A/N: The tenth chapter, feels like I should celebrate. I've already grown extremely attached to this story and with every appearing part it opens so many doors to so many plots and is so exciting to write and come up with ideas. Thank you all who are reading this!

"I could not care less about your apology," he spoke quietly and Emma abruptly ceased to move.

Snape's face was mere inches away from her own and his intense, penetrating look made her freeze to the bone. To think she had the most stupid of ideas to lean in and let herself go with the flow of her feelings that suddenly exploded inside her, and that being caused just by his closeness? How absurd, how inappropriate while obviously the man continued to be indifferent... Emma felt the familiar twitch within her heart and the sudden acceleration of the blood flow hit her like it never had before. A wave of heat caused by stress washed over her and eventually she had to take a step backwards, allowing some space and distance between their bodies.

"In fact, I think you are crossing the border, Hawthorne," the voice reached her ears again and Emma looked right back at Snape's almost rock-solid face that expressed a lot more than it would seem necessary in the current situation. "What do you think you are trying to achieve? I shall warn and instruct you to mind your own business only this once more and if it doesn't work, your further attempts will not go unpunished."

With that being said the man instantly turned away from Emma and began to walk down the corridor again, his pace even quicker than previously. The swirl of air that hit the girl's face after Snape so abruptly turned his back on her made her realise he was already half-way to the exit. She recollected with a deep shock and mindlessly followed the black-clad silhouette towards the entrance to the chilly dungeons, not daring to utter a single word. Her mind began to process and link occurrences, words and gestures, trying to put together a credible image. Snape was then definitely referring to her constant being around where he was, taking part in most that would involve him, too... and when she realised that then – trying to keep up with the man - the only premonition her galloping mind allowed her to have was that the detention would not be solely based on her sorting the ingredients in complete silence and solitude. And she had to be prepared; she had to be one step ahead in this conversation to come, she could not be dumbfounded again and she had to – most of all – keep her emotions on a leash, not allowing them to influence her behaviour or words. The very incident a few minutes prior showed how poor her skills at stability were, though. There was just one thing that would never allow her to rest completely: what was the true base of the man's negativity?

Severus Snape was a man in his middle twenties. He was appointed the new potions teacher after professor Slughorn retired, just when Emma was in her third year. The sudden change seemed extremely exciting to all the students back then – considering they would sometimes be a wild herd of teenagers at the wake of the real puberty – but with the very first class in September all the joy of the new ceased to be. Within two weeks students were feeling as hateful towards the unjust potions teacher as ever before and Emma, too used to feel that way.

Having had lived quite a sufficient life with both her parents present at home and not all that much to worry about - except for maybe a little bit of envy that she couldn't afford things other more wealthy people could - the girl was not familiar with the type of sadness that seemed to emanate from professor Snape. Back then, at the age of fourteen – her birthday being on the fifth of October which caused her to begin attending Hogwarts a year later than a lot of others – the indicative of the real sadness used to be a mild heartbreak or a few continuously bad grades on the exams, which did happen to Emma a couple of times before she was influenced by Owen when he had shared his passion for knowledge with her for the first time.

Everything changed with passing of her mother and his father's reaction to that terrible incident. Emma was then in the middle of the fourth year at Hogwarts. It was an incredibly cold winter that January and the winter trip to Hogsmeade was canceled for the amount of snow did not allow the carriages to ride properly, not to mention the students who – if taking a stroll down to the village – would most probably get lost in the two-meter wall of pure white cloud-like obstacle - even with their wands in use. So the more resourceful children had helped Hagrid and professors Sprout and Flitwick decorate the Great Hall in an appropriate theme and those who fancied could come inside, stay and have a snack throughout the whole Saturday.

So when Emma, slightly disappointed at the postponing of the long-awaited visit entered the Great Hall some time between noon and one o'clock, instead of coming across Greta or Owen, she was met with professor Flitwick's serious expression. The utter compassion in his eyes immediately told the girl something was not the way it ought to be, and when the man asked her to follow him to his office – his stride a lot quicker than usually – Emma knew it would regard herself only. Back then, trying to catch up with Flitwick, she had no slightest premonition that the information would bring her this amount of sadness. Losing a parent – Emma had never known a person who got over that painful experience completely.

"Miss Hawthorne," he had then said when they were both settled in their armchairs. "Telling you this breaks my heart. But it is my duty to inform you first-hand. You shall soon receive an owl from your other relatives..."

Emma had then shaken her head a bit, her brain trying to put the pieces together. The horror had been approaching and creeping in very slowly with the man's every word, and when it had overwhelmed her completely, it felt as if she was dying. Her world shattered.

"Please take any necessary things and I will open the floo transition in my office which will take you to Saint Mungo's to visit your father..."

Soon Emma learned the whole story from the beginning, with as much detail as her breaking heart allowed her to take in. There had been an accident in the cashmere factory where her muggle mother used to work full-time. The electricity supply had been cut off for not more than approximately two minutes which caused the whole manufacture process to abruptly stop; the lights went off, the machines all halted and the people began to panic. Although they had all been instructed beforehand what to do in such a case, and though there had been multiple simulations of the same accident, it had never happened before for real. It had all been orchestrated so far.

All would be well if one of the employees hadn't fallen down into a large, massive wooden barrel of boiling-hot water that held the pigments and wool straps inside. There was an aisle above the barrels that the workers used to check on the contents of them, and there was a short section that lacked of any sort of a balustrade. That was the part the man had fallen down through. There was absolutely no way to save his life in the darkness, but a certain woman - who boldly threw herself to pull the lever that could help empty the barrel - thought otherwise. That woman was Emma's mother who, in the heat of the moment, had rushed over through the darkness and almost succeeded at releasing the water... but she had stumbled on a wire spread across the concrete floor and was partially pulled inside the ripping and flattening machine that stood by. And at that moment, the electricity supply was recommenced. Emma's mother had not made it to the hospital on time and died of the blood loss.

Emma's father lost his mind the moment he learnt that his dearest wife was dead. The blame that he put on himself, the burden, was too heavy for him to carry and he lost himself completely within days. Even though Emma had then come back home to the little town of Glencoe they lived in Scottish Highlands for some time when they released the man from Saint Mungo's, she had been unable to bring him back to the stable world. Herself, she had then experienced the biggest misery of her entire existence and it had been the most macabre wake up call one could ever receive. And that was when all her friendships were verified and most of her values and traits established.

Greta was there with Emma at her mother's funeral.

Having experienced this sort of pain and sadness she was a bit more able to read between people's lines than some others were. Even though she completely lacked the social skills, Emma was an insightful person and could receive certain auras. That was precisely why Severus Snape – the man whose aura consisted of sadness alone – and his image grew so dear and familiar to the girl. Emma could not justify it otherwise. And the nights he spent outside in the courtyard? It only reaffirmed her idea.

The door to the potions classroom remained open for Emma to step inside. There was no familiar smell of formalin or any other acidic ones that accompanied students of higher years during the regular classes to hit her nostrils and there weren't any ingredients boxes anywhere to be seen. Severus Snape only sat at his teacher's desk, his entwined hands supporting his chin as he was leaning slightly in and against them, his eyes observing Emma carefully and with a bit of reproach. Emma closed the door behind her and reluctantly approached the first row to take a seat opposite of the man. He never said a word, yet the girl had an impression there would be a conversation – or maybe rather a scolding – to come. She was determined to got her point across even though she was still curing from the shock. Now was only a mild surprise lingering about the situation.

"You will not step out of here until I'm given two straight-to-the-point answers. The detention starts anyway from tomorrow throughout the following two weeks, excluding Sundays. Am I making myself clear, miss Hawthorne?"

It was clearly visible that Snape somehow tried to calm down and stay that way after his previous outburst of somewhat desperate emotion, which Emma appreciated a lot, although she would most probably never admit it out loud. The girl only nodded, realising that wasn't some kind of a friendly game between two gossiping girls or any sort of a secret-sharing party. There she was, sitting before her teacher, about to create a network of thoughts and share the most intimate thoughts she held. She also finally realised that the words that were to be spoken would change everything, or at the very least stir in both their heads and hearts. Emma doubted Snape would remain as collected and indifferent as he was trying to come off as at that moment. In fact, she could be sure he paid a very close attention to what was about to be said. And Emma was hungry for any of his words.

"Sir," she began before the man could speak. Her interference was mild and rather kind, and yet demanding. Emma felt slightly surprised at her own tone. "I need you to know that I don't hold any suspicious motives, which you have earlier accused me of. I now suspect a bit what you have previously referred to, sir, and I hope we can have that explained..."

"You hope?" came Snape's calm but irritated question comment which made Emma internally shrink a tiny bit behind the student's desk. "It is precisely why we are here now, so spare me your polite words and don't try to befriend my thoughts."

Befriend his thoughts? Emma was yet again dumbfounded. She withheld the intense look that Snape gave her and finally turned her face a different direction, resting on her own reflection that the tiny glass ingredient chest of drawers created. Her narrow face was lit by the golden glow cast by a candle holder that stood near. She looked into her own eyes and gave herself a moment to apply Snape's words to what she had so far come up with. Befriend his thoughts...

She finally pulled her eyes away from the reflection.

"I'm slowly getting tired of this," the man spoke again and Emma entwined her fingers the way he did, and she rested them in her lap. She couldn't bring herself to look back at him; it felt as though, oddly enough, the very presence of him was mangling her enough. "I'll start by asking you – and don't try to tell me you cannot remember – why you have come to the courtyard instead of going straight to the hospital wing, Hawthorne."

Yes, that was something she predicted would fall upon her. The doubts, the very fact that her own thoughts could be verified any moment... and what was the purpose of keeping the answer to herself? Would that change anything if he knew? She would feel horribly ashamed, for sure, but would that affect him as a person – or his life? The avalanche of thoughts went down her mind and she wrinkled her narrow nose a bit, putting together a sensible answer inside her head. Finally, after a few seconds, her dark-haired head moved up and her eyes met Severus'.

"I have hoped to get help from you, sir," the words came with a bit of a struggle as Emma maintained the eye contact with the man. To her not-so-big-now surprise he didn't show any concern – it was as though he expected to hear the same exact words. The thing was, Emma had previously taken some time to rephrase them to sound the most neutral they possibly could. She might have as well said 'I have hoped you would save my life' or 'I have hope to meet you' which would most probably turn out to be her immediate downfall and no other questions would be required then.

"Is this why you constantly intrude my personal space?"

Does he mean what I think he does?

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're referring t-"

"You are such a nuisance, Hawthorne!" Snape finally burst out. His anger was so intense that Emma felt utterly crushed by the wave of emotion that rushed right at her. "You keep on staring out of your window in that tower, keep on poking at my mind, keep on breaching my intimacy and you think you can make an idiot out of me now?! State what your real business is right now!"

The silence that fell upon them, the way Snape slapped the surface of the desk with his both hands and the way the flame nervously danced on top of every candle in the room pressured Emma to go over the border of her abilities. She instantly got to her feet, feeling the annoying lump inside her throat and the tears pushing to her eyes that she managed to tame. Her breath became shallow as she looked down at the man.

"Do you want to hear the full story, then, sir?" she spoke, feeling her jaws tense. Snape answered immediately, his voice now stern.

"Why else do you think I brought you here for, miss Hawthorne?"

"Very well, sir. I haven't done anything I should be ashamed of. I will not be told otherwise."

"What you will be told is not for you to decide, girl. Now tell me what you should have long before."

Emma took a moment to regain enough peace to sit back down. She allowed her breath to become deeper as she brought herself back to her regular state; from now on her secret would be revealed. That was the moment she imagined and replayed before the eyes of her mind multiple times, but most certainly in a whole different setting and atmosphere.

"I suffer from a minor insomnia," Emma began, making effort to allow her body to loosen up the tension it had to it and to have her voice sound as naturally as possible. "It started approximately a year ago, but only this year it grew a bit more intense. I have sleepless nights up to seven times a month. I... At first I was only reading books in my bed and let the time pass that way. But then... I would look out of the window and began to notice a person hanging around the courtyard the nights I was up. It, well, turned out to be you, professor."

Emma made a pause, allowing the words to sink in; she then looked at the man. Snape was still keeping his hands on the surface of the desk and his look was intense as he kept it on the girl's face.

"Continue."

"And, uh, at first I would merely watch you, sir, since you were the only moving figure around at nights. I wouldn't pay that much attention to this fact at first, but with time... I..." she trailed off, abashed, and moved her eyes to meet her own reflection yet again. Her cheeks turned a slightly pink colour, emphasizing a trail of light freckles that were spread across them and her nose.

"With time you what?"

They both suspected where Emma was going with that sentence. And she again took some time to phrase it neutrally, but gave that up very soon.

"I started to pay a lot more attention to you, sir, and realised there was some kind of a connection between us," whatever absurd that sounds. "I... I think that answers your question."

"It doesn't. You haven't even started answering that question, miss Hawthorne."

Her own impotence made Emma wring her hands. Why was that information not enough for Severus Snape? Would she eventually discover why he felt so hurt by the fact she was thinking of him a bit more than one would usually think of a stranger, too? She demanded answers, but at the same time knew her wishes would never be fulfilled, for at that moment she was in the position to obey him, not otherwise.

Snape, though, didn't seem that moved.

"Alright. Like I said, I began to pay closer attention to your steps, the way you sat around the benches and crossed the bridge, I tried to read your emotions from the way you walked or halted, I sometimes thought I could feel your vibe as if it was a physical thing... And I began to repeat that every single night I was up and you were there. Sometimes I would stay up until late, sir. I cannot describe it, but I swear in my head there appeared a certain idea, a theory that I would compare with reality..."

"What theory?"

"That we have a lot in common. More than we should or more than we can imagine, sir."

At that valiant statement that Emma made, the world seemed to have stopped for a brief moment. Inside her mind, she was beating up the part of herself that allowed such words to even come out of her mouth. The wave of embarrassment that washed over her whole body caused Emma to now visibly shrink as she brought her shoulders together and slouched a bit, her eyes escaping Snape's. The man seemed to be equally emotional about the girl's idea for he shook his head and Emma swore she could hear a barely audible growl coming from his direction.

"This is absurd, miss Hawthorne."

It was clear Severus Snape had absolutely no idea what to do with the knowledge he now possessed. Emma was sure he expected to hear mildly absurd words, anyway, but when she looked to him, his face showed an inability to react. Even though he wore a constant mask, even Emma could perfectly see through it at that moment.

"I agree."

She regretted having said those words. But they were necessary. After a long break the man spoke, and it sounded differently.

"It was supposed to be two questions. You are dismissed."

Snape's voice was a lot more silent and, dared Emma think, meeker than the previous one. He was slowly sinking into his thoughts and Emma ceased to move for a few moments before grabbing her schoolbag. She slowly got to her feet and left the seat, glancing at the man for the last time. That was when he captured her eyes again.

"Unless you want to expand the theory."

Those were the words of change. Emma did not have to be told anything twice; overcoming the sheepishness of the situation, she dared to pull the chair from under the desk and set it to the side of the one Snape sat at. Her heart skipped a beat and she watched her palms for a moment, before finally becoming ready to reveal the whole truth to the man. The candle flames began to dance again.