Chapter Text
The sight was so plainly impossible that she stopped short. A small distance away, Severus Snape was… sunbathing. He was laying back in the grass, his discarded robes a makeshift pillow under his head, wearing only black trousers and a grey shirt, the fabric of the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows. He was barefoot.
Hermione couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath. It was enough to make Snape’s eyes snap open. Before she had discerned where it could possibly have come from, his wand was pointing at her.
„I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said in a near-whisper. Her voice carried in the quiet little courtyard.
„Miss Granger.”
His face was perfectly bland, as was his tone. She couldn’t read him at all. At least, he lowered his wand again as he acknowledged her presence.
„I’ll just…”
She turned on her heels and fled.
„Miss Granger!”
His deep voice and commanding tone stopped her in her tracks.
„Did you have a specific purpose in coming here?”
She turned to find that he hadn’t gotten up. Her professor was still lying back, with his upper body half turned to her, resting his weight on his elbows. She had to look down on him. It was more than a little disconcerting, after looking up for the last seven years.
„I came here to study. I… didn’t know anybody else knew of this place, sir.”
Snape gave an indelicate snort.
„Students always seem to think that Hogwarts reveals its secrets to nobody but them.”
„Yes, sir,” Hermione readily agreed. For an instant, Snape looked somewhat disappointed, as if he had expected opposition. Then he let his head fall back and waved a dismissive hand.
„Well, go on then, study. Miss Granger. ”
And he closed his eyes.
For a moment, she stared, incredulous. Then she shook off the conflicting impulses of simultaneously wanting to run away (the sensible reaction when it came to Snape) and wanting to get closer (her habitual reaction when presented with something curious and unexplainable), and took herself to her usual spot just on the edge of the grass, where she reclined against one of the columns that lined the passage around the courtyard. Well, she was actually three columns down from her usual spot, but that one would have kept her way too close to the – apparently still sunbathing – potions master.
She stole a glance while conjuring a blanket, to spread out her books and notes, and then wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or sigh when the blanket turned out black. She had been aiming for blue and white stripes. Black, then. This time, she concentrated properly and when she looked down again, she had managed the silver ornaments she had envisioned. After frowning for a second at the beautiful filigree horses, she changed them into dragons and then finally got to work revising. NEWTs were only three months away.
When she next looked up, the sun had moved along, leaving the far part of the patio in the shade. She liked this place, had been coming here often ever since she had found it, not quite two weeks into the first term of their post-war year at Hogwarts. A never-before-seen wooden door in one of the third floor corridors had stood open, beckoning. It had led into the passage around the courtyard, which had immediately reminded her of a monastery cloister.
And even though Hermione could hardly call herself religious, the place somehow exuded a strong feeling of peace. Peace, which escaped her so often in the hectic months after the war. Here, the ground under her feet seemed solid, even if, in actuality, the courtyard had to be on the roof of some of the second-floor classrooms. Then again, one could never be quite sure what was where within this castle.
She smiled a little when her eyes fell on the still form of her black-clad professor. It would seem as if her monastery had gained a priest, notwithstanding the fact that Snape wasn’t quite his usual buttoned-up self today. He had now crossed his arms behind his head and seemed to be looking up at the passing clouds.
Was he alright? Hermione wondered. He had been uncharacteristically civil during their exchange, although that was not completely without precedence since he had resumed his teaching duties. He didn’t yell and threaten as much anymore now that the war was over. Even Harry was mostly just ignored. What was much odder about the present situation was that Snape had felt comfortable enough to doze off with her so close, and that the most dignified man she knew didn’t seem to mind her seeing him in a slightly dishevelled state.
“He must trust me,” she thought with a start. As she came out of her reverie, she realised that Snape was now sitting up and staring at her with narrowed eyes. In a fluid movement, he got up, his robes magically fastening themselves around him, and stepped into boots that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. In a few quick strides, he was towering over her.
“Still studying, I trust, Miss Granger?”
She looked down for a second on the book open in her lap. Then upwards again, into shuttered eyes.
“No,” she replied, closing the book with a decisive snap and getting to her feet. “I lost concentration a while ago.”
“I noticed, you were staring at me.” His tone was accusatory, maybe even disappointed. But why should he be? He was an enigma, what else could the most curious student in the castle do? And...
“And you were staring right back, sir.”
Oh my. That certainly wasn’t meant to come out of her mouth.
Inexplicably, he didn’t get angry, but looked away.
“Go before I change my mind and dock points”, he said in his slightly hoarse after-Nagini voice.
Hermione didn’t think twice. She flicked her wand to neatly pile and shrink her things, picked them up, and left.
When she sat with the boys in front of the common room fire that evening, they found her distant, obviously absorbed in something quite puzzling, but she shook off their worried questions with a small smile.
~---~
Down in the courtyard, Severus Snape had watched the girl leave. When she had disappeared through the heavy oak door in the corner, he had looked down, and, deep in thought, had only seen a few moments later that she had left a blanket. Automatically, he’d picked it up and folded it carefully, smoothing over the silver ornaments. It probably wouldn’t keep very long, being conjured from thin air. There were of course potions one could brew to preserve such conjured objects. Not that he should waste one on a silly blanket of Grangers, even if the design was quite pleasing.
When he turned to leave, the thin cloth had inexplicably made its way into one of the pockets of his robe.