Disclaimer: All characters belong to J K Rowling.

And Then She Was Gone

It took only a matter of moments and she was out of my life forever.

It had been a disturbing, unwanted, blatant reality that I knew was coming, knew there was nothing I could do to prevent it, and I had dreaded it more than facing Voldemort himself.

She was part of my meager existence for seven long – no – seven short years. And those years - had gone by far too quickly for my liking.

She irritated me. Frustrated me. Beguiled me.

She became the only good thing in my life.

And for me, that was saying a lot.

I am not sure when it was exactly that my feelings for the insufferable know-it-all had changed. When it was that I realized she was no longer an exasperatingly annoying child but had blossomed into a brilliant, self-assured - beautiful - woman.

But I certainly wasn't the only one to have realized that about her.

I could see the young men fawning over her. Potter. Weasley. And even my own Slytherins were following her around like lost pups begging for a bone.

Yet she turned them all down. Why?

She had snared my heart, but who had captured hers?

Perhaps no one. Perhaps she preferred the academics, too busy with the pursuit of higher learning to be bothered with the trivial aspects of life. Love indeed was a trivial aspect.

At least, that's what I used to think.

Trivial, no. Tormenting, yes.

And oh, did she know how to torment me.

I longed for nothing more than to lose myself in the tenderness of her embrace. Claim her mouth with my hungry kisses. Carry her to my chambers and prove to her beyond a shadow of a doubt the depths of my passion, the strength of my feelings, and the intensity of my - desire.

Honor prevented me from doing so. A man of fierce principles, I could not break the rules. It would have been – wrong.

Besides, she didn't love me.

No. It was I who was tormenting myself.

She was untainted. Unattainable. There wasn't a malicious bone in that perfect body. Her kindness was unmatched, her generosity boundless. She was everything that I - wasn't.

Gryffindor. Slytherin. So different. So much alike.

We both preferred the solitude of the library at night. Often I would find her there inhaling the words out of a book as if she needed them for the very air she breathed. She had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge that rivaled even mine.

I would sneer, feigning rage that she dared to violate my privacy. She'd respond with the slightest of smiles that simmered my heart and sent shivers rolling down my spine.

Before I left, I'd scowl at her. Dropping the book I had been reading callously down on the table in front of her and remembering to mutter something - rude about Gryffindors.

I knew she would pick up the book, she wouldn't be able to resist. She was a curious thing.

Nary a week would go by before I would find her waiting for me after class. She would drop the book callously down on my desk. I would glare. I would mock her. She wouldn't cower or run, but held her ground against me, standing so brave, so noble, so Gryffindor. Suddenly I would take it upon myself to quiz her on what lay between the pages. Pretending not to believe she had actually read it, though I had no doubts that she had. Then for what would possibly turn to hours we would discuss every detail, every intricacy regarding the book. Sometimes arguing. Sometimes not.

Eventually, however, I would tell her - most impolitely - to leave. That I was tired of the sight of her.

We kept up this – game – for close to a year.

Now and then I would target her in class. Purposely deducting house points just to see the fiery glint of anger flash in her eyes. It made her look radiant. I loved teaching her. Her mind was incredible, she soaked up everything, remembered everything.

No one would ever appreciate her brilliance like I would.

During the last few months of her seventh year I had begun to take all my meals in the Great Hall. I had never been one prone to socialization. I never socialized, preferring to spend my time locked away in my sanctuary - my dungeons amidst my cauldrons and potions. My increased presence had not gone unnoticed. Unquestioned. It mattered not, for I never cared what people thought of me. I had no one to answer to. It only meant that I was able to see more of her.

And I needed to.

Occasionally I'd find myself standing next to her. I would curse myself. Ignore her. It was easier to pretend she wasn't there than to try and think of something to say. It was humiliating to think that an eighteen-year-old girl had rendered the arrogant, irritable, unapproachable Potions Master speechless.

But she had.

There were times when her eyes would melt into mine. Our hands would touch.

I hated – no – I loved those times.

I yearn for those times.

I miss her.

Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor. How did any of those dunderheads ever manage to make it through to graduation? Miracles, they say, never cease to happen.

Watching them clasp hands and exchanging fond good-byes through the long line of professors turned my stomach.

The feeling was mutual.

They cringed when they reached me.

It was blatantly obvious that they hated me. I didn't care. I hated them.

I spent seven years shouting and berating them. Giving them detentions and deducting house points. I wasn't kind. I was cruel. I reveled in being cruel.

So as they shuffled by, I avoided their eyes, not that they were seeking out mine. Muttered their names as I numbly shook their hands but offered no words of wisdom nor offered any encouraging remarks that they could take with them as they made their journey into the real wizarding world.

Potter and Weasley by-passed me. For which I was eternally grateful. What I had to say to either of them would not have been - pleasant.

The-know-it-all. Surely she loathed me, for I had done nothing to make her feel otherwise. Even though I had – have – feelings for her, I treated her no less harshly than I did everyone else. I suppose I was even harder on her for those reasons. I wanted her to despise me. It was easier on my heart to believe that she harbored ill will against me than to even imagine – to even dare to hope – that she would ever reciprocate my feelings.

A small hand grasped mine. The touch was warm and soft.

It made my body tingle.

It was her.

Cinnamon eyes locked with mine. I could hardly breath and wondered if she could tell my heart was about to burst out of my chest.

I wanted to tell her right then, that very instant, that I loved her. Tell her that I needed her. That I wanted only her.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

I wanted to sneer. I wanted to be cruel. Send her away hating me more intensely than she ever had in the previous seven years.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

Instead I put a mask over my heart and a clamp on my emotions. My eyes never left hers.

"Well done, Hermione."

Expressing in those three words all the love and desire I felt for her. That I would always feel for her.

Her reaction was one I hadn't expected. I expected her to nod and leave me as quickly as she came. Disgusted by the touch of my bare skin against hers. But instead her lips curled up into a beautiful smile.

Gods!

That smile - at that moment - was meant only for me.

Then she wrapped herself around me. Willing arms encompassing my waist in an embrace of such intensity that I had never experienced before in my life. She buried her face against my chest. I stood there bewildered, unsure what to do. What I had longed for, what I had desired was now happening. Gathering my senses I took advantage of the situation that I knew would never come again.

I hugged her back.

Lacing my fingers through her long, soft chestnut hair, grazing my lips and kissing her so lightly on the top of her vanilla scented head that no one, not even her would have noticed. I held her close, closed my eyes and willed the moment to last forever.

But it didn't.

It couldn't.

She muttered something into my robes. Words that were lost amongst the din of celebrations. She hung on to me for a moment longer perhaps waiting for a reply that didn't come.

I remained silent. I was such a - fool.

She pulled away from me. Her eyes, though she didn't look at me, appeared moist. Due to the excitement of the day, I reasoned with myself. That was the only logical explanation. It was the only explanation I allowed myself to believe.

Oh how I wanted to run after her and bring her back to me.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

I should have.

And then she was gone.

Late at night in the solitude of my chambers I often replay that moment in time when she takes my hand, gazes into my eyes and as her arms are wrapped around me the words she speaks into my robes are, "I love you."

But I know that's not what she had said. She couldn't have said that. For a woman such as her to have feelings for a man such as me is an impossible dream.

Yet in my dreams it will always be possible.

~*~*

A/N:

'And Then She Was Gone' is a prequel to a Snape/Hermione fiction that I'm in the process of writing. Inspiration this prequel struck after reading Ehann's "A Wish For Wings" and Strega Brava's "Where Goblins Fear to Tread". I highly encourage everyone to read these two wonderful stories.