'It was probably just an accident,' she muttered. 'What else could it have been? Yes, just a mistake, that's all.'
Hermione Granger repeated this to herself several times as she bustled through the hallway, pushing against the stream of students making their way to their dorms. Curfew would begin soon—in an hour—and she cursed herself for deciding last minute to pay him a visit. But if she did not, her brain would be turning all night, and she could not afford to lose any sleep, especially with a Runes quiz in the morning.
She held on to her graded Defence Against the Dark Arts essay tightly, fearful of it slipping from her grasp. It was vital that it be intact should Professor Snape be persuaded to re-evaluate it. Since the moment it was given back to her, the page bearing a thin, black C at the top right corner intruded on her thoughts. This was a first for her, and it made her light headed.
'This can't be!' she had muttered to herself in a hushed voice, staring wide-eyed at her graded scroll. Surely an essay on the banishment of memory charms in several countries deserved a more befitting mark!
She hid the parchment from Harry's and Ron's eyes, foreseeing the expressions on their faces if they saw her, Hermione Granger, the insufferable know-it-all, with a dreaded C. They would tease her mercilessly.
Oh just get over yourself, the sixth year Gryffindor thought. It's just one poor grade.
To her dismay, it turned out to be more than that. She could hardly stay attentive in any of her other classes; her mind constantly wandered to the C.
Get. Over. It.
She attempted to forget it, but unfortunately, it was to no avail. Some hours after dinner and just before curfew, she had finally concluded that she would go and speak to Snape without further ado. Her head was pounding madly, and she needed to ease the anxiety.
Hermione slipped away from the boys as they played an intense game of Wizard's Chess and went down to the third floor. She stood warily outside the DADA classroom, hand reluctant to tap on the door to let her presence be known. Stop this, Hermione Jean Granger! You are a strong, independent woman, and you will enter this room and show him such!
If Snape had any snide comments prepared for her, it would not be anything less than expected. After all, she had endured it for five years straight. A few more could not hurt, right? She gave the door three knocks. There was no response. Her hand went for the knob, and she turned it slowly...
'Professor?'
The door creaked as it swung open. The site that welcomed her was unfamiliar to say the least. Professor Snape was doubled over his wooden desk, sleeping, with parchment sprawled beneath him. Despite the room being dimly lit, she could still see her professor's features. Hermione should have left the moment she saw him, and maybe she could have, but her body seemed to not allow it; not when she noticed something curious as she took a few steps closer.
Her feet moved on their own, drawing her closer to her Professor's sleeping form. She moved on the tips of her toes, past rows of desks. If he were to wake, who knows what sort of tirade he would bring about. Regardless of the possible consequences, she continued her trek to his desk.
She stopped in her tracks when she was close enough to hear his breaths. She looked down and studied what was in front of her. Snape's right arm was extended across the desk so that his head rested upon it. The sleeves belonging to his frock coat and white dress shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to his inner elbow.
An audible gasp escaped her lips when her eyes laid upon it, and she quickly clasped her hands over her mouth. Thankfully, her professor merely stirred.
'A Dark Mark!' she breathed.
She was fully aware that Snape had previously been a part of Voldemort's rankings—a Death Eater—and the ominous skull with a snake protruding from its mouth should not have been a surprise to her. However, it was the fact that she had never seen one with her own eyes tattooed on someone's skin—let alone it being Snape's forearm—that intrigued her.
Her heart sank a level when she focused her eyes. There were a number of scars and cuts, both old and recent, that ran through and around the imprint. It was as though he had been trying to scratch the thing off his skin for years.
Hermione looked sympathetically at his face for a moment. From where she stood, she could see that his eyes were closed tightly and his eyebrows were still furrowed, as if he were angry, even in the deepest of his slumbers. She then transfixed her eyes back to the mark.
She knew he had swapped loyalties years ago, something only the bravest of the Death Eaters would force themselves to do. Severus Snape, though a complete arse... is courageous. She felt compelled to extend her hand to trace the scars, to feel with the tips of her fingers the rough, dark lines that contrasted with his pale skin—which made them all the more prominent—but she resisted and shook her head tersely. No! What do you think you're doing? Hermione restrained her hand to her side and continued to stand there, pondering about her professor. What if it was not him who had given him these scars? Could Voldemort have been the reason instead? Either way, she still felt a pang of guilt for him. The thought of Snape harming himself on his own accord or of the Dark Lord doing the deed himself made her heart ache.
He was not the greatest person she had ever had to deal with, but seeing the scabs and scars on the Mark only made her see a man who wanted to repent for his past.
Now she was ready to leave. The pain in her chest hurt even more the longer she stayed there. She turned on her heel only to stop midway. Unintentional to her plans and seemingly beyond her control, she whirled around, bent forward, and placed a gentle kiss on the middle of the Dark Mark.
Without regret, Hermione left the classroom in a hurry, completely forgetting the reason she had even gone there in the first place.