A/N: Forgive me if the dates are a little off. I have a calendar and timetable all sorted in an attempt to keep track of them but it is difficult to determine from the novels exactly how much time is passing, particularly in the earlier ones. So, the days of weeks for class, 'tutorials' etc should be correct but the dates may be a bit iffy. Italicized speech is from the Chamber of Secrets. I own nothing.

A little water sprite xx

Chapter Four

4/11/1992

I can't believe myself, how could I be so stupid! Falling asleep outside in the garden, never mind everything that's just happened. I wish I'd gone to Madam Pomfrey for a potion to warm me. I can't seem to shake off the chill, I just keep shivering. McGonagall didn't have much to say; after berating me for a while she simply concluded that I was very foolish and should be glad Professor Snape found me so quickly. I was glad, but not that it was him. Ugh, couldn't it have been anyone but him? I had literally just shouted in his face, well, not literally I suppose since several hours had passed between that and him finding me. But still, I can't bear the thought of having to see him again. I hope he'll be fine in Potions... so it won't be until Friday I'll be alone with him. What I hate is that he wasn't even rude. He was... almost understanding. And I hate him for it. How dare he be understanding and kind. I wished he was just as snarky as ever, then I wouldn't have to think of the shame of facing him because I never would have cried in the first place. Oh, I almost forgot, I have to tell the boys what I've discovered about the Chamber. But damn him and his incessant questions, that was my job. Why couldn't he have just not cared like the rest of them?

H

Hermione had been writing with so much fervour the final period was almost stabbed through the page. A far cry from her usual small, condensed handwriting, this page was looking like the scribblings of a mad person. But Hermione ignored this, sealed the letter, and went to tell Harry and Ron all she had, or rather, hadn't discovered from her recent hours in the library.

Their discussion seemed to continue for several days, following the discovery of Percy Wesley and Polyjuice Potion. Hermione was racking her brains to find a way to get into Snape's private stores. Despite the trio having settled on Harry's Filibuster plan, Hermione felt a bit uneasy. She didn't particularly want to invoke Snape's wrath, and, given how cordial he had been to her that year, she felt like she should be returning the favour, not intentionally causing mayhem. There was the other issue that Snape occasionally used his private stores in their lesson; Hermione knew she had to avoid him doing this. Even just for that day until he no longer suspected Harry quite so fervently. Her mind came to rest on something she had meant to ask him for several weeks, a way to protect her letters. He would bound to know the spell and, hopefully, would not be too inquisitive as to what she was trying to protect. It was a shame she couldn't ask his help with the Polyjuice Potion, or indeed, just steal some of his own. But that was, unfortunately, completely out of the question; Snape loathed Harry and, therefore her by association, his kindness would not extend to helping them in any way. Hermione dithered all through lunch once they had added the stolen ingredients to the potion, finally settling determinately on her plan.

"Can you teach me a spell to keep things safe?" Hermione paused; that wasn't quite what she wanted. "A spell I can place on something so nobody can find what is in it." She shifted nervously. "I know it's not technically potions, but..."

"What exactly are you trying to conceal, Miss Granger?" He asked her pointedly.

"Oh nothing, nothing... dangerous."

"If it were nothing, you would not be asking me," He surveyed her for a moment. "Why didn't you ask Professor McGonagall? She is always happy to help her little lions." Snape added with a sneer.

"I didn't want her to inquire, sir, and I thought you would have a better knowledge of concealment spells. Being a Slytherin and all." Drat, she thought, don't offend him, don't rise to his bait.

Snape could almost feel the anxiety radiating from her; it was not often she asked to be taught something. For the past few weeks, she had just arrived and been pleased with whatever he offered.

He relented. "I can teach you a variation on the disillusionment charm, although that carries the risk of you not remembering where you put the thing and not being able to see it. I would also have to see what you are trying to conceal." He noticed the colour continuing to leech from her face at his suggestion. "Or I could offer you a magical box that conceals things to only you and communicates them to whoever you wish. You simply place things in the box, and they will be sent to the receiver, or just stay there until you retrieve them. No one else can open your box regardless of adding a correspondent."

"That sounds very clever sir," She looked pleased.

"Most magic is." There, a little colour returned to her face.

"How do I get one?" Snape considered a moment.

"I'll give you one." Hermione looked at him with an expression of utmost surprise.

"You don't have to do that, sir. Just tell me where I can find one, and I can get it."

"No. No, I will have one for you on Wednesday." He said shortly.

Hermione stared blankly at him, half surprised by his immediate agreement and half panicked that she now needed to keep him out of his stores.

"Why don't we try a swelling solution," he said, the sneer suddenly returning. "Yours was almost as thin as Potter's." That stung. Hermione shrank back a little and began to prepare her cauldron.

"You know how to begin," Snape said as he swept out of the classroom.

Hermione froze. He knew, he knew, and he was going to check the stores. She didn't know what to do. It wasn't as though they could get the ingredients back. She tried to begin chopping ingredients, almost cutting herself as a result of her trembling hands.

Professor Snape stood examining his private stores. Powdered horn of Bicorn, shredded skin of a Boomslang. Somebody was brewing Polyjuice Potion, and he had a very keen idea who. He strode furiously back to the classroom, ready to interrogate Granger while he had her all to himself. No Dumbledore to step in and defend the weak this time.

He threw open the door with so much force it rebounded upon the opposite wall. "Miss Granger," a vicious ferocity in his tone. "You have some explaining to do." She cowered, her hands trembling as she attempted to continue cutting.

"I don't know what you mean, Professor." Her voice was a timid whisper.

He towered over her, "Powdered horn of a Bicorn, shredded skin of a Boomslang. You are attempting to concoct Polyjuice Potion far beyond your expertise. I want to know why?" He leaned in dangerously, "What. Is. Potter. Planning?"

"I don't know, sir. I don't know." Hermione ran. For the second time that week, in a desperate attempt to escape the Potions Master. Even last year, she didn't think she had seen him so angry. Tears filled her eyes as she ran to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, desperately hoping Harry and Ron weren't in there.

It was empty. Hermione swallowed thickly; that was too close a call. But the potion was alright; it had only been half an hour. Hermione walked miserably back towards Gryffindor tower; Snape would be on high alert for any suspicious circumstances. And would be watching Harry like a hawk.

"So he knows," Harry said defeatedly. "I guess it was bound to happen; I just didn't count on it being so soon."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I tried to distract him, but I suppose he was very suspicious."

"It's alright, Hermione, it wasn't your fault. Besides, he already knew it was me. How he stared at me when he found the firework, I'd be surprised if he didn't read my soul." He paused. "The potion all right?"

"It's fine. It should be ready in a fortnight." Harry and Ron nodded.

The weight of time loomed over them all. With Collin Creevy's petrification, it was becoming clear the 'heir' was becoming increasingly bloodthirsty. The fear of running out of time was unspoken between the trio. They all desperately hoped two weeks yielded no more tragedies.

"Chess?" Said Ron finally, trying to draw some semblance of normality.

The following two weeks only increased the trio's anxiety as Nearly-Headless-Nick and Justin Finch Fletchly were attacked. The rumours circulating only agitated Harry further, and Hermione was beginning to feel the crushing weight of her vulnerability in the situation. The duelling club had been a nice, albeit brief, respite from her worries. Seeing Lockhart so thoroughly beaten by Snape made her feel a confusing mixture of embarrassment and pride. However, it had been quickly marred by Harry's sudden performance as a Parslemouth, a gift that was undoubtedly to work against his favour among the students.

She had been avoiding Professor Snape, having gone to no more' tutoring sessions' since her theft. As each day approached, she felt increasingly apprehensive, not wishing to face him after such a long time. But Hermione did wish to salvage any good standing that remained with Snape, and so, the following Monday, she miserably made her way towards the dungeons. There he stood, severe as always. Yet Hermione found his dour mood rather comforting, almost as though nothing in the world could shake his displeasure at having to teach her.

"Back are we, Miss Granger?" He surveyed her a though she were something rather dreadful. "Where exactly have you been the past week and a half? May I remind you these lessons are for your benefit and pose no possible enjoyment on my behalf."

Hermione stood defiantly, determined not to be discouraged by his manner. "I've been sick, sir. I was not up to extra classes." Her excuse was flimsy, but she had made sure to send him one note to confirm this.

"Why were you not in the hospital wing?" He watched her carefully, wanting to see her flounder as the alibi collapsed.

"I- um..." she stuttered a minute before regaining her obstinate manner, clearly not having expected Snape to check the hospital wing. "It was unnecessary, sir; Madam Pomfrey said I simply needed not to overexert myself."

Snape didn't push it any further, not wishing to actually consult why exactly he had been so intent on discovering her reason for avoidance. He had, in fact, been grateful for the extra time. Given how their last two lessons had ended, Snape had discovered no particular desire to continue her lessons. He glowered at her while she set up her cauldron. No request today.

"Do be careful, Miss Granger." He threw behind him as he walked intently towards his quarters.

Hermione continued to carefully measure out her various ingredients, following the instructions he had placed on the blackboard. She allowed her eyes to flicker upwards, under the pretence of watching the board, just in time to see him sweep through the door to his office. Wondering if he had perhaps forgotten something... or merely could not stand her presence.

Professor Snape stood in the middle of his office, his mind battling against itself. He had a decision to make. The little box he had promised to give her almost two weeks ago sat offensively in the centre of his desk. Snape had to wish to further his unpopularity with her by slighting a promise; his dubious sense of honour told him he should simply hand over the box with an explanation. Yet, he had the inclination to add himself as the correspondent. Granger was barely thirteen; magically, she would detect no difference. But whatever she was hiding would be available to him as well. It was a despicable thing to do; he knew this.

He cast. The box shimmered slightly, then he picked it off the desk and stalked back to his classroom.

21/12/1992

I can't believe it has been almost a month! I was hesitant to write because I didn't want anybody finding these letters and becoming suspicious. But now, most ironically I must say, Professor Snape has solved that little problem. He gave it to me today. I would have had it a couple weeks ago but I was avoiding him; it is nice of him to still give it to me. I would not have put it past for him to just cancel my lessons altogether. It's not as though us three are in his favour right now. Anyway, as he explained, the little box you are hidden in is like a sort of wizarding email; I put a letter in the box and then my correspondent can collect it. Of course, I have no correspondent attached to the box, so it will simply remain in there for my safekeeping. Nobody can enter the box unless added by their magical signature as a correspondent, so I don't have to worry about Parvati and Lavender. The Polyjuice is going so well, a couple more days, and then it will be finished. I got my hair from Milicent Bulstrode a while back when we had the duelling club so I'm all set. We think we'll do it on Christmas. It's not difficult to get Crabbe and Goyal to eat something but Malfoy's tongue might be a bit looser after copious amounts of Christmas pudding. I should go, it may not look like it, but I have been here quite a while. I am still going to seal this letter with a charm that tells me if anyone has read it and conceals the content. I suppose; theoretically, I could have used that before, but I only came across it on the weekend.

Fingers crossed,

H

Hermione was thankful the term ended a couple days later, the Potion was very nearly complete, and they were all on edge, waiting for the opportune moment. She was glad she did not have to worry about Professor Snape breathing down their necks as the week wore on. They would have no Potions until next term. Hermione did not catch sight of Snape that week, having no intention to venture into the dungeon unnecessarily; save from Monday, they would have no lessons until next term either.

She looked forward to Christmas with Harry and Ron, excited to spend the holidays with her friends and hopefully discover some secrets.

"Hermione, are you OK?" said Harry through the door.

"Fine – I'm fine … Go on –"

Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty minutes had already passed.

"We'll meet you back here, all right?" He said. Hermione desperately hoped her situation would right itself before then. She rubbed a hand over her face, feeling fur that definitely not just Milicent's moustache. Hearing the door bang shut, she peered around the door of her cubical before tentatively walking towards the mirror.

She stared at her face, almost completely covered in black hair; two yellow eyes looked back at her, filling with tears. Reaching up to her bushy hair, Hermione felt two little black ears poking from the unruly mass. Desperate to hide, Hermione ran back to the cubical as Myrtle came out of her toilet, summoned by the sound of sheer misery. Myrtle's cackles reverberated through the chamber, replacing Hermione's gasping sobs, and succeeding in bringing her to her knees in the cubical, desperately trying to slow her rapidly increasing heart rate.

Rocking backward and forwards, Hermione tried to stave off the feeling of her throat closing. Flashes of the humiliation she would suffer swimming to the forefront of her mind; Harry and Ron leaving her when the entire school saw her furry face, saw the aftermath of her failed attempt at magic. What if she got sent home? Hermione thought wildly, what if they couldn't reverse it and she couldn't handle the bullying? What if she had broken too many rules? Oh my goodness. Her mind seemed to stop its frantic circles. What if she was expelled?

In her complete and utter panic, Hermione did not hear the scream of pure anguish emitted from her mouth. She heard nothing but the rush of blood as she tried to desperately draw air into her lungs. She did not hear the door being flung open.

Snape was walking along the corridor, doing an obligatory round of afternoon supervision before retiring to his chambers, when he heard a heart-wrenching cry. Running towards it, wand out, Snape was fully prepared to face this 'Heir of Slytherin', bursting into the bathroom before realising it had not been a cry of fear but despair. He approached quietly, not wishing to cause further torment, while simultaneously longing to reprimand them for not at least casting a silencing charm, lest they disturb the entire castle with their grief. He resumed his imposing demeanour; it was indubitably some fifth-year girl, newly heartbroken and thinking her life would end. He admonished her in his mind, ignoring the historical result of his own rejection. He pushed open the cubical, the thought fading quickly as he looked upon the desperate state below him. There were no fifth years at Hogwarts for Christmas.

Snape stared a moment; what he had most certainly not expected was to find Hermione Granger, clearly in the grips of not only an unsuccessful Polyjuice transformation but a full-blown panic attack. She looked as though she might pass out from lack of oxygen.

"Miss Granger," Snape tried to be gentle, but in his own shock, it came out rather more forceful than he intended. Still, she was shocked enough to look up at him and slow her rocking. Kneeling down, he grabbed her arms and pulled her towards him; looking directly into her eyes, he breathed slow, obvious breaths, indicating she should imitate him.

Hermione found herself unable to look away; she had never truly looked into his eyes, endless pools of obsidian. She was entranced. Sitting to one side of him, their faces barely eight inches apart, Hermione found herself following his deep, steady breaths. While her tears remained, her mind began to clear of frightening, circling thoughts.

Snape could see the past half-hour of fear surfacing in her now yellow eyes. It crossed his mind what colour they might usually be. She feared she would be expelled for making the Polyjuice Potion; she was terrified of what she had done wrong and whether Potter and Weasley would be alright. Typical, they had just left her to have a panic attack by herself. Some friends. He tried to control his fury, deciding that waiting with the terrified Hermione to castrate Potter on his return was not the wisest course of action. He would endeavor to speak to Dumbledore about it later.

Still holding her arms, he began to feel her breathing slow. She suddenly looked very small and vulnerable, and without thinking, Snape pulled her into his arms.

He had hugged and indeed been hugged by very few people in his lifetime. Sitting on the floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor, crying against his chest was undoubtedly a position he never expected to find himself in. But there he stayed, gently resting his head on her bushy hair, finding an odd sort of solace in the comfort she drew from him.

Realising all too soon that he had very little time before her rage-inducing friends returned, Snape detached himself, with relative difficultly, from the small girl. She looked up at him with a distinct mix of emotions; gratitude, confusions and... trust. He pushed it from his mind.

"Polyjuice Potion is not meant for animal transformations," Snape said stiffly. Then, with the slightest hint of humour, "I recommend becoming an Animagus for that." He strode towards the door, reversing the silencing charm he had cast when he found her.

"But not until you're of age." He yelled back.

Out in the corridor, Snape felt a surprising feeling of pride... for himself if he was honest. He was rather shocked that it worked. It was how he calmed his own anxiety attacks; something Lily had done for him, once upon a time, when he had a lot less to be afraid of. Snape was glad he had helped Granger; he had felt the fear in her eyes of what people would think of her, how they would judge her failed attempt at magic. Trust her to worry about that; not concerned with the shallow way they would judge her appearance but rather what that appearance implied. Even in panic, the analytic nature of her mind fascinated him.

Hermione felt a crushing loneliness descend upon her. She had found surprising comfort in Professor Snape, not thinking to ask how he discovered her, but now, she was forcibly reminded of the absence of... people. Her parents were miles away, her friends would be back any moment, but she could not seek true comfort in them. Ron would undoubtedly find the whole situation hilarious. How pathetic that she had been forced to be comforted by Snape of all people. For the third time in almost as many months! She made a mental note to not only avoid him outside class but make an intentional effort to appear...fine. Just as she was – just fine. Hermione sat against the cubical wall, the shrieks of Myrtle having been scared away by Snape. She began to cry again.

The boys came running into the bathroom, Ron hammering on her door. She practically screamed at them, waiting for them to laugh with Myrtle, tease her something fierce. But Harry was kind, so kind. So, with a lot of persuasions, she allowed them to take her up to the hospital wing.

Safely enclosed within his quarters, having just finished brewing the reversal potion for attempted animal transformations, the reality of what he had done hit Snape like a landslide. He flung himself into the solitary armchair that presided over his worn carpet and fire; how could he be so stupid. He hugged a student. A Gryffindor too. Fucking Hermione Granger. What was he thinking? The poor girl must have been terrified. He had sat there and stared into her eyes; he had almost legilimised her by the intensity with which he had looked at her. He had sat breathing at her like a complete and utter twat. Fuck. Then he hugged her! Hugged her. And not overly gently either, he recalled.

He hurled Floo Powder into the hearth. Deciding he should deliver the potion tonight so he could spend the rest of the evening, and quite possibly the next day, having his own panic attack.

26/12/1992

Well, I was returned here yesterday. I feel rather energised today, having slept well (crying does that, doesn't it?), Madam Pomfrey assured me the fur and other traces could be removed; it would just take a couple weeks of a potion which Professor Snape was so kind to brew. I haven't had it yet; he had to spend the rest of yesterday brewing it. I really am hoping it doesn't taste too awful. Madam Pomfrey managed to vanish the tail and ears but said the potion would deal with the hair and eyes. I can stay here until everything is gone; they're not going to make me go back to actual classes. I can catch up outside anyway. Harry and Ron are going to bring me my books. I think it will be pretty nice until term begins and all the kids come back. I'm in the last bed and, due to all the petrified people (mostly), there isn't a whole lot of students frequenting the hospital wing, so I should be safe. I'm hoping Harry can bring me my little box tomorrow to keep all these letters safe.

Hermione

27/12/1992

Hello,

I suppose I should tell you the whole story. I am actually feeling better; I was still a little shaken yesterday from my panic attack, but I'm better today, and I have so many days ahead of me. I've plenty of homework, but this is a nice distraction. Basically, what happened was that I took the Polyjuice with a cat hair of Milicent Bulstrode's robes instead of one of her own hairs; evidently, she has a black cat (how very witchlike). Anyway, I have black fur all over my face, yellow eyes, and I did have a tail and matching ears, but Madam Pomfrey could vanish those. I sent the boys to the Slytherin common room so they could talk to Malfoy, who surprisingly wasn't the heir of Slytherin, and I went to look at myself in the mirror. I don't really remember much of what happened after that. I think I just started crying, and then I couldn't breathe and it felt like I was about to die. Then suddenly Professor Snape was sitting in front of me (very close in front of me) and holding my arms, breathing really slow. It was weird but it actually helped me calm down... like I stopped thinking I was about to die and just started staring at him. I was still crying though, I couldn't really help that. And. This was the bizarre thing. He hugged me. Snape did. Of his own volition just yanked me into a hug. And... it was so comforting. He held me really tightly, as though he was trying to comfort himself instead of me. I just kinda kept crying into his chest, and I think he may have rested his head in my hair. It was a surreal moment that I'm sure I shall spend the next weeks overanalysing. Then, he left. But. He almost made a joke. Perhaps even odder than him hugging me, he made a goddamn joke. I almost wanted to tell the boys it was so out of character. But I didn't do that.

Well, on the topic of Snape, he gave us a load of homework for the hols so I should get a start on that. I will leave you in my very secure little email box.

Bye,

Hermione.