It was daily becoming more difficult for Hermione to deny that she was developing an absurd obsession with Professor Snape. She was not unfamiliar with psychology (having spent one summer a couple of years ago poring through each psychological text and case book in her local library), and told herself that the reason she was noticing him in a different light was because he was the only other person she'd had contact with for almost three weeks now.
He remained as uptight and sarcastic as ever but she now had time to observe him at length and to understand him a bit more. She'd already known him to be exceedingly intelligent but now she saw that he was insightful and learned on many subjects aside from potions, even extending into the Muggle world.
She doubted Snape felt anything beyond tolerance for her but he had of late been allowing her to engage him in discussions about the books they'd been reading and even on the Wizarding world and the war. He had an incisive and combative style of debate and always seemed to end up in the right at the end of the discussion, although often, in retrospect, Hermione felt that she had somehow been cheated out of a victory.
One morning after breakfast they remained at the table, deeply involved in a debate that had started out as an innocuous exchange on the merits of a good breakfast. Hermione was pro, Snape, infuriatingly indifferent.
"But Professor, human beings need fuel upon waking," Hermione was saying, gesticulating insistently. "You can't sit there and tell me that, unlike every other person on the planet, you do not require food for fuel! It is a biological fact."
"I can tell you whatever I please, Miss Granger," Snape answered superciliously. The right corner of his thin upper lip rose of its own accord in a smirk. "And unless you mean to analyze my blood and to examine my bones and organs, there is no way that you can, without a doubt, know otherwise."
Hermione's mouth opened and closed uselessly, unable to express her frustration in words. She threw up her hands and slumped back in her seat, effectively pouting.
"I give up, Snape," she grumbled. "You win, as always."
"That's Professor Snape, Miss Granger," Snape corrected her, but his tone was more amused than chastising. "Were we in Hogwarts, I could take points from you for that infraction. It is not a minor one."
"Mmph," she grunted.
"Oh, come now, Miss Granger, you're not a child. Do act your age."
Hermione perked up at this, raising her head to meet his apathetic gaze. He didn't think her a child? Did he think her an adult? An equal? Snape furrowed his brow at her prolonged scrutiny.
"No, I'm not a child," she affirmed quietly. Snape's jet eyebrows drew further together.
"Hmm," he hummed suspiciously. His eyes darted away from hers as though a bright light had been switched on within them. "Clear the table, Miss Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes and sluggishly rose to do as he asked.
"Whatever happened to 'please'?" she asked, not expecting an answer and she did not receive one. She sighed as she picked up Snape's bowl, disappointed to see that he'd eaten very little of his hot cereal. "Professor, are you sure you don't want any more?"
"I'm sure, Miss Granger," Snape averred. "Please, take it away."
"Sir, I only worry about your health." Hermione put the bowls down and placed her hands on her hips. "You've gotten ghastly pale-more so than usual, that is-and you look thinner than before."
"I assure you, Miss Granger, that I am perfectly fine and your concern is misplaced," he ground out stubbornly, glaring daggers up at his student. "It is most unfortunate that you have so little to occupy yourself with but do not distract yourself with my well-being."
"Don't be silly, Professor," Hermione said, waving off his prickly command. The fear she used to share with her fellow students of this man dissipated more each day that they coexisted together and he behaved with some modicum of civility towards her. "Just look at your arm! I bet I could wrap my fingers all the way 'round it."
Boldly, she grasped his left bicep, succeeding only in proving that her fingers did not go even halfway around it. She could feel his muscle tighten and freeze under her touch and, slowly, she looked up into his face. She gulped down a breath of shallow, dry air as their eyes met, hers imploring and his unmovable. He seemed confused for a moment, as though he wished to move away and was uncertain as to why she remained still. Then his eyes flickered imperceptibly, seemingly alight from within.
Immediately, he wrenched his arm out of her hold and got up from the table. He did not look back at her as he went to his bed, pulling out an old potions periodical from under his pillow to begin reading. Hermione's stomach fluttered with nerves, his reaction making her ashamed to have touched him. Hands shaking, she gathered the bowls and spoons together and dropped them too loudly into the cupboard. She felt an overwhelming urge to apologize and to be forgiven.
"Sir, I-"
"Miss Granger," he interrupted smoothly, not looking up from his reading. "Put a note in to Lucius for more socks. Black, for me."
As if sensing her confusion, he slowly moved to look into her eyes, raising a brow and silently daring her to return to the subject.
"Yes, sir," she sighed, defeated, and went to the cupboard to do as he'd bidden her.
She could feel him watching her while she picked at her lunch-a large hank of wheat bread and a bowl of split pea soup-and delighted as she imagined his concern over her inappetance. She realized she was growing depressed due to their current situation, the resolution of which was unpredictable while the days were monotonously dull. Melancholia always caused her to lose interest in eating.
"Not hungry today, Miss Granger?" Snape asked mildly and she suppressed a triumphant smile. He rarely initiated any conversation between them.
"No, not really," she mumbled, then sighed and leaned her heavy head on her right hand while her left continued to idly stir the soup.
"Hmm," Snape hummed disapprovingly.
They sat in silence for several long moments, during which Hermione's heart beat anxiously. She calmed herself with the sensation of his eyes roving over her despondent form, determined to wait for him to speak again. At last, the professor snorted irritably and crossed his arms.
"Miss Granger, you are likely hungrier than you know yourself to be. You hardly ate any breakfast."
So he had noticed, she thought, pressing her lips together so as not to smirk.
"I know, Professor, I guess I'm just not very hungry these days. It isn't as though I've much to do to keep myself going." She didn't feel as hopeless as her last sentence implied but she decided not to explain that to the professor.
"Don't be ridiculous," he protested emphatically. "We're only stuck in a room, in which we are fed, clothed and allowed to bathe. I'd hate to see how you'd do if captured by Death Eaters in the real war out there. I suppose it's for the best that you're here, though I wish I wasn't subjected to babysitting you."
Hermione had not expected to be insulted; his words wounded her pride like well-aimed knives into thin skin. Her hackles rose and she sat up straight, glaring angrily at her professor.
"How dare you undermine me! It's just as frustrating for me to be useless as it is for you. I may be young but I have many skills to contribute to this war. I am the brightest witch of this age," she haughtily repeated what so many in the Wizarding world had told her since her first year at Hogwarts.
He scoffed and threw down his napkin, then rose and turned to walk away, as though dismissing her. Infuriated, she rushed after him.
"Don't walk away from me, Professor! There's nowhere for you to go."
Catching up to him, she grabbed his forearm and attempted to pull him around to face her. He was unexpectedly strong and with seemingly no effort he threw her off him and bore down on her with indescribable anger.
"You will not ever touch me," he seethed. "And if you try to do it again, you and I will both regret it."
Hermione drew back from him, terrified. She knew in that moment that he meant what he said. Perhaps whatever was in him that had made him become a Death Eater in the first place could never be completely eradicated by his service to the Light.
Snape closed his eyes and breathed evenly through his nose, as if it was difficult to stop himself from physically destroying her right at this moment. Hermione went to lie down on her bed, facing away from him. After many long moments had passed, she heard the sounds of him removing their dishes to the cupboard. She failed to register that he had never done that before.
Hours later, Hermione woke up and rubbed her eyes against the dim light. Snape slept, for the first time, in his bed with his back to her. He had apparently left a note for her beside her pillow. With shaking hands, she picked it up and unfolded it, fleeting fantasies of his heartfelt apologies racing through her mind. Her heart sank down to her stomach and then rose up in her throat as she read its contents:
"I have at last found a hole in tomorrow's schedule which would allow me to briefly visit with the two of you. No need for formal dress.
Until then,
L. Malfoy"
