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Disclaimer: I have noticed that I should put this here. So pay attention, anything you recognize here is not mine, only this plot.

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Chapter 2

Severus Snape, prisoner number seventy four was waiting impatiently for the visit of one of the only reasons for his continuing existence. Potter was coming today to give him his potion and inform him of the Ministry's final decision about their appeal.

He was not sure why he was still fighting. Upon receiving his verdict he had decided to embrace death as gracefully as he could. But something in those Gryffindors had changed his mind, something he couldn't define.

They had not been the only visitors he had. Many had come to see him. Some of his coworkers and some order members had come. They had all come to apologize. But their behavior showed that in fact they were here to forgive him magnanimously; The nerve of those people. He had put them in their place soon enough. They were the ones who had done their best to make his life hell when he needed their support and know they could go hang for all he cared. After he had been through with them, they had left either indignant or in tears. At least Minerva had not been that conceited. But she had been no different in those days. She had declared herself his friend so many times and then she had not even deemed him worthy enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. No, he didn't need any of them.

The only visitor he could call a friend had been Narcissa, but she had come alone. Apparently Draco didn't want to see him after learning of his role. But he had tried his best to alienate her too, because he didn't want to see anyone. He wanted to be left alone, so he could die in peace.

He had thought at the time that those two idiotic gryffindors would be like the rest and would tire soon enough and leave him, and that living till then would not be so intolerable. But now after more than a year, he was starting to think that maybe they really were there for the long haul.

From the start they had divided the self acclaimed responsibility between themselves and each came every other week with his potion, and they insisted on sitting for an hour with him and making conversation. The first couple of months had been extremely taxing for him and very awkward for them. He had nothing to say to them and wished to be left alone, and they had many questions to ask him, but didn't know how to ask them. The Granger girl was as insufferable as ever, but at least he had been able to tolerate her presence, as long as she hadn't asked personal questions. But Potter had been different, Severus could never look upon him without seeing those lovely eyes staring at him out of that accursed face, constantly reminding him of everything he had lost. And his questions about her mother had been exhausting. But they had been stubborn, if nothing else, and hadn't given up despite of his treatment of them. And in the end their perseverance had won out.

He was quite amazed to find himself enjoying Granger's presence and their stimulating discussions nowadays. She wasn't any easier to tolerate, but then he had to find his amusement wherever he could. And although he didn't have that kind of relationship with Potter, he had to admit that after coming to understand and know the real man behind that face, he couldn't resent him as he had before. And he hated to admit, but he had come to respect them to some degree. After all they had not abandoned him like the rest of the world. They had no reason to fight for him, but they did it nonetheless (not that it was going to make any difference).

He shifted a little against the wall and pulled the quilt Granger had brought him more securely around himself, to lessen the cold to some degree and remembered bemusedly their reactions every time they noticed a deficiency in his lodgings. That first month, they had been blind as bats to his predicament and sat there awkwardly trying to chat with him as though nothing was wrong and pretending to be in a completely normal situation. But after a few visits when the weather had turned bad and he had started shivering constantly, Granger had eventually noticed that he was not alright and had given an impassioned speech about the barbarism of prison conditions in the wizarding world, while pacing animatedly the short length of his cell back and forth.

"That was a moving speech there Granger, but I'm afraid you chose the wrong audience. Better write it down for when you announce your Ministry candidacy. " He had quipped sarcastically and she had flushed red, he remembered.

After that those two had tried their best to improve his condition; As much as they were allowed. because the Ministry didn't believe in rights for its prisoners and did not approve many things to be brought to them by their families. So now he had a quilt (but mattress and pillow were not allowed!), two sets of additional robes to change into, some quills and parchment to write with, and ten books to read (ten was the limit the Ministry had set in its unfathomable wisdom, and so every week they visited they brought him a new book to change with one of the old ones), a nutrient meal (The list of prohibited foods was a mile long, according to an indignant Granger) and they cast cleansing spells on him and his robes (it was a humiliating process, but the extra water the prisoners were given weekly for hygienic purposes and the monthly cleansing spells were simply not enough). They had even brought him anti-infection potions every other month for his open wound, until it had closed at last. He was no longer as inflicted with the poison symptoms as he had been those first months. And all in all, he was now in much better shape than many of the miserable souls here who had no one to care for them.

He started abruptly. Did he really think that they cared for him? It was impossible. There was no way! But then, why else would they make it their business to fight for his innocence this past year and even start a campaign for prisoners rights? No. There was nothing personal in it. It was just their Gryffendorish sense of justice rearing its head, nothing else. Yes that was it.

Fortunately, the door opened in that moment and halted his unwelcome thoughts. He raised his head expectantly, but instead of Potter, he saw one of the guards coming in. The guard came to him and thrust a potion flask roughly in his hand. It was his weekly potion. "Where is Potter?" He asked rasping. The guard gave him a disgusted look and said: "They will not be coming back again."

"Why?" Severus asked apprehensively.

"Maybe they got tired of your illustrious company." The guard sneered and left the cell.

Severus stared numbly at the door. It couldn't be. There was a mistake. They would come next week. After all they had sent the potion, so maybe Potter just couldn't make it this week. But they always came every week. Even if one couldn't come his or her week, the other would always come in their stead. Maybe they both had work this week. That was it.

Maybe the Ministry has found you guilty again and so they decided not to waste their precious time anymore on a hopeless case like you. A treacherous voice in his mind sneered. And you thought that they cared for you, you fool.

No. He would not judge them by one week's absence. He would wait more. They would come. He was sure of it. He drank the potion and settled on his thin mattress.

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After three weeks Severus was at the end of his rope. In the long days he sat waiting, the bitter voice in his head had gotten stronger and stronger. He could not ignore it any longer. When the door opened and for the fourth time in that month the guard came in instead of Granger or Potter and handed him the potion, all his hopes and excuses came undone at last.

They were not going to come back. Everything was finished. He was finished. He hurled the flask against the door and watched it shattering, furiously. He was furious with himself for allowing them in his life and his heart. Yes, his heart. Now that everything was over he was finally able to admit it. It was not them who cared for him. He was just projecting his own feelings on them. He cared for them, was even fond of them. They had become the only bright lights in his dreary, empty, sickly and painful existence and he could not imagine life without the anticipation of their weekly visits.

Damn them. He had been content with his lot in life. He had been content to die, rejected and hated by all. Damn them for making him hopeful. Damn them for making him vulnerable. Damn them.

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Hermione Granger, student of Philosophy in St Andrews university and the president of a fledgling NGO, have been seething for a whole month.

All hers and Harry's hard work had been ruined in just under fifteen minutes. They had spend a complete year trying to improve Severus Snape's image in public in any way they could. They had spent from their fame in every way they could think of. They had made as many interviews they could and spoke about him and his sacrifices. They had talked to any influential individual they knew about him. They had recruited anyone they could in the pursuit of their cause. They had even persuaded an investigative journalist (not Skeeter obviously) to write a book about him, but that was going to take more time than they had (and there was the problem of Snape and his infernal illogical need for privacy). But in the end, it had taken only ten minutes for the court to decide on Snape's guilt and even worse, denying him any visitor from that day forth, on the basis of him and his visitors (meaning her and Harry) disrupting the public peace and order. In fact, although they had gained so much more public support than before, they had regressed in their situation.

She could almost hear Snape's sarcastic drawl in her head: "Were you expecting anything else Miss Granger? Have you learned nothing in that university of yours still?"

When Hermione had time to ponder, she had to admit that all her future plans and life had been influenced by Severus Snape. She had wanted to start working in the Ministry when she had started visiting him, but now she was running an NGO with the immediate goal of freeing Severus Snape and improving prisoners lives in Azkaban, and with the hopes of working on human and non human rights in the future; She had wanted to be with Ron and start a family with him, but now after more than a year of constant arguments and quarrels about Snape and her public activities, she was no longer so sure about it; And these were not even the most drastic changes. The most important change had resulted from a discussion she had with Snape in the first month of their visits.

She could remember it almost completely, as it had made a great impact on her way of thinking.

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"I have been thinking about what you said about thinking the other day." She started sheepishly.

"Oh, really! Thinking about thinking. That must be a painful experience." Said Snape sarcastically.

"I'm serious. I can't understand what you were trying to say. All my life everyone has known me for my great penchant for all things logical. I have always been good at thinking." She protested.

"Everyone can think." Rasped Snape. "Even a dunderhead like Potter can think. The problem is how you think. If I expected you to think like Potter or that idiot Weasley, then I would be insulting your intelligence. But that's exactly what you do. You think like a dunderhead. Without even trying in the slightest to improve your level of awareness."

"But I don't understand!" Exclaimed Hermione.

"Oh for the love of …" Snape cried hoarsely. "Have you never heard of Analytical Thinking or Critical Thinking? What kind of a muggleborn are you?"

"I… I've heard about them. But I never…"

"But you've never taken them seriously." Snape scoffed. "From the moment you learned that magic was real, you did everything in your power to be accepted in the wizarding community, even if the price was throwing away your inheritance. You spent every moment of your waking hours cramming as much knowledge about magic as you could in that head of yours, without stopping even a second to determine if that particular information was worth the space it was going to occupy in your head. And I'm not even talking about the validity or accuracy of those information."

"You knew I was trying to prove myself?" Asked Hermione incredulously.

"Of course I did. I had to be blind not to see it." Snarled Snape. "And I did everything in my power to do damage control. But it was not enough."

"Damage control?"

"Everyone was encouraging you! It was the worst waste of potential I have ever seen in my years as a teacher." Snape rasped regretfully.

Hermione was speechless. Snape thought she was intelligent. He had tried to help her unlock her potential. It was unbelievable. "So all your dressing downs, all your browbeating…" She halted.

"Yeees! I was trying to discourage you from the path you had chosen. But I never was your favorite teacher, and so my words fell on deaf ears." Said Snape with a touch of bitterness in his hoarse voice.

"How could you become my favorite teacher, when you were nothing but an unpleasant git all those years." She cried, and then instantly regretted her words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you." She added, embarrassed.

Snape sighed. "There is no need for apologies. I was unpleasant. It was my job. I had to be. I was supposed to be a loyal death eater, remember." Upon seeing her incredulous eyes, he added: "it doesn't mean that I did like you, but at least I didn't hate you as I did Potter. I came to resent you more with every passing year, but I did never wish you ill."

"You didn't like anyone those years, did you?"

"Of course not. Everywhere I looked I saw blind prejudice and wasted potential. You all had everything and didn't even see it."

"Can you tell me about my mistakes?" She asked. "I tried very hard to do my best in gathering knowledge. Where did I go wrong?"

"I just told you! You accepted every written word as gospel. You never even tried to think about what you read. You just memorized information and then parroted it back, word for word." Sneered Snape. "If you spend all your life learning what others say, then when will you begin?"

"What do you mean?" Asked Hermione, intrigued.

"If you have no original thoughts, then who are you but a breathing talking encyclopedia?"

"But I have to know so much before I can start to produce knowledge."

" And when will you have gathered enough? And when are you going to learn how to produce knowledge, as you put it? " Asked Snape hoarsely." The best years for learning how to think for yourself is in adolescence. And you've wasted it all."

"Are you saying that it's too late for me?" She asked indignantly.

"It is never late to learn." Replied Snape. "I'm merely stating that you have lost the optimal time. Now you have to struggle more to understand what you could've learned so easily when your mind was more agile and flexible."

"How do you know so much about thinking correctly?" She asked curiously.

"Well, you can say I have always been like that." Snape smirked. "I was always critical about everything. I never accepted anything easily. It was later that I realized my way of thinking was a social science and had a name."

"It figures." Mumbled Hermione.

"Did you say something?" Asked Snape, amused.

"No. It was nothing." Replied Hermione sourly.

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After that discussion, Hermione had decided to learn everything she could about critical thinking. And that was how she ended up spending a year in an intensive specialty course in college and then continued that path by choosing to study Philosophy in a muggle university.

She was indebted to that man so much, and now she could not even see him. They were sending him letters with his weekly potions, explaining everything that was happening, but it would not be enough. During this recent year, she could see clearly that he was becoming weaker with every passing moment. Yes, he was apparently much better now, but she could see that he was losing some hidden vitality in him. And it was not only the poison doing its job, It was Azkaban that was sapping his strength day by day. And without their helps with small things like good food and cleansing spells every week and most importantly providing him with companionship and intellectual stimulation, he would deteriorate quickly. She was sure of that.

So she was going to up her game. The wizarding Britain would not know what hit it.

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Author's Note: If you see any mistakes about colleges and universities, please inform me, because I know nothing of Britain's educational system and what I wrote is based on an internet research.

And despite my interest in Philosophy, I have no extensive knowledge about it (I have an MSc in Artificial Intelligence); And it will not play an important role in the story. I just wanted something to promote Hermione's way of thinking, because I always hated her approach towards printed word and authority figures.