disclaimer:Au and ocs are my own, the rest belong to JKR

Interlude

Life at Hogwarts did not change much, apart from the fact that the castle now had several new bricks added to its broken walls, the potion master was marginally less biting and torturous in his class and the new transfiguration apprentice was a celebrity whose class every student would look forward to attending.

Hermione Granger no longer had her time turner. But she tried to make up for its absence by literally sprinting about the corridors to keep to her tight schedule. She had tutorials to attend with the Headmistress, she had two research papers to submit in each quarter of the session, she had to learn animagus transformation and at the end of the day would literally drag herself from the library to her bed with her eye barely open.

Severus Snape stuck to his promise made to the headmistress, as long as the girl was her apprentice, he would not make her life hell. Neither was he downplaying the whole cat and mouse game by outright ignoring her. He would acknowledge her presence but never engage in any conversation. She never actually sorted him out either. If their quiet dancing around each other was noticed by the others, they were clueless about whether to act on it or let things be as they were.

A very drunk Madam Hooch during a weekend socializing of professors at Rosemerta's Three Broomsticks had declared flicking her fingers at brooding Snape and first-time drinker Hermione, "These two need to get laid, too much of omph tension vibrating around them." The potion master had arched his brow and Granger had sputtered into her glass. The staff watched from the periphery as the two continued to be too civil with each other to be true.

The only person who watched this dance of silent courtship was the Headmistress herself. There were subtle changes in the potion master after her very enthusiastic apprentice started sharing her responsibilities. Too subtle for others to notice but both the mediwitch and she did have the pleasure to exchange knowing looks during meals or staff meetings.

Things like Snape always came to meals after Hermione walked in. Like he had started sitting by the window, leaving her his chair instead by the fireplace, during monthly staff meetings. Like when she decided to read on the empty stands of the Quidditch ground, he started doing the unbelievable- fly about on a broomstick, taking his time to actually teach the clumsy first-year flyers. Madam Hooch was miffed with this, but he simply argued, "Your hands are full, if I am giving extra flying lessons, I am trying to ensure that we don't have a wizard or a witch with big brains but an utter broomstick freezer among us!" It was common knowledge Granger hated flying and broomsticks never responded to her orders. And above all, he always made sure she was safely back into her quarters from the library every night.

Minerva only once questioned his subtle shift in mannerism, "What are you trying to do Severus?" The younger man huffed, "Trying to ensure your precious cub's safety like always." Truly she had every reason to ask his intentions, because too much happened in the shadows, which even her cat eyes missed. In the corridors, on the stairs, in the darkness of the grounds and in the library. If they thought Hogwarts was witnessing the unfolding of an illicit scandal, that vermin reporters like Rita Skeeter had the eyes for, that would be a poor excuse of parody.

The two of them were being available for each other. And there are things you cannot convey with eyes, lips, or through writing notes. As if they were renewing a forgotten language, the one that fingers spoke through touch. It depends on whether you let the tip dance over the barely visible hair on other's skin, or you indulge in the press and release a small patch of covered skin just to reassure her or him of your constant presence, or tiptoe over the expanse of a visible bend of the neck... Or perhaps feel the pinprick effect of the telltale evening stubble, to discover the tiny scars that essayed experience over jutting knuckles. At times, fingers got assisted by ghostly lips and one sharp eager nose, at times heavy caress of black robes and brush of curling brown hair transformed random and mundane existence into pleasures of living a second life. Never too close to ruining any of their hard-earned reputations, never too far to leave the other craving for more. For now, these tiny whispers of fingers were enough. No flowers interfered with the magic of this wordless courtship. No poetry or songs of adoration tumbled out of exciting quills and delirious heart and mind. Both of them had managed to bury their personal storms under the placid dark lake of their intelligent minds.

Ancients books and manuscripts, the worn-out wooden shelves, the sconces, the statues, the bay windows, and their stained glasses watched in awe how love invaded the draft air of the castle keeping it warm from within, sparking hope in the most hopeless heart, bringing the fire back to his obsidian eyes. They might have already witnessed young girls turning into confident women, but now they watched a soul preparing itself for her other half. Toiling under midnight oil, sprinting around with such life force, that whosoever came in touch with her mirrored her zeal to excel.

His many vials and bottles of potions often asked him, "did all this make him proud?" The Slytherin green canopy above his bed nagged him every night, "tell me the reason behind your smitten smile". His reflection jested," why the extra minutes wasted in grooming yourself dear potion master, your periodicals lying on your coffee table could instead enjoy your valued attention?" He would watch his lips, curve bit by bit, till those childish dimples appeared. Could a man afford to be shy of his own smile? But he knew she cherished it. So, he did offer her reflection cast on the library window during new moon night his most genuine smile.

He would watch the intonation of his voice, dip in a few decibels down just to watch her blush to creep up her cheek. The struggle was real, the redness almost hovered along the sharp lines of her jaw and he kept on delivering one quip after the other at the cost of staff members' bewilderment on some dry school issue he had little interest in, just to keep on pushing at the blush to conquer her cheek. It was always either Filius or Sprouts or Septima falling prey to his mind games. The irate professors would try to bait him and his awful temper, but a tiny millimeter of her bloodshot lip, which she had been gnawing on as long as he played his game, helped his rein in his emotions. In the back of his mind, he would chant "soon" and "soon" and be content with the promise it brought.

In the darkness of her quarters, among her books surrounding her prone body, she would twist and turn over the Gryffindor covers, murmuring to the night air, "Soon, all this will end, soon," allowing her fingers to mirror his stealthy touches on every inch of her bare skin. She would let the hunger be there, she would let the fire keep burning, she would wait for this interlude to be over. Corridors away, heaving a sigh, and watching his breath mist over the cold glass window, he would permit himself to think, all this was an interlude, a musical hiatus, a bridge that they both were building towards each other till they were prepared enough to meet under some setting sun or breaking dawn, right at the middle as equals.