A/N: So I found a continuity error in the Chamber of Secrets, mildly proud of myself. Valentines Day 1993 was actually a Sunday...but they go to classes. I made it a Monday because reasons so ignore the slight error in the dates of Hermione's letters. ALSO the chapters following this will probably become increasingly dark. This is a hurt/comfort and both characters suffer their way through life. At this stage, most of those struggles are internal and psychological so TRIGGER WARNING for things like mental illness and self-harm. Beware. Thank you for all your reviews I really appreciate your thoughts and comments, please continue I love hearing them, good, bad, grammatically incorrect. All of it.

Chapter Seven

Hermione was delighted the next morning when she entered the Great Hall to find it covered in pink flowers, gently dropping confetti like snowflakes. The entire hall felt a little giggly as winged dwarves roamed up and down delivering cards. Somewhat concealed by the bustling Gryffindor table, Hermione seized her opportunity.

"Excuse me," she said to a passing dwarf, holding out the card she had made. "Could you please deliver this to Professor Lockhart?" The dwarf snatched the card from her and ambled away, grumbling.

Excessively pleased with herself, Hermione helped herself to toast, mindful of casting a small shield charm above her plate to protect it from confetti.

"Snape looks as though someone force-fed him Skele-Gro," said Harry by way of greeting. Hermione followed his line of sight and had to agree. Snape was seated next to Lockhart in his pink robes (they were quite lovely, Hermione thought to herself), indeed looking as though he had swallowed something rather sour.

"At least you don't have him today," Hermione remarked to the pair. "I don't fancy him once every class-clown has had the opportunity to take him up on Professor Lockhart's offer of a love potion."

Ron and Harry snickered, "Unlucky there, you are." Hermione giggled.

"Sooner me than you."

All day, Hermione felt buoyed along by the excitement of Valentine's Day; she had always assumed she would be one that was irritated and above such festivities but found the half-hearted aggravation of the teachers and students to be quite endearing. After such a dark few months, it was lovely to have some excitement but, more than that, an overwhelming sense of normalcy. Hermione was still delighted just to be surrounded by people, something she had never thought she would say. Hermione felt very sorry for Harry as the dwarf delivered his singing valentine, but he seemed too preoccupied with Riddle's diary to notice the laughter surrounding him. She headed off to the dungeons in a better mood than she had been all year.

"Please don't ask me to teach you a love potion," Snape said without looking up from his desk, sounding an odd combination of amused and malicious. Hermione smiled.

"Of course not, sir; I have little use of it." Unless there's one for platonic, parental love, Hermione thought absentmindedly.

Snape's head jerked as he raised his eyes to meet hers; not particularly in the mood for teaching, he merely gestured to the bench at the front of the classroom.

"Can you teach me a warming charm?" Hermione asked.

"It is within my ability, yes," Snape responded acerbically. "What do you need a warming charm for? I sincerely hope it is not more nighttime adventures you have planned."

Hermione frowned at him. "No sir, I was reminded over winter that it gets remarkably cold in Scotland, and a warming charm might be a useful thing to know." She paused, "I don't particularly want to carry around a jarred flame next winter. Accidents can...arise."

Snape felt a little embarrassed at his unnecessarily aggressive manner (and the memory of being set on fire). "Of course, Miss Granger. I doubt it will take long."

Snape gave her a brief history of the spell and its uses before teaching her the wand movements and incantation. Hermione was unsurprised but curious at the efficiency and thoroughness with which Snape taught her. At such odds with the potions classroom that, not for the first time, she marvelled at his skill and expertise.

"Sir, may I ask you a question?" Hermione asked upon adequately mastering the charm.

"You are not usually that polite about it, Miss Granger," Snape responded, motioning to her chair; his mood had softened considerably in the past hour he had spent surrounded by a child that actually wanted to learn. "What is it?" He prompted.

Hermione took a breath, "Why don't you teach like this in class, sir? It is so much more dynamic and interesting. Not that your classes are uninteresting, of course..." She trailed off. Snape eyed her with half a glare as though trying to determine precisely how cruel he could be under the guise of a truthful response. Hermione shifted backwards slightly as moments passed in silence, finally breaking eye contact. Snape's face softened although she did not see.

"Because Miss Granger, the difference in results would be infinitesimal. This," He waved his hand over the classroom, "Takes a great deal of effort. I did, at first, attempt this, but stupid children wear people down. Those that want to get good results will do so, in spite of me. Those that don't will discover early they are not cut out for this class. I rely on students' will to remain engaged. If they love the subject, they will love the class. If not..."

Hermione stared at him, a mixture of confusion and sadness etched across her face. Snape could see something else underneath it all. Anger. She stared into his eyes as he finished his surprisingly earnest little speech; there was nothing behind those eyes. It was empty. Her voice came out a whisper.

"You don't care."

Defeated, she snatched up her back and stalked out.

Snape sat in his chair watching the empty doorway Granger had just stormed out of, utterly stunned at the direction that conversation had taken. Suddenly angry, he strode through the office to reach his chambers, flinging himself into the armchair. What right did she have? He thought scathingly. To question his teaching methods, no to criticize his teaching methods. He was doing her a goddamn favour. What was she thinking?

The minutes stretched out as Snape stared, mesmerized, into the flames; why did Granger even ask that? Snape hoped he hadn't given too much away, he had been occluding but not very heavily, and occasionally, people could tell. When the eyes were a little too blank. He sighed. What was he doing here, really? Protecting the son of a woman he loved and a man he hated, that was what. Eleven years he had spent in the tiresome monotony of teaching idiotic students, and a twelve-year-old (thirteen, he corrected himself) had the audacity to tell him he wasn't putting enough effort in. He was the youngest professor Hogwarts had ever had. How dare she? Snape remained in the chair for several hours, stewing over what he perceived as an accusation.

14/2/1993

Dear Snape,

I feel like it makes it a little better if it's only your last name; I can pretend it's a nickname then. Today was really lovely; it's Valentines Day. Professor Lockhart arranged for little dwarves to deliver cards to students in classrooms, although I feel a little bad for you. Obviously, a number of students asked you to teach them love potions. I have a feeling an awful lot of points were lost today. You're always in a dour mood on Mondays, but today it was particularly evident; I understand why (I'm no angel on Monday mornings), but I still wish you could be a little nicer. I feel better about myself, knowing it is seldom directed at me individually but still. You could at least not take out your frustration on students. I was so disappointed to find out you just really don't care. You don't. And that's all there is to it. I don't know how long you've been teaching here. You said you started trying to engage but then gave up. You sound so defeated, and it made me so unreasonably angry. How dare you not care. Are we nothing? Do we really mean so little to you? What about our future? What about yours? Why do you stay here if you hate teaching? You're brilliant at potions surely there would be another job for you. There would be so many. Why are you here. What keeps you sequestered away in your dungeons for years on end. It's not fair. I could see it so clearly in your eyes. There is nothing there. You're empty and sad and cold. I feel so stupid for thinking you actually had the vaguest investment in our lives, our future. How can someone be so lifeless? I'm surprised you haven't faded to a ghost.

Hermione put down her quill and sighed. She had no idea why she was so irrationally angry over Snape for caring so little about his students or how well they learned. Something about his utter disregard for his job had shocked her; he didn't seem a person that did a single thing without prior consideration. It shouldn't have surprised her; Snape was cruel and unfair to every student he seemed to interact with. But Hermione couldn't help thinking of all the times he had been nice to her, considerate. Or simply neutral, no hatred, just existence. Her head began to spin, and she could feel nausea rising, turning onto her back Hermione stared at the velvet canopy above her, trying to focus on the gentle snores of Lavender. After the excitement of the school day and her rather depressing conversation with Snape, she felt rather flat. Tired but not sleepy.

15/2/1993

Well things have changed considerably, Harry found out last night that Hagrid opened the Chamber. They told me this morning. I can't believe it. I mean, I know that he loves strange creatures. I can only remember Norbert back in first year with a shiver, but still. To kill a student? I cannot believe Hagrid would do that. Although Harry said, Riddle didn't believe that either, he said Riddle acknowledged it was an accident. How could it have been, though? It doesn't make any sense. And why would Riddle go looking for him? I guess he must have been like Harry, always getting involved in the wrong sort of business. But. Ugh, I just can't get my head around it. To actually kill another person is awful. I can't imagine he would be able to do it. Today was nice; I like Tuesdays. Double DADA and then Transfiguration and Herbology is a nice day, usually a little fun. The double with Lockhart is always good, I really like the atmosphere of his classroom. Usually, I wish I have my lesson with you but today I was grateful for it. I'm not sure why your not caring has made me so angry. I guess subconsciously (or a little more consciously than I thought), I just really wanted you to care for me. We can't decide if we should go talk to Hagrid about the monster. I think we should just wait until there is another attack. Because what if he isn't the person, and then we've just gone and accused him all over again of something he didn't do. I guess we'll just wait. But it is not very nice. Hagrid is our friend; I don't want him to be out there killing people. Through a monster, obviously. Also, what's the chance it's the same person. I doubt whatever monster Hagrid used is still alive in the Chamber; surely, if they expelled Hagrid, they would have made him open the Chamber and kill whatever monster lived in there. It doesn't add up. Anyway, I'm tired. Bye.

Hermione entered the dungeons somewhat reluctantly on Wednesday afternoon. It suddenly seemed as though Snape was causing her more grief than giving help at the moment. He nodded at her by way of greeting. She unpacked her potions kit at her bench, refusing to meet his eyes. When everything was set out of straightened, Hermione sat down with her arms crossed, finally raising her head to meet his gaze. He stared at her with malice remarkable for any other teacher.

"If you're going to act like a petulant child, I don't have to teach you." He said pointedly. Hermione frowned, then shifted her face to the mildly interested, impassive mask she had been perfecting for years.

"My humblest apologies, sir. Forgive me." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I will not tell you again, Miss Granger." Snape rose to his feet, and Hermione could not ignore how intimidating he was, towering over her. Shrinking back a little, she dropped her eyes.

"Sorry, sir."

He waved his wand at the board, and the instructions to a warming potion appeared. Hermione worked diligently and quietly, acknowledging him only when she handed him the bottled potion. Her brow creased slightly when he looked at her. His eyes looked different. Hermione turned back to her desk. She packed her bag back together as slowly as possible, not entirely sure what she was waiting for but eventually, she had nothing left to do. Sighing, Hermione walked out the door, her shoulders slumped miserably.

Stopping in the first windowed alcove she found, Hermione sat for a moment, a curious feeling enveloping her. She was upset and angry, and frustrated. But for some reason, tired. Like all she wanted to do was sit and stare out the window for hours on end. Her thoughts drifted to everything that had happened over the last months. The attacks, her loneliness, Snape, McGonagall, discovering she could graduate early, Valentine's day, Snape. Things seemed to have moved so fast. Her emotions rising and falling so quickly she could barely register them. She was confused and lonely and didn't feel like herself. The world seemed too sharp. And, despite the sun falling well below the mountains, everything felt too bright. Her head felt heavy and tight, as though her body was slowly closing in on itself. It was a sharp contrast to the hollow feeling in her stomach. Hermione rested her head against the window, comforted by the gentle patter of rain (she couldn't remember when it had started), resting her limbs that felt like lead. Time slowed to a trickle.

Snape stared down at his meal, slowly picking at the roasted vegetables he had carefully chosen. They felt like sawdust in his mouth. He scanned the table icily, glaring at any students making a raucous. He saw those despicable boys, Potter and his dog, but Miss Granger was missing. Snape wondered vaguely where she had gotten to, probably absorbed in some library book. Oh well, he thought, it was Minerva's problem to make sure her little lions turned up for food, not that Granger ever really ate anyway. Snape had resealed his heart. He wasn't sure when he had allowed himself to relax, when exactly or why exactly he had neglected to keep himself contained. But he would not have impertinent students taking up his time unnecessarily. Perhaps it was the reminder of why he was here that had ruined his slowly improving mood. The reminder of Lily Potter and his ridiculous promise to the headmaster. Or maybe it was the innocence of a child that trusted him; Snape dismissed that thought immediately. Leaving his unfinished meal to sweep out of the hall.

His question as to Miss Granger's whereabouts was answered almost immediately as he discovered her in a small alcove not three corridors from the potion's classroom. Based on the meticulously backed bag on the floor, Snape assumed she had been here all afternoon. Casting a quick disillusionment spell, Snape moved around so he could see her properly. She just sat. Lent against the window with her eyes half-closed, she was not asleep but certainly not looking at anything out the window. Snape shook himself, having just watched her sit motionless for several minutes. He retreated to the corner before making himself visible again, not wishing to startle the girl.

"Miss Granger," he said, moving into the corridor. Hermione turned to face him, a slight shock on her face. Her eyes were a little unfocused, and he could see there was a slight tremor in her right hand.

"Sir," she sounded breathless like she had just run a mile.

"Have you been here all afternoon?" She looked around, confused.

"Um... maybe, I'm not sure." She answered, staring at the bag at her feet.

"I suggest you go to the Great Hall before dinner is over." She nodded, seeming to understand a little.

"Thank you, sir, but I am not hungry." Snape rolled his eyes as Hermione made to get up, swaying slightly on the spot before falling sideways into him. He deftly caught her in his arms before gently placing her on the floor, a wandless cushioning charm directed under her head.

"Stay," Snape said, a hand pressing her shoulder down as she tried to get up, ignoring her protests of being fine. He cast a diagnostic spell, frowning at the result (or lack of it). "You need to eat. And sleep. I'm afraid I don't know what else is contributing to your symptoms apart from not taking care of yourself." Hermoine bristled under his hand. "Stop it. I'm right." That made her chuckle weakly. Snape stared at her a minute, considering. "Do you want to go to Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione shook her head. "Well then, I'll take you back to Gryffindor Tower and have a house-elf bring some food up." He allowed her to sit up, their position mimicking that of months ago in the bathroom. Reaching around her waist, he helped her get up, "You will start taking care of yourself properly, and you must promise me you will go to the hospital wing if this happens again." Hermione nodded. Shifting his arm to her shoulder to accommodate the high difference, they set off towards Gryffindor tower. Hermione slowly became more interested as Snape took her through all the secret passages he knew, wishing to spare her having to interact with other students.

"I will have a house-elf leave a plate of food on your bedside table. Shower, eat and then go straight to bed. No homework, no reading or interacting with inferior boys, bed. And I will know if you disobey." Hermione nodded almost sulkily. "Go," said Snape, turning her around and pushing her gently towards the portrait, waiting until she had clambered through.

Moving quickly to a quiet corridor, Snape called Tink, asking her to please deliver food to Miss Granger and return in an hour to collect the plate and make sure it was eaten. With that, Snape strode off towards McGonagall's office. Knocking politely.

"Severus," McGonagall said, surprised when he entered.

"Hello Minerva," Snape responded sourly; he hated engaging with the faculty despite it being his decision this time. "I wanted to speak to you about Miss Granger, she is not very well, and I'm not entirely sure what has caused it." He noted that McGonagall looked concerned and mildly shocked; clearly, she had not been aware of it either. "I've found her on a number of occasions quite distressed and," Snape struggled for a word to describe it, "just distinctly odd. I get the impression she skips meals quite frequently as well. Just now, I found her after dinner staring out a window in a corridor not far from the potions classroom; I believe she had been there since she left our lesson. She seemed confused, and a little out of it, then she collapsed when she tried to walk away." McGonagall looked very concerned and wondered how she could have possibly missed this. "I cast a diagnostic," Snape continued, "But it didn't show anything except hunger and tiredness. I don't know what's wrong with her." McGonagall surveyed him carefully, not missing the slight pleading tone he tried to conceal in his voice.

"Has she been to Poppy?" She asked.

"I asked, but she said she didn't want to, and I didn't think it was my place to force her. I took her back to Gryffindor tower and ordered her to bed with dinner that I sent up with a house-elf."

"Thank you, Severus, that was very considerate." Minerva considered. "I have her first tomorrow. I'll check in at the end of class and see how she is feeling. A trip to Poppy might be advisable."

Snape nodded, getting out of his chair.

"Severus," McGonagall called after him. "Thank you, I appreciate you telling me this." Snape just nodded, still frowning slightly.

Once again, Snape found himself seated before the crackling fire, that insufferable Granger taking up his attention again. He had been unnecessarily cold to her; having had a day to cool off, Snape realized his anger had been unreasonable. But the bitter part of his heart wanted to punish the girl anyway. Snape sighed. It wasn't that; he didn't know what it was. Just like the tiny compliment she had let slip a while back, this comment hurt him in its sincere innocence. Innocent anger. Granger was naïve. She thought that all teachers should want the students they taught to do well, excel. She thought teachers should care about them. But she was thirteen. It wasn't his place to so cruelly dash that expectation. Yet hadn't he done that to thousands of students before her? Snape gently massaged his temple, trying to define and justify his own morality never ended well. But he had scared her. It was prickling at the back of his mind; she had backed away from him. Thought he would harm her. Obeyed so quickly. It made him very uncomfortable. A decade had not been long enough to wash the memory of similar young women shrinking from him in fear before they submitted.

"No!" He exclaimed loudly.

Hermione Granger was not a young woman. Not a woman. A child, she was a child. The word ran feverishly around his brain. He had that effect on a child. Pacing furiously, Snape clutched his hair in frustration, questions running around his brain unbidden. Why was she any different?

The tremor too! He interrupted his own spiralling thoughts. Her hand was tremoring, right hand. Surely her fear could not have remained all those ours? Maybe it was just anxiety? Snape looked down at his own hands; the shake was a great deal more pronounced.

Thursday 17th February, 1993

Dear Professor Snape,

I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, but not also more confused than ever. I can't make out your person. I don't understand you. One minute you hated me, spoke about three words to me in almost an hour, but barely three hours later, you practically carried me back to the tower because I collapsed on you. You told Professor McGonagall. I don't know if I appreciate it or if I want to be even angrier at you. She was so considerate, so kind. I don't understand myself. I seem to constantly wish something like that would happen, give me someone that I feel loves me or at least is concerned for me. But it was so uncomfortable; I didn't realize relationships were like that. I don't understand. Any of it. I'm just tired. I want to sleep for a very long time until everything makes sense again. Anyway. I'll see you tomorrow. I feel more and more awkward as you start finding me in all these awkward situations. I regret wishing for it. But at the same time, I crave it. I'm not sure I want to take care of myself because that means you will have nothing to chide me about besides my grades. My grades don't actually affect me but my health. If you are concerned about that, I can properly misconstrue it as you actually caring. I don't care if it's pretend.

Hermione took several deep breaths before entering the Potions classroom Friday morning. Despite having already spent three hours with the Potions Professor, she was apprehensive and a little ashamed. Although Hermione comforted herself, she hadn't really been that impolite. She didn't deserve his harsh manner.

Cautiously entering the classroom, Hermione was surprised to find it empty.

A/N: Sorry I know it's a bit of a rubbish cliffhanger but unfortunately I don't have time to write the rest of it right now and it would also be a little too long. But I wanted to post something anyway so, enjoy.