hidden lever just inside the fireplace that opened up a trap door in the north corner of the room. This led to a private laboratory that he had assembled sporadically in the later years of his life. The idea had been to start his own apothecary shop after the war in order to sell his far superior brews than the subpar, utter slop one could find in Diagon Alley. He wouldn’t touch any of those potions if his soul depended on it.
After inspecting the dank, musty room and taking stock of his dusty supplies, he came to the conclusion that his reservoir of fresh herbs and other ferns and fauna useful to most healing potions was sadly lacking, and that the best solution was to plant a garden just for this purpose. A slow smile spread across his face, as he knew just the person who could help tend said garden. In fact, he would make it chiefly her responsibility. Of course, he would allow her to sell anything he concocted and keep the proceeds for herself, for what need did he have of galleons now?
To his utmost delight, Miss Granger quickly took to the idea of starting a garden. The plan also had the added benefit of forcing her to go out into the land of the living in order to buy supplies. Up until now, she had been using a magical delivery service for groceries, but he was able to convince her of the paramount importance of picking out the ingredients herself so she could ensure the quality was up to his exacting standards. She begrudgingly agreed that that would be best, and so she had spent an entire afternoon on her shopping excursion.
Snape had spent the entire afternoon restlessly watching for her return.
The cottage by the sea had a rough, rocky terrain surrounding it and wasn’t the most ideal location to plant anything. After choosing a plot that was partially blocked from the harsh winds by the house, he placed his hands on the hardened ground and whispered a spell to make the ground pliable and fertile. He smiled as he sensed the earth beneath him complying with his request. Now that he was a spirit, he was more in tune with nature, and his magic flowed freely without the assistance of a wand. Miss Granger had watched him work with fascination, so he let her do the rest, showing her how to till the ground as well as teaching her several gardening spells and charms that would help create a sort of greenhouse effect over the ground. Together, they watched the fruits of their toils flourish as the plants grew strong and hearty.
Their mornings were now spent outdoors among nature and the swirling, crisp, sea air. Even as a ghost, he found it invigorating, and he could not help but note how fetching Miss Granger looked with windswept hair and ruddy cheeks from her toils amongst the dirt and vegetation. She seemed happier the busier she was, and he began to consider other potential projects she might enjoy in the future. There were so many possibilities, as she was brilliant and could learn anything with minimal instruction.
As they worked, they always conversed on a variety of subjects, and he withheld nothing from her. His life, such as it had been, was an open book to her now and it never ceased to amaze him how interesting she found his recollections. Many times he had to remind her to keep weeding or to pay attention to how much water she was adding, as she would become so wrapped up in his tales that she would halt all activity and do nothing but gaze at him with wide eyed wonder and a mind full of questions.
It was adorable, and it was in these moments he struggled the most with his minimal touching rule. He had to stop himself on several occasions from brushing an errant curl out of her eyes, or from leaning in close to kiss those pouting, slightly chapped lips. He always stopped himself, thankfully. While it was true that he didn’t trust himself, he also didn’t want her to become dependent on him for her physical needs. The only time he allowed himself to touch her was when she fell asleep in the chair by the fire in what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable position. When this happened, he always carried her to bed and tucked her in. Other times he would gently stroke her hair in order to wake her when she had her night terrors, though he would stop the moment she blinked her eyes open.
Would adding an occasional, stolen kiss really be so bad?
“Severus, you should write an autobiography!”
He blinked himself back into the present, focusing once more on her sweet, upturned face so full of unwavering trust. No, he couldn’t let himself take even one step down that slippery slope, for her sake. She continued prattling on, and he indulged her.
“Your life was fascinating as a double spy, and oh so dangerous. No other man could have withstood the horrors you had to endure with such fortitude and strength. If only your life had not been cut so short...” She froze, her eyes glazing over.
“As if anyone would want to read such drivel. Hermione, I see several plants in need of pruning, just here and there. Would you be so kind?”
It was a constant battle to keep her mind from spiraling into depression at the thought of his untimely death as well as other horrors of war she had experienced, but he had gotten quite proficient at distracting her from those dark thoughts. The only time that he had no control whatsoever was when relentless nightmares plagued her while she attempted to sleep, stealing her rest and causing her to constantly look exhausted.
Tonight was another such night, and as a violent storm raged outside, rattling the windows and howling through the cracks, Miss Granger tossed and turned, whimpering as her face twisted in agony. She was covered in sweat, so Snape gathered a cool washcloth and began to wipe her face and arms, hoping the soothing cloth would rouse her. Unfortunately, she was far too deeply asleep. When she began screaming, he quickly made his decision, and slipped into the bed with her. He held her close and rocked her, murmuring to her softly all the while.
“Hermione, darling. You’re safe, I’m here. I’m right here. Please wake up.”
He indulged himself by kissing her brow, her cheeks, her neck. He couldn’t help himself, as seeing her suffer like this fractured something within him, and his carefully controlled reserve wholly abandoned him. He curled his ghostly form around her, spooning her, and with great relief her cries began to quiet down. They laid like that for a while, when suddenly and without warning, Hermioe twisted herself around and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly as she buried her face into the hollow of his neck.
“Severus!”
Her broken voice pulled at his heart strings, and stunned, he didn’t move as she clung to him. He cursed silently as he was unable to stop the inevitable pleasure that coursed through his being at the intimate touch of her body. Closing his eyes, he took great, deep breaths of her saccharine, natural scent, more potent than any aphrodisiac, as he tried valiantly to rein in his inappropriate and fast building ardor. As with a mind of their own, his lips skimmed her temple, leaving brief, almost kisses against her feverish skin. But that was a mistake. Immediately, Hermione lifted her face and latched onto his mouth, moaning sweetly against his lips.
Groaning in response, he allowed her to guide the kiss, and she soon deepened it, hesitantly licking at the seam of his lips, requesting access. He allowed it, and her tongue found his and playfully rubbed, flicked and swirled around his in an erotic dance. Passionate electricity quickly began to emulate from his form as their tongues played wetly together. Lost as he was in the beguiling heat of her mouth, he did not object when she grasped his hand and placed it on her breast. He eagerly began to massage and mold her soft flesh with his fingers, pinching her nipple and causing her to arch against him. This only fanned into flame all of his repressed desires, and he rolled them over so he was hovering on top of her. She then broke their kiss in order to gulp in air, and without breaking eye contact, she took his hand and pushed it slowly down her soft body, covered only in a thin, cotton nightdress.
Eyes widening when he realized the destination in mind, he swallowed harshly as she brought his hand first slowly down her thighs and then upwards, slipping him under her nightgown. She brought his fingers to her feminine apex and pressed him there, firmly against her.
“Touch me, please. I want you, Severus.”
Oh fuck, her slippery heat was intoxicating, and he briefly wondered if one could die a second time from earth shattering bliss when she started undulating her body lewdly against his fingers, sending sparks of arousal from his hand down to his toes and back up again. Trembling uncontrollably now as he watched her seductive body unfurl against him, he began to fondle her sex, causing her to jolt and gasp out his name. Gods, he loved the sound of that, so he sped up his movement as he felt himself hurtling dangerously close to some unknown and electrifying explosion.
Unable to stop now, he helplessly watched her quickly find her release with the help of his deft fingers. When she collapsed back down against the sheets, he quickly pulled away from her, already feeling familiar shame dig its claws in his mind. How could he allow himself to do such a thing? He was a monster.
Miss Granger blinked over at him in evident confusion as to why he was now on the other side of the room, and she reached her arms out in invitation. His heart ached at the sight, longing to go to her, but he had already done too much damage. Holding her now would only confuse her further.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly shook his head in what he hoped was gentle refusal, but her face immediately crumpled, her arms falling back down limply at her side. Silent tears flowed down her cheeks in steady streams, so he turned away, unable to watch the pain he had caused. If there were a heaven, it was no wonder he was not there. He was the worst sort of man.
“So you will not hold me? Even now, after …” Her voice trailed off, most likely unsure of what to call what they had just done. He resolutely stared out into the storm as he answered.
“It’s past time you went out and found yourself a partner, Hermione. One of flesh and blood who can meet your physical needs far better than I ever could.”
“Oh stop with the excuses! You did perfectly fine just now, and you’re the only one I want. Not some random person off the streets. However, if it's because you don't want me, then just say so!”
He turned on her then, frustration rising within him and making him sound harsher than he intended.
“I’m dead, remember? What just happened can never happen again, do you understand? Never. I have no more right to touch you than any other corpse currently rotting beneath the ground. When will you get it through your thick skull?!”
Heavy silence was the only response to that, as she stared at him wide eyed and pale, as though she were truly seeing him for the first time.
“I understand now.” Her voice was faint, and he could barely hear her over the fierce wind.
“I think … I think it’s time for you to go. Into the light. Or … to be with other ghosts, wherever they are.” She avoided looking at him.
“Just … leave me.”
His breath hitched, and he thought carefully before responding.
“Hermione–”
“Call me Miss Granger. In the spirit of keeping barriers firmly in place between us.”
It felt like a dagger in his heart, but he knew he deserved it.
“Very well, Miss Granger. Let’s discuss this in the calm light of day. I have no wish to leave you, as I am deeply concerned for your well being.”
“There’s no need.” Her voice sounded automatic now, as though she were suddenly void of all emotion, and it frightened him somehow more than all her tears and anger.
“I can’t stand the thought of you watching over me out of pity, for that’s what this is, isn’t it? You feel sorry for me, so you’ve stayed out of a sense of obligation. Despite the fact you don’t really want or love me. Admit it. In life, you never cared for me, I was nothing but a source of endless irritation for you.”
She spoke lightly as if she were commenting on the weather.
He gulped, and carefully chose his next words.
“While true ... for a large portion of our acquaintances, it was not so the last few years.”
An empty smile plastered across her lips, and she continued on as though he had not said anything.
“Are you getting pleasure out of my despair? Is this some sort of payback for how I behaved in your classes?”
Pain, sharp and hot, stabbed through his soul at the very idea.
“You know it isn’t! It torments me greatly to see you suffer.”
This brought a spark back to her, and once more her emotions bled through her words.
“Then leave! My suffering is compounded by how you constantly push me away. It’s torture, seeing you every day, speaking with you, having you so near but knowing you will forever be out of my reach. You might as well be a figment of my imagination! GO!”
Shocked by her outburst and more than a little bruised, he left her bedroom and paced back and forth in the study, having no intention of actually leaving as he was far too worried for her … of what she might do if she were utterly alone. He shuddered to think of it. He had thought they were making progress, that she was getting better and feeling less depressed, and just as he had feared, too much physical contact had caused her to regress completely.
Just then he heard a noise crash come from the bedroom, like something heavy falling over. Instantly he was back inside, and panic washed over him as she was nowhere to be seen. Heart in his throat he took in the chair on its side and the open window, rain pouring in as lightning flashed across the sky.
Without another thought, he tore through the window, chasing after her into the stormy night. She could not have gone far, and soon enough he saw her figure ahead in the darkness. She was running towards the ocean, directly towards the cliff’s edge.
“HERMIONE, STOP! COME BACK!”
He shouted at the top of his lungs, but the howling wind carried his voice away, and he doubted she could even hear him. He was seconds away from catching up to her, but she had already made it to the edge, and with increasing horror he watched her fall to her hands and knees, clearly sobbing as her body shook while she stared over the edge.
A moment later he was at her side, pulling her away from danger, but this time she resisted, and his ghostly form was no match for her physical defiance.
“Let me go! You’re gone, GONE! I’ve lost you, the man I love with all my heart and soul, and it’s like I’ve only just fully realized it. I’m all alone, pining for the ghost of you, but not even your disembodied spirit can stand the thought of touching me. SO LEAVE ME!”
At that she crumpled completely upon the muddy, slick edge, wailing her pain and heartache out to the indifferent sea.
He remained at her side and on guard while she cried herself hoarse, and little by little she eventually quieted down, going still except for the shivers that wracked her body from the cold and wet. Only then did he attempt to lift her into his arms, concentrating all of his powers and strength of will on holding her steady against his chest. With great effort, he carried her all the way to the cottage, and he only continued breathing once they were safely back inside.
Much later, once she was cleaned up and tucked warmly in bed, asleep from pure mental exhaustion, he made a difficult decision, one he should have come to long ago.
He had thought to give her time to come around on her own, but time was working against them. Well, against her. The longer she stayed here with only his ghost for company, the more her past trauma from the war festered within her. She wasn’t getting better, she was burying all of her pain and trying to ignore it. She had suffered great loss – not just himself, he knew there were many others who had not survived. But instead of reaching out to the dear friends who remained, she had sequestered herself away, isolating herself from the world and was stagnating.
Well, that was no longer an option he would give her. It was time for intervention on her behalf whether she liked it or not. Most likely, it would be the latter. It was even possible she would never forgive him, but that would be a risk he would take if it meant that she would ultimately find healing.
Finding his old box of floo powder, he first whispered a spell over the fireplace, as he had never fully connected it to the floo network when he had first moved in. He hoped to finish his mission before the Ministry noticed an unregistered fireplace being used without authorization.
Throwing a pinch of powder into the fire, he made his request, and moments later, a face he thought he would never have to see again popped his head through the flames.
Harry fucking Potter.