Chapter Nineteen: Pete and Repeat Went for a Boat Ride…

Day Three Hundred Fifty-Five

Thomas Ashcroft, Severus had decided a couple of days ago, must be an intriguing little boy. Apparently an absolute sadist, he had somehow managed to avoid even a single confrontation with Severus for the last three and a half years. One would think that the sort of child who pinned spiders to the desktop and pulled their legs off during his Transfigurations class (from the doorway, Severus had watched him spend thirty minutes so engaged during today's lecture) would have come to someone's attention.

The fact that Minerva hadn't even noticed Ashcroft's… activities made Severus feel slightly better about his failings as a housemaster. But only slightly.

Pritchard wasn't nearly the interesting one in his year; originally, Severus had thought that he was the one who had been totally ignored. And while that was true to some extent — to a large extent, he had to grudgingly conclude — Ashcroft was the one who was in most desperate need of immediate intervention.

Unfortunately, today was not really the day for it. Severus just didn't know enough about the situation, and he only had a glimpse into a single day of Ashcroft's behavior. Perhaps the boy was just having a spectacularly bad day. He doubted it, but he was willing to give Ashcroft his chance to improve.

Moreover, the only circumstances today during which a confrontation made even the remotest bit of sense were when Ashcroft was after another student — on different days, Severus watched him bully a first year Hufflepuff, three Slytherins of various years, a third year Ravenclaw, and a pair of first year Gryffindors. But, as he'd told Pritchard some days ago, and as he still believed, an attempt to steer Ashcroft away from any particular student would only result in an escalation of the previous behaviors.

And he was beginning to suspect that Thomas Ashcroft would probably kill someone without even thinking about it much. At the rate he was going, Severus would be shocked if the boy even graduated from Hogwarts before being thrown into Azkaban.

Again, he had to ask himself how he'd allowed it to come to this.

But he tried not to do it very often; it was rather counterproductive, really. If he expected to help the child at all — and by 'help,' Severus intended to lock him in a room and give him the verbal thrashing of his life, at the very least — he couldn't waste his time bemoaning his lack of observational skills.

Other than today's events, he had no real way of undoing the past.

Minerva dismissed her students with a wave, and Severus tucked himself into a dark corner. He was supposed to be sick in bed today, not lingering outside the Transfigurations classroom in preparation to follow one of her students. He watched his fourth year Slytherins pour out of the room, laughing and jostling each other.

Pritchard was practically the first one out the door and made a beeline for the stairs leading down to the Potions room, walking so quickly that his feet jerked out-of-synch every now and again, doing an odd little skip that was halfway in between a walk and a run. Ashcroft, though, hung toward the back of the gaggle of students, exchanging words with the boy Severus dimly thought might be called Jones (he made a mental note to look up the poor child's name). After a few moments, Ashcroft grinned broadly and Jones let out a shrill little laugh.

But they were all headed toward the Potions classroom, and that was definitely a doorway Severus did not want to hover around. Albus would spot him for certain, and that would be the end of that.

In fact, he'd effectively cut off his only line of escape. To reach his office and quarters, he had to pass by the classroom, as well, and even if he wasn't caught loitering, merely passing by, Albus would see through him in a heartbeat.

His stomach growled abruptly, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast, but he knew that the house elves in the kitchen wouldn't hesitate to let Albus know that Professor Snape came by to eat. Besides, there was something inherently undignified about begging food from little creatures wearing towels.

And if he stayed where he was much longer, Minerva would be sure to spot him. Severus began walking with no real aim in mind. Slowly, too, so that anyone giving him a casual glance might indeed believe that he was not feeling well. Fortunately, no one but Albus would probably give him a look that went any deeper than that.

Sooner rather than later, he found himself standing outside the library, and, after deciding that avoiding Madam Pince would be fairly straightforward, he slipped in.

Indeed, she was leaning over behind her desk, preoccupied with a stack of books that appeared to be fighting with each other. Glad that it was her job and not his, Severus walked past her as briskly as he could and was gratified when she did not so much as glance his way.

He could stay in the library for the next two hours at least. Until most everyone else went to lunch — it would be a simple matter to get back into his office after Albus left the Potions classroom. And it wasn't as if he would suffer from a lack of things to do; there were any number of books in here that he'd wanted to read but hadn't had the time for. Severus made his way toward the Restricted Section, idly running his fingers along a row of bindings as he walked.

With a sharp breath that might have been a gasp coming from some other person, he stopped short as he turned the corner, very nearly knocking over the bookshelf.

Hermione sat at the nearest table, thankfully facing away from him, with a huge book open in front of her. Craning his head ever so slightly, he could see that her chin was propped in one of her hands as she read. He continued to watch her as he regained his composure, noticing that she flicked hair out of her eyes every few minutes.

This was the Hermione Granger that he preferred. As she read, he could almost convince himself that she wasn't a raving lunatic — she looked very nearly normal from this distance. Quiet, studious, and sane.

It was unfortunate that this persona had very little to do with the Hermione Granger he'd come to know over the last two hundred days or so. Pushy, prickly, and mad as a hatter — that was what he suspected the real Hermione was.

Mad as a hatter.

It was important that he remind himself of that as often as possible.

Especially since he'd reached the unpleasant realization that despite the prickliness and the hateful tendency to contradict him, he could quite like the real Hermione if it wasn't for the insanity. And even the insanity…

Well, his willingness to cope with the insanity simply proved that he already liked the girl. To the point that he was standing here in the library, mooning over her like some sort of ill, wayward schoolboy. He was probably two mental steps away from pulling at her hair.

Severus told himself to just walk away. No harm would be done — she had not seen him, and it wasn't as if he was currently violating any official school rules. He was just standing here. If he left right now, no one would know that he'd been infected with some mental illness that manifested itself as an emotional attachment to a student that he'd worked hard over the years to cultivate some genuine dislike toward.

His feet would not move, no matter how loudly he inwardly yelled at them.

Hermione cleared her throat and turned a page, running a hand through her hair.

He should leave, he should leave, he should leave. He did not want to hear what she would have to say if she caught him out. He also did not want to be responsible for hexing her after she said it.

She coughed again and her chair creaked.

Damn her, he thought viciously. Damn this disease of a girl, crawling under his skin as if she had a right to be there, making him stare at her and want to touch her. Damn her for being someone he could…

Uncaring if Hermione or Madam Pince or Albus himself saw, Severus spun around and bolted from the library as quickly as he could.

Day Three Hundred Seventy-Three

He hadn't been following her and he wasn't even lying to himself. No, he'd genuinely run into Hermione on his way back from following Ashcroft to his afternoon class. Although he hadn't exactly run into her. It was more like he'd come down the staircase, seen her down the hall talking to Neville Longbottom, and tucked himself behind a suit of armor so that he could eavesdrop unseen.

"…said she would talk to him," Longbottom was saying as Severus arranged himself to his liking, making sure that the edges of his robes were properly concealed.

"I don't know, Neville," Hermione replied — he could not see her expression.

Longbottom looked stupidly earnest. "Come on, Hermione, Professor Snape won't care if we're not there. In fact, he'll probably be glad."

"But NEWTs are coming up," she said. Severus could tell from her tone, however, that her reluctance was mostly a show. He wondered if Longbottom could as well.

"I can't do it by myself, Hermione," he said, that earnest look shifting as his eyes rounded into something more pleading than anything else. "And Professor Sprout has to take care of her class, so she's busy, too. It's just an hour, Hermione. Please?"

Severus saw her shoulders shrug slightly and knew Longbottom's battle was won. "All right, Neville," she said. "I'll meet you by the greenhouse in ten minutes or so."

"I owe you, Hermione," Longbottom tossed over a shoulder as he dashed down the hallway toward Gryffindor tower.

"You have no idea," he heard her grumble as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

Severus knew exactly what she was talking about, and it struck him as such a supreme level of stupidity that he couldn't help but step out of his hiding place. "You can't be serious," he said, giving her a dark glower for good measure.

Clearly surprised, she actually jumped visibly when he spoke. "What… you were listening," she said accusingly.

Graciously, he chose to ignore her tone. "You aren't thinking about actually going out to the greenhouses, are you?"

"And if I am?" she countered, something hardening in her expression. She even put her hands on her hips — Severus wanted to laugh at her ridiculously self-righteous pose.

"It's tantamount to suicide and you know it."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't have to listen to this," she said, turning on a heel and walking briskly away from him.

Matching her stride, he simply followed her. "Hermione…"

"What?" she spat, spinning back around. "You've made your opinions quite clear, Professor. Now, leave me alone."

He almost obeyed. Almost stopped and let her keep going. But some inherently contrary bit of him protested, and he found himself continuing to dog her heels as she resumed her pace. "Don't," he said again as she pushed open a door and walked outside.

"Don't even try to tell me what to do," she retorted. "You have no right."

Severus did not want to go outside. The rain was fierce, splattering into his face even as he hesitated in the doorway, and there was a thick, frankly creepy fog, indicating to him just how much the ground temperature had increased. Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding him, and the accompanying boom of thunder was nearly immediate.

But Hermione was still moving, so Severus forced himself to follow, breaking into a brief run in order to catch up with her. "I have every right," he bellowed into the loud noise of the pouring rain.

Again, she paused and turned to face him, her hair slicked down and her eyes narrowed. "We're not in your classroom."

"Fuck it," he said angrily. "You know that's not what I mean."

"You can't have it both ways!" she shouted, hands curling into fists and shrinking into the soaking sleeves of her robes. "You just can't!"

"I don't want it both ways, you stupid child," he retorted, shaking his head as water dripped into his eyes. "But that's no reason for you to die."

Her lips curled into a laugh, but a loud crash of thunder masked the actual sound. "In case you hadn't already noticed, I have very little say in that matter."

"You do have a say in the method, you fool," he said loudly. "Anything but this."

Flinging her arms wide and sending a handful of droplets in the opposite direction of the rainfall, Hermione again laughed. "What would you prefer, then?" she spat, eyes alive with fury. "Do you find it best when I set myself on fire? How about if I choke to death? Or what if I have Malfoy hex me? Or–"

He could not take it any more and lunged forward, grabbing her wrists and forcing them to her sides. "Just stop it," he said. "Just… stop."

"Why?" she asked fiercely. "Am I bothering you, Professor?"

"Idiot girl, do you remember what it feels like?" Severus hissed, jerking her closer so that he did not have to shout at her unless he wanted to. "The nausea, the pain. Your hands… did you know that your hands turn black as you die, child? And the last… Hermione, you die crying. I am asking you merely to think of yourself."

She tried to pull her hands out of his, but he simply tightened his grip on her wrists.

Lightning flashed again. "Why do you feel the need to punish yourself?"

"Why do you care?" she snarled. "It's not as if you'll have to watch it. You've left me alone!"

Inwardly, he winced, but he tried to keep his expression blank — she might be right, but he'd be damned if he'd let her know it. "Alone," he echoed flatly.

"Yes, alone," she said, voice tight with what he suspected was suppressed fury. "You promised me. No one should die alone, you said, and then you left. You fucking left me, Severus!"

He did not bother to correct her improper use of his name. "What was I supposed to do?" he asked, resisting as Hermione again tried to yank free. "Was I supposed to hold you and tell you that it was going to be all right, when both of us know that's a lie? Is that what you wanted me to do?"

"I hate you," she screamed, managing to wrench one hand free from his and balling it into a fist, pounding it uselessly against his chest. "I hate you!"

Severus stared at her for a long moment. He ought to be angry with her, he really should. Ready to rant and rave and shake her until she obeyed him. But as he watched rain trickle down her face, he realized that he wasn't. He also realized that all the damned feelings in the world weren't worth this, and, sighing, he dropped his hands. "Fine," he said shortly.

Lip curling upward in a satisfied smirk, Hermione began to turn. "It's not as if it's any of your concern, anyway."

Abruptly, it was back — the anger, the hurt, and, most of all, the fear. "Don't you get it?" he hissed, unmoving. He was somewhat gratified to see her pause in her movement. "I see you. Every time I close my eyes, you're there, and you're dying. And I can't make you go away. Fuck, don't you think I've tried to make you go away? But you won't. You're always there, and I'm bloody well sick and tired of it. In case you hadn't figured it out, Hermione, I don't like watching you die. I don't like thinking of watching you die." He'd grown increasingly agitated as he spoke, voice escalating into a shout. His hair was practically standing on end.

"Damn you!" Hermione cried shrilly, facing him with clear agony on her face. "Make it easy for once, will you?"

His hands curled into fists and his skin was almost tingling with the unaccustomed depth of emotion. "Don't," he said, hating how his voice sounded. "Don't go. Not today."

"I don't want you to see what you see, all right?" she said in a rush. "And I try to listen to you. I try to stay away, but…"

As she seemed to grasp for words, Severus felt the hair on his scalp lift further.

That was no emotion.

"Hermione…" he said. "Hermione, we've got to–"

"Damn you for making me love you," she shouted, either ignoring or not hearing him. "It's not like I want–"

The result was the same, in either case. She trailed off into a loud, wordless scream of pain, and Severus felt momentarily blinded as his entire field of view turned abruptly white. The thunder was deafening, and when he became aware of his surroundings once more, he noticed that he'd dropped to his knees. But Hermione…

A small heap on the ground, not moving.

What time was it? Maybe he could get her to the Infirmary. Maybe, if there was enough time, Madam Pomfrey could do something, even if the end result was the same.

He swore as he managed to make out the dial — the hands were frozen at 2:17, and Severus did not know whether that was a result of the buckets of water that had been dumping into the thing since he came outside, or the lightning strike. In either case, that was not much time.

Cautiously, he approached her, refusing to use the word 'body.' "Hermione," he said, trying to keep his voice both calm and detached. "Are you awake?"

He could not tell how badly she'd been hurt. Her face was bright red, as if she'd spent too long in the sun, and her eyes were wide-open, staring up at the sky. For a brief moment, he was certain she was dead.

And then he saw her lips moving. Leaning down, he heard her mutter, "Can't see."

With a trembling hand, half afraid that he would receive an electric shock, he touched her shoulder. "I'll take you to Poppy," he said.

Silently, she mouthed something that he could not make out. Over and over, taking in great gasps of air, her lips opened and closed in an obvious effort to produce a sound.

"It's all right," he lied, still affecting calm as he slid a careful arm under her back.

Eyes widening further and mouth opening in a voiceless cry, Hermione convulsed suddenly in his arms and then, just as suddenly, fell completely still. Severus could not bring himself to release her, even though he knew it was useless. He closed his eyes.

In an abrupt rush of understanding, he realized that she'd been mouthing the word 'sorry' right before she died. Repeating it to him — "Sorry, sorry, sorry…"

What she had been sorry for, he did not know, and he did not want to think much about it, because it would make him think about the other things she'd said, and it would be better all the way around if he simply forgot about that.

Day Three Hundred Seventy-Eight

Potter looked confused as he walked into the Potions classroom, alone. Of course, this was not an abnormal occurrence, but he looked more confused than usual.

Severus ignored him, of course. Nothing yet had happened today to convince him that coddling Potter was nothing but the worst of all ideas. Moreover, it was physically impossible for him to care less about the little swot's well being. Maybe Draco Malfoy would skive off today, and he could ignore Potter completely for the entirety of the class.

"Professor Snape?" the boy asked, brow furrowed.

Apparently not.

Sighing, Severus scowled at him — he was not in the mood for Potter's stupidity, today of all days. "What is it, Potter?"

With a furtive look about the room that Severus suspected was only half-conscious, Potter leaned forward, conspiratorially almost. "Professor, what day is it?"

"Thursday, of course," he forced himself to say, rolling his eyes for good measure. It took a great deal of self-control to refrain from grabbing the boy by his ear and dragging him to Hermione so that she could talk to him, but, in the end, he managed to stay still.

"Hrm," Potter replied, baffled look only increasing. "Thursday, eh. Not Friday?"

"Thursday," Severus confirmed. "Potter, is there anything else you want?" His impatience was genuine, if for reasons Potter could not possibly suspect.

Looking startled, he furrowed his brow. "It's just… I thought… no, of course not," he said, more to himself than to Severus. "Of course not." As he turned to go to his seat, Severus heard him mumble, "I must be losing my mind."