A/N: This one gets a little dark. So, mind the earlier trigger warnings. I'm not going to put many more just because I don't want to give away too much from the story. A lot later than I meant but this was also a really difficult chapter to write. I've put the full letters in as well in between asterisks just in case. It feels a bit clunky. But there's a surprising amount of letters, so I figured for those following, you probably don't have them all immediately in your mind. And I wanted to try and emulate Sev's experience of reading them all. Please let me know if you don't think it's necessary, and I'll remove them. Also, sorry about the format; I know it's a little repetitive I didn't really know how to go about it. Thank you for all your reviews; I appreciate them so, so much. Please let me know what you think of this one cause I've had it planned for a while now.

Chapter Nine

Snape practically ran from the hospital wing, desperate for the safety of his chambers. Reaching the dungeons, Snape slowed and, realising he had to first address Slytherin house, tried to compose himself. Raising his occlumency shields, Snape told the Slytherins of their new restrictions. There was much muttering, no doubt due to the fact that a Slytherin had yet to be petrified. As of yet, they had remained unscathed.

Walking through his office and lowering his shields, Snape could feel the beginnings of panic rising in his chest. He pulled at his collar before stepping through the warded door. Taking a moment to cast extra silencing charms, he threw his wand aside and continued walking, desperately trying to clear his airways. Seemingly forgotten he was a wizard, Snape began to tear at his clothing, desperate to free himself from the restraints of his carefully buttoned frockcoat.

She's petrified. Petrified. The emotionless word circled around him. He had left her; why had he left her? Why hadn't he taught her protective spells? He had so much time, so much opportunity. But didn't.

"Granger," He whispered softly.

Finally tearing the garments from his body (losing several buttons in the process), Snape tried to force himself to calm down. He couldn't undo his cravat with his hands shaking the way they were. Suddenly remembering he was a wizard, Snape reached for his wand. A quick divesto released him of the cravat as well as his shoes. Feeling slightly calmer, he made for the fire as a wave of chill swept over him.

Huddled before the fire, Snape began to shake in earnest. His internal monologue was growing louder and louder. 'You didn't protect her. An innocent witch. You had the opportunity, but you chose not to.' Hermione's own words came back to haunt him,

"You just don't care." He remembered them perfectly, as well as the truthful bitterness in her voice as she said it.

"Is that true, Severus?" He asked himself. Do you just not care? Or do you hate her because she's friends with Potter? Because she has friends, a life? Why? Why didn't you take the initiative and teach her defence? Why did you leave her alone when you knew a monster was loose in the castle? A child. You left a vulnerable child.

Snape breathed deeply and slowly, remembering Granger and her panic attack. You're spiralling, he thought; Merlin knows why but you are. You need to stop, or you will suffocate beside this fire. So, Snape used the only remedy he felt he had left. He occluded as strongly as he could. No emotion showed through, not even the anger or displeasure he usually allowed. Nothing.

Almost immediately, his breathing slowed, and he turned to face the room. Surprisingly intact for his panic, apart from his coat, that was. Suddenly exhausted, Snape knew he would not be able to mark essays this evening and so collected the small sewing kit from a kitchen cupboard. Blowing dust off the tin, he collected his frockcoat, teaching robes and summoned the scattered buttons strewn across the floor.

It was not often Snape sewed and only ever to mend, but he found it came with a certain peacefulness he craved. Rolling up the white sleeves of his undershirt, Snape sent a disgusted look at his left forearm and began to mend the buttons.

Nine buttons later, Snape sat in the firelight; he was mesmerised by the sparkling glint of the needle he still held in his hand. The combination of sewing and the occlumency had calmed his mind considerably to the point where Snape felt a little disassociated, almost as though he were watching the scene with no involvement. Mildly curious, Snape lowered the needle tip to his blackened forearm. Leaving a small white line in its wake as he dragged it slowly across the skin. Snape involuntarily flexed his hand; the sharp, tingling pain sent a shiver up his spine. It somehow simultaneously tickled and excited him, stirring something deep in his pelvis that faded as the scratch turned warm and reddened slightly. Compulsed, Snape drew the needle across again, getting the same flutter of excitement along with the pain. Again. And again. And again. Morbid curiosity began to overwhelm him as he reached the sallow skin beyond his mark, nearing his elbow. Snape pressed the needle as far as he could bear into his skin. Drawing it across slowly, he tried to determine how he could get the most blood, how much the marks would show on his skin. When he reached his elbow, Snape seemed to come to his senses, staring down at his arm now marked in a different way, with neat little lines, the reality of what he had just done hit.

Snape threw the needle into the room, losing track of the tiny object in the flickering light. Falling back onto his couch, his breath came rapidly once more. Although it was a different rapid, he observed clinically, like he had just overexerted himself, as though he was just tired. Just tired. Snape allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, blocking out the misery of the day and avoiding the sight of a small wooden box that sat on his reading table. He began to sleep peacefully, without a potion.

"Severus!" McGonagall called through the floo, there was no answer. She sighed, irritated. It was his turn for patrol, which he would know if he had gone to the staff meeting, they had held an hour or two earlier. But he had chosen not to come; just retreated to his dungeons. And now he'd gone and closed off the floo. McGonagall was tempted to go to Albus before realising there was one person who could not be blocked from any of the Hogwarts fires, staff or otherwise. Poppy.

Madam Pomfrey looked up surprised when she saw an irate Professor McGonagall striding into her hospital wing. Praying it was not another attack, she bustled over.

"Hello, Poppy," McGonagall said politely, despite her shortening temper.

"It's not another-"

"No. No, there has not been another attack." Poppy looked relieved. "I came to you about Severus actually; he has failed to appear for his rounds and is not answering his floo. Would you mind going through and seeing where he has got to?"

"Of course, Minerva." Poppy walked back to her office, taking some floo powder and stepping into the green flames.

"Quarters of Severus Snape!"

Snape was woken rather abruptly by none other than Poppy Pomfrey stepping through his fireplace.

Sitting up, he hissed, enraged, at the woman standing before him. "For goodness's sake, woman. Could you at least not have the courtesy to knock."

"Severus, you have rounds," Poppy said, not unkindly. She took in his tousled hair and sudden movement from the couch. "Did I interrupt a nap?" Snape scowled at her as she scanned his body out of habit. Her eyes came to rest on his mark, now marred significantly by thin, red lines.

"Leave it, Poppy," he said menacingly, following her gaze immediately.

"Oh Severus," Snape tore his eyes away as she looked at him in a depressingly maternal manner. She moved in front of him, but Snape jumped up, almost running to the opposite side of the room.

"It's just a scratch, nothing to worry about at all." His voice was significantly higher than usual.

"You're occluding."

"What of it?" he bit back at her.

"You can't stave off emotions forever Severus, life doesn't work like that."

"Leave." He almost shouted at her, "tell Minerva I will be up in a moment to take over patrol. You say nothing." Poppy turned back into the fire, the connection still open.

"Don't hesitate to call Severus; you have nothing to hide from me."

Snape turned away from her and began rolling down his sleeves.

Only when he heard the floo connection close did Snape turn. Summoning his outer garments (minus a couple buttons) and cravat, he very quickly looked every bit the imposing Professor the students were used to. He threw a handful of floo powder in the fire and went to meet McGonagall to relieve her for the afternoon.

The walking helped a little, that and snapping at several students to get back to their dormitories. Snape decided to survey the grounds, taking a quick detour via the greenhouses to check the Mandrakes. Almost ready. About three weeks. Three weeks, he could last that surely. The potion could be started soon. He hurried back to the castle; it was growing dark, finally. He would soon be reprieved. Carefully pacing the corridors, Snape slowly made his way towards McGonagall's office to meet the next staff member on duty. It was Madam Hooch.

Slowing on his descent to the dungeons, Snape took a moment to take in the grounds, they were always beautiful at dusk, but he rarely got to see them. Casting a disillusionment charm, he sat in the same alcove he had found Granger and decided it was time to think a little.

Did he...? Snape took a shuddering breath. Did he care for her? His thoughts drifted over the months they had now spent together, brewing potions, exchanging small talk, sharing tea. He didn't feel as though he could understand it; he didn't want to understand it. She was very intelligent; maybe that's why he had taken an interest in her.

"I don't know," Snape said softly. It hadn't been conscious. He hadn't really realised until now how far he had gone. He had never cared about any of his students. He was not familiar with the sensation. It was only three weeks, he almost pleaded with himself, just three weeks and she will be okay. She will be back in your classroom asking all her incessant questions; almost nothing will change. He felt defeated. What was he supposed to do in this circumstance? Snape's mind was telling him to remove himself entirely from the equation; take no further interest, have no further interaction unless he couldn't help it.

But he didn't think he could help any of it. Snape realised he had come to look forward to their little lessons, enjoying them far more than he probably should. Something was comforting by her presence; she didn't seem to fear him. Not really. Not in the way others did. He had seen it in her eyes back in the bathroom, trust. Somewhere within her, there was trust, and Snape found he was surprisingly grateful for it. Few people trusted him; although, he suddenly realised why she had yet to recoil at the sight of him. She was a completely blank slate. Granger knew nothing of the war, nothing of his role in it, nothing of how he had betrayed his only love to his master. She just thought he was a mean teacher, and it was ingrained within her nature to trust teachers. Sharers of knowledge, they must be trustworthy. Surely.

Well, not me, Snape thought bitterly.

Disillusioned, he sat there a long time. Watching the trees and lake ripple in the wind, trying to organise his mind. Compartmentalising one's mind was somewhat of a condition for effective occlumency and legilimency. Doing so allowed you to not only protect sensitive memories but made it easier to draw upon less critical or even false memories to distract an intruder.

Snape took a moment to just observe his Mind's Eye, a series of rather dark ponds hidden in a ravine. He peered into one; Granger stared back up at him, the Granger from that day in the classroom when she had insulted him. He looked away and began sorting his thoughts into the various pools, categorising memories and emotions into their various places. It was unwise. He ignored his own advice, though somewhat unconsciously, in his process of compartmentalisation. You should never use occlumency to quickly process complex emotions. But this wasn't complex, Snape assured himself. She's not even dead; you've seen hundreds of people die; you've seen them die after you uttered the curse. He sorted that emotion into a vast pool, self-loathing.

Lost in his mind, Snape was shocked to suddenly find McGonagall sliding off him and onto the floor. Getting her feet quickly, Snape almost cowered under the harshness of her gaze. Not wishing to draw it out, he quickly cancelled the charm and stared back at her. Feigning annoyance at an interaction that was truthfully quite funny.

"Severus," McGonagall said, astonished, her gaze softening immediately. "May I ask what you are doing sitting disillusioned in the dark at eleven pm?" It was Snape's turn to look sheepish.

"I was distracted...meditating..." It surprised them both that he had actually answered, McGonagall took note of his far-off gaze. Attempting something she had not tried in years, McGonagall placed a hand gently on Snape's shoulder.

"Get some sleep Severus, you have no rounds tomorrow." He nodded and began to move down the corridor. The chill had begun to creep into his bones. "Severus," McGonagall called after him. "Don't be afraid of emotions; they'll come eventually." She turned quickly and strode down the corridor, aware he was probably now furious.

She was right. Snape was furious. Furious that everyone still treated him like the child they knew so long ago. Furious that for the second time that day, he had been given useless and uncalled for advice. Furious that his occlumency skills had declined to the point that both women had seen through him immediately. Furious that... that... that he cared. Snape was stood in the hallway, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come; why did he care?

Entering his chambers, Snape's eyes fell immediately upon the small wooden letterbox. It had sat on his reading table for the past five months, glowing pale blue every time Granger placed a letter within it. But until now, Snape had not touched it. He had been wracked by guilt a few weeks after giving her the letterbox but the courage to admit his untrustworthiness had evaded him. Snape hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Granger to return her box to him so he could undo the connection between the two. So, he had said nothing and promised himself he would not touch the box. He hadn't. Snape was rather proud of himself, with Potter being up to so much mischief he had been sorely tempted several times but... Granger's trust in him had stopped him. How could he violate the privacy of a student who had asked him for help? How could he set one up to be his unwilling informant?

It had become a test for Snape; that was why he had set it out in plain view of the only place he ever occupied within his chambers (besides his bedroom). Every time he had seen it go, Snape had forced himself to exercise self-restraint. It was the type of ridiculous practice Albus would have encouraged, he thought hotly. But..., Snape was drawn closer and closer to the box; there is no way she can know now. Granger was petrified. The last thing she was going to remember was how neat her letters were? She wouldn't be able to check if they were not there. It was the only chance he would get. I could justify it now; Snape thought already, disgusted with himself. Now that the monster had attacked again, there might be helpful information.

Several minutes passed as Snape stood before the little table, transfixed. He reached out slowly and opened the box. Letters?

About thirty-five of them, most neatly sealed, the others had already been opened Snape assumed by Hermione. Taking a deep breath, he gently picked all of them up, careful not to damage them; no way she could know. Snape settled himself parallel to the fireplace, not wishing to toss any in by accident or in anger. He looked over the collection, carefully noting their addresses before sorting them into piles. Letters from Hermione's parents, unaddressed envelopes, and (exciting a flutter in his chest) the ones addressed SS. Changing his mind, Snape rearranged the letters into chronological order. Thinking that if he were going to read Granger's correspondence, he might as well have them make sense.

Hands trembling slightly, Snape reached for the first one. The first of September 1992.

1/9/1992

Well I'm on the train. The countryside is so magnificent, Scotland is so much more beautiful than England. I'm so excited I can barely write, but I promised I would. I cannot wait to return. See Severus and Minerva, it's been such a long time without them I felt quite abandoned. I'm going to change into my robes. I read some really interesting books over the holidays; I find potions particularly so fascinating. I always thought I would want to go into medicine, and potions seem like the most similar in the Wizarding World. It also seems like the most magical; there is something so delightfully terrifying about the ability of potions. I want to ask Professor Snape if I can do some work with him for extra credit; I want to learn as much as I possibly can. I want to be able to do all the extraordinary things he must be able to. "Bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses," Terrifying but so so fascinating. I have missed him in a way, the last person I thought I would want to see again, but we were wrong about him last year, he wasn't working for You-Know-Who, and he tried to save Harry! I think he's actually rather nice he just pretends to be so mean; despite how rude he can be some of his comments are actually rather funny. I like his sarcasm; there is potential there for an enjoyable human. I just hope he is nicer when Harry isn't around. Despite saving him, he really does seem to hate him. We're drawing in! That actually went rather quickly, excited for another year.

- Hermione

Later

The Feast is over, and I'm all unpacked so I thought I would write a little more. Harry and Ron weren't avoiding me; they missed the train. I can't explain how happy I am. I honestly thought they'd forgotten about me over the summer. They're in the most awful trouble though, they flew a car to Hogwarts! I can't believe it. Ron shouldn't even know how to drive; I'm just glad they're okay. They said Snape was furious. He made them sit in his freezing office for hours until he got McGonagall when the Feast was over. Ron didn't even get to see Ginny sorted, and they had to have sandwiches instead of all that lovely food. It is so great to be back, a little overwhelming, which is why I'm glad of you my little friend. But it is so nice to be surrounded by people, summer was a bit lonely. I like the quiet, but even so, I missed people who actually remembered what I told them and asked about what I had been up to. Mum and Dad are wonderful, but they are very busy; running their own practice has taken a lot of time. Still, I don't mind; nobody ever died from a lack of attention. Goodnight, I don't want to be tired tomorrow.

- H

She missed him. She... she wanted to see him. Snape felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the girl.

Snape couldn't believe what he was reading. She missed him. Granger had admitted that for herself, she had written it down on paper. She actually liked what little of his personality he had shown her. His sarcasm. She liked it. An enjoyable human. She liked his company. Snape marvelled that someone who knew him so little could sense so much about his character.

He continued, she was glad the boys had remembered her (pity Snape thought savagely); she would be better off without them. She was lonely; that much was abundantly clear. Her parents didn't sound like they had much time for her; Snape felt uncharacteristically sad for the girl. Nobody ever died from lack of attention. Maybe that was why she had sought him out? Unconsciously, maybe she wanted someone to care for her? Snape dismissed this thought immediately. No one ever sought out him because they were sad or lonely. That was not his role.

Snape reached for the next letter, knowing now he was not stopping until they were all read. It almost felt as though she were here, sitting beside him on the threadbare carpet and talking about her first day of second year.

3/9/1992

He said yes! I'm going to have tutoring with Severus (I have decided it is too long to be writing out Professor every time). I can't wait, it will be so wonderful. He even offered to teach me how to speak nicely. I said my tutoring was 'not necessarily necessary', god, I feel like a bit of an idiot for that one. But I'm so excited. Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I thought I'd be lucky to get him one afternoon a week for about an hour, but apparently he was feeling exceptionally generous. Ahh, I can't stop giggling. I'm not sure why I am quite so ecstatic about it but I suppose… Well… it is rather nice for somebody to care enough to actually want to help me. I should go down to tea; Harry and Ron will wonder where I am.

- Hermione

Severus.

His heart jumped, and he smiled at the parchment, his first name. It's rather nice for somebody to care enough to actually want to help me. Granger was endearing. She was so straightforward; it was clear these letters were a recollection of her thoughts. Her personality leapt off the pages; Snape could hear her through them. She was adorable, nervous for their first lesson. Snape smiled at the memory; it was so simple but had been an experience he hadn't forgotten. They brewed a forgetfulness potion and shared a cup of hot chocolate. She hadn't eaten, and he had told her not to be consumed by her classwork. Granger was too dedicated for a thirteen-year-old; it concerned him slightly. Nothing too drastic had happened besides her collapsing on him, but the strain of work was only going to increase. As much faith as he had in Minerva, Snape felt like (no, he knew) that Granger would be able to fool her. He was a master at reading people, despite today proving his occlumency needed some work. She couldn't lie to him; if she did, he would know. He did know.

7/9/1992

It's so early, the sun only just but I couldn't sleep. I have my first lesson with Snape today after school. He didn't specify when but I don't think he is teaching last period, so I'll head over at about 4:20, don't want to look as though I've been looking forward to it all day. I'm all fidgety just thinking about it. I do hope he is in a good mood, I suppose I didn't really think of that. Funny, it's the first thing Ron or Harry think when Snape comes to mind. What if he's being awful? And I have to be cooped up with him for three afternoons a week. That sounds like hell. But I guess, if it will help me improve. And I don't see why he should be foul if it is just me after all I've never done a thing to him. Besides setting him on fire but he doesn't know I did that. And I think I'll keep it that way. I think I can get him to like me. I don't see why not. I think I'm going to go down and have an early breakfast; I've got Herbology first, so I'll just study in the Great Hall.

- Hermione

He read it again.

Snape felt as though he was filled with a warm glow; he couldn't understand why Granger was so kind. Contentment, she said, she was content in his presence. She said she could never be unhappy in that situation.

"She told me that the other day," Snape muttered. Like time stopped, was what she had said. By the implication of this letter, she didn't want it to stop. She was happy.

My mind couldn't help but wander towards Snape, well it probably could, but I didn't want to stop it. I was just so excited for the lesson, and I am again, but I know now he can be pleasant, more than pleasant in fact, he can be quite lovely.

Tears began to build in the corners of Snape's eyes. Nobody had ever called him lovely. He was not described like that. The letters felt almost fake, as though she had written them intending that he read. There must be some other reason why Granger had written them. Why. Why? He couldn't understand. Feverishly he continued to open letters.

8/9/1992

Well defence was a bit of a fiasco. But Lockhart is so clever. He has done so much, been all over the world fighting dark forces. I think he has a lot of potential to be a great teacher. It was great to have a hands-on lesson, and I was the one that stopped it all. I am, if I'm completely honest, really quite proud of myself. I had the idea to freeze the pixies, and in the end, we got them all back in their cage. It is a shame we don't have defence again this week; I suppose I'll have to wait until Monday. I can't wait!

- HG

9/9/1992

He gave me a book, annotated beautifully with notes making the potions better. Whoever it was ought to write a proper potions book with all these corrections. I don't understand why the ones published are even minutely close to incorrect it just seems too strange; how can you publish a book for teaching young witches and wizards and not have it be the most effective version of a potion? Anyway, I so appreciate Snape giving me that book; he was very quiet this time. Fire protection potions don't have a waiting time so everything was over in about an hour. Still, there is something. I like being around him. I know I hardly know him. I literally know nothing about his life his feelings, or anything. But he's just... comforting. Like someone I do know, like my father. I hate making that connection. Obviously, he's not my dad, but like... it feels somehow similar. How I want to impress him but also. Something else. I don't know what. We've Astronomy tonight at midnight so I'm going to take a nap now, make sure I have a little sleep.

Farewell,

Hermione.

Something about Lockhart, and she found him... comforting. What on earth? Snape was incredulous. What was wrong with this child? She should be afraid of him, not... comparing him to her father. How could she have gotten that impression? What happened to him. What happened to the man who killed and tortured people because he got spurned by his love? That man should never be a father; to compare him to one was an insult to fathers. At least Granger hated that idea as well. She had some semblance of intelligence left, some semblance of reason.

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

Snape began to chuckle. He could feel her anger but more so the frustration at herself for not being angry. He could tell and was exceedingly buoyed by the fact he could sense it (although not by the contents); she was so angry. It was adorable. But something tinted his mirth. Why couldn't he have just not cared like the rest of them? It seemed such a sad question, made all the more so by the small, neat, childish handwriting of Hermione Granger. Here was a child who was supposed to be the one that excelled, the brightest witch of her age and all that. But she obviously needed help, and no one could provide it. Granger wasn't one to ask for assistance; that much was painfully evident in her constant disregard for her health. But, something was clearly wrong.

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

"Aha!" Snape said, victorious; they were brewing Polyjuice. He knew it. Obviously, her failed transformation had been proof, but it was still satisfying to see the truth written in her delicate hand. He ignored the portion where she discussed how nobody else could read them, pushing down the guilt and shame.

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

Of course, Snape thought, noting the date. Boxing day. Granger was in the hospital wing. He felt a pang of sadness at hearing she had cried herself to sleep, despite her very nearly doing it in his arms. Snape treasured that memory, though he would never admit it. He felt as though for the first time he had actually helped her and, in the aftermath of his earlier panic attack, he thought (or rather hoped) that she had been very grateful for his presence. It had been a surreal experience, and he treasured it. He snickered at her looking forward to sitting in the hospital wing for weeks and reading.

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.

Tears fell gently from Snape's eyes as he read over her oddly objective account of her panic attack. She was right, his actions were so out of character he would have never known it were him. She called it surreal. Hearing Hermione recount it seemed to solidify the memory for Snape, like confirmation it actually happened and wasn't just a bizarre dream. Granger was very perceptive, Snape noted; even in her panic, she had noticed how close they were sitting, she noticed him resting his head on hers. He began to question if he had been too overt; he certainly couldn't explain or justify why he had done so. But... she said it comforted her, so surely it couldn't be that bad.

His breathing quickened slightly; it seemed so oddly inappropriate looking back. Why had he done that?

29/12/1992

I've almost finished all my homework for the holidays and it's only been a few days. I wrote a letter to my parents, thought it was best not to mention I was stuck in the hospital wing for trying to infiltrate a house as another student, but now I sort of don't have that much to do. I'm going to try and stay busy; time passes so slowly when you're bored. I think I'll just read. I was going to spend my holidays like that anyway. The boys are here most of the day anyway; I don't get lonely. I really hope I'm back to normal by the start of next term though, I don't want to miss any classes and I've actually been really enjoying my tutoring lessons with Snape. Anyway, I'm going to start my transfiguration essay before dinner.

31/12/1992

Gosh I've almost been here a week. But I'm so ahead on work now, and I am terribly happy about it. My transfiguration essay is done, and so is my charms and herbology. All my readings are up to date and the star chart Professor Sinistra set us is complete, so now all I have left is my history of magic essays (Binns set several) and my potions essay. Professor Lockhart didn't set any homework for the break, and I am so grateful. He said the holiday (Christmas) was about enjoying family and love and that is precisely what we should do. Still, I think I might write him one based on one of his books, I've been rereading them over the past week and his discoveries and achievements really are amazing. I left my potions essay for last because I want to do a really good job on this one. Since I have the time, I figured I would research it as much as possible and think very carefully about how I go about writing it. I like that Professor Snape is so hard to impress, it makes the good grades I get so much more satisfying, and I do get the feeling that he actually wants me to improve, and I want to because he does. It's really nice to have someone to believe in me, or at least have someone I can pretend believes in me. Mum and dad are always so busy it feels like they just take my grades for granted. And I want to do well but it doesn't seem to really matter; I feel like they would care just as much if I did horribly. And I feel weird saying to people or the boys that I want to do well to impress my teachers. I don't like them or anything I just really respect them. I'm glad I have this box; I don't want anybody to read them. Anyway, I have nothing more to say.

Bye.

Snape almost couldn't believe what he kept reading. She seemed to think about him so much. Considered him, what he said, so much. Why? What was her fascination? The snippets of her home life made him so sad. Did her parents not care? Brilliant students seemed to be made that way, but for some reason, he hated them for it. Granger was infuriating and impertinent, but they were her parents; surely, her talents and chatter meant something to them. Snape sighed; why would it? It meant nothing to his own father. Why would Granger be any different?

1/1/1993

New Years Day! 1993 I almost can't believe it. The boys snuck down here last night so we could spend midnight together. Nothing much has happened. I'm just here, waiting. Reading. I finished a couple books. Nothing to write home about.

Hermione

4/1/1993

School started today. Harry and Ron brang me all the homework for what I missed in classes, only one or two people have seen me so far, neither in my year which is good. I suppose the story will spread eventually. I just hope I can stand the shame. I want to hide my face in my hands every time someone walks through the door. It's bad enough all my teachers will now forever remember the time I was stupid enough to not research a potion properly before trying it on myself and faced the awful consequences of turning myself into a bloody cat. Anyway, I actually have something to do now, which is good. Also, Professor Lockhart brought me a get-well card today. It was mortifying having to see him but worth it for the card, "from your concerned teacher"; it makes me so happy to think he is concerned. He was so lovely and caring and just very nice. I've put the card under my pillow for now; it's nice to have it near, to remind me somebody is waiting for me to get better.

Hermione.

Snape instinctively reached for a quill to correct her spelling error before realising he was never supposed to reach them. He was unsurprised at the shame she felt; for someone who always wished to appear perfect, failing so obviously would have hurt a great deal. It must have damaged her confidence considerably. He snorted at the mention of Lockhart delivering the atrocious card he had found a few weeks later. Only Lockhart would deliver such a thing to a student; she was thirteen, for god's sake. He shouldn't be encouraging the crush she obviously had on him. She put it under her pillow! Disgusting, he thought.

15/1/1993

It seems ages since I've written but I'm still just in the hospital wing. Nothing has changed. Harry and Ron found my card today and Ron had a go at me for thinking Lockhart is any good; I think he's just jealous that Lockart's actually achieved something. So that was not particularly fun but I guess it was bound to happen eventually. I should have put it with the rest of you, but I wanted it near. Professor Snape came again today, dropping off my potion and a mountain of homework. No wonder Harry and Ron were grumbling; they had that lot to look forward to. Still, I'm all up to date, ahead even of my other classes. So I can work on it all this evening. I actually didn't mind Snape this evening; since I am no longer covered in fur, I could almost forget why he was delivering me a potion. He said something, which I just kinda smiled at, but it has stayed in my head. He said heed my warning next time. It wasn't really in a threatening way, sort of like, well, a suggestion that maybe he knows better than I do. Still, it seemed an odd thing to say, and I've remembered it. This is getting tiresome. There are only so many books I can read. I got Harry to fetch me an interesting one on Werewolves from the library that I've been spending my time with the last day or two. It is actually quite fascinating; Lycanthropy is what the disease is called, and the Ministry is really terrible with how they manage it. They regulate them as though they are magical creatures and not just humans with a disease. It reminds me a little of how the muggle world approaches addiction. It is a medical issue, but the government approaches it as though it is the fault of the person affected. And while in muggle addiction cases, yes, that may often be true, but it is near impossible for a werewolf to chose to be bitten. Even so. Realistically, how many werewolves decided they would go through all that pain every month (it's like a period but on steroids) just so that they could what? Affect pain on other people. They don't need to be a werewolf for that. It's illegal either way may as well take out the middle man of pain and torture just to kill some people. Anyway, it's actually been quite interesting; I'm thinking I might ask Snape his opinion on it someday, once I've solidified my knowledge base. The last thing I want to do is come off ignorant and lose an argument I start against him.

Bye, hermione

Snape felt sorry for her that those two imbeciles had discovered the card from Lockhart. However, he supposed she deserved it for keeping the eyesore under her pillow. He was glad she had remembered what he said. Obviously, she didn't connect it to the warning he had actually given when accusing her of stealing ingredients, but she held on to it anyway; eventually, maybe, some sense would get through. He couldn't help but smile at her outrage for werewolves. It was commonly agreed in academic circles that werewolves were treated abominably, but that didn't mean it would change any time soon. Still, if someone was going to change the world for marginalised people, it would be Hermione Granger. When she's older, I can teach her to make Wolfsbane, Snape thought distractedly. She had yet to ask his opinion on it; he supposed she hadn't solidified her knowledge base.

29/1/1993

I'm getting out tomorrow. My eyes have finally gone back to normal, but Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep me just in case they go back overnight like some of the fur did. But it's late, and I don't think they're changing back at all. I am so excited. I've been here a little over a month now and I am so sick of it. It's been like an extended holiday except without friends or family and only books for company. While I love books, I've missed my classes terribly, and I cannot wait to get back into the groove of school. Oddly enough, I find myself most looking forward to Potions, Transfiguration a close second tho. There is something so peaceful and satisfying about mixing the right potion. It seems like cooking, you can see the result of your labour at the end and it is so lovely. I've almost missed the snark of my tutor as well. I can't even remember what we were learning when the holidays began, but I do hope we can get right back into it. I'm too excited to write now. I'm just going to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until morning comes and I can leave.

H

2/2/1993

I can't write for long, I've got to get a start on my Transfiguration homework but I just wanted to note that harry showed me Riddle's diary last night. I was going to write then but we were up late and the girls had already gone to bed. It doesn't seem to have anything in it but it just has to have something to do with the Chamber of Secrets. The revealer should have worked, but it just didn't. There's got to be something in the library about the Chamber. I've looked before, but I think I'll go again tomorrow afternoon. I have my first lesson with Snape tomorrow; I'm oddly excited. Maybe he knows something. Binns wasn't all that helpful but Snape. Snape is a Slytherin. He's got to know something. Well then, I'll try Snape, and then I'll have a go at the library again.

Hermione

Snape was startled out of his vague musing that she shared his love for the peace of brewing potions when he read that harry showed me Riddle's diary. Riddle. It couldn't be a coincidence. Voldermort could talk to snakes; Harry was a parselmouth, as they all discovered at the duelling club; it couldn't possibly be a coincidence. Voldermort. Of course. Who else could it be?

Stunned by this unforeseen realisation, Snape stopped for a moment. Sitting with his back against the couch, Snape observed the scene around him. The fire was crackling as high as ever, and for the first time that even Snape realised he was actually hot. Letters were strewn about him, disregarded in his frenzy to consume them all at once.

"Riddle," He let out breathlessly. He couldn't bear to say his name now. Snape had honestly believed he had vanished, defeated by Potter. What was his diary doing turning up in Hogwarts? It shouldn't be here. Snape's hands shook slightly as he tried to once again loosen his collar. It can't be time yet? Dumbledore said the time would come but not yet. Surely not yet. He cast a Tempus.

Midnight.

He should go to Dumbledore; Snape knew that, but... there were a few letters left. He just wanted to finish them. He could not know what would happen once he was involved with Dumbledore and Voldermort. Snape shuddered; this could be his only chance to read them, his last chance to feel like somebody trusted him, liked him.

3/2/1993

I found out the most wonderful thing today, which I am just telling everybody I possibly can about. I can graduate early! I had the most wonderful conversation with Snape after my class and he said I can graduate at the end of sixth year if I'm good enough or in April of seventh. I'm so excited I can't believe it. He also said I can take OWLs and NEWTs (they both sound a little ridiculous, don't they) without ever taking the subject. I'm not sure I'd be good enough for that. But maybe if I take the classes for OWLs but not a couple for NEWTs, that could be an option. Ahh, I am so keen oh my god. I'm having a meeting with McGonagall tomorrow to talk it over further and I am so excited. Thinking about the future is so inspiring. For some reason, it never really sank in that I will actually have a future doing magic. Magic. Its all. All real. Its my future. And I am going to make it amazing wonderful brilliant. I will make it all of those things, and I will do it early. I will be the brightest witch of my age and I will graduate early. I cannot wait!

Farewell,

Hermione Granger.

Later.

I completely forgot I meant to ask Snape about the Chamber of Secrets. Drat. I got so sidetracked with school and the idea of just learning all of the stuff early that I forgot I actually had a thing I needed to do. Never mind. I've got him on Friday again, so I'll ask then. I've got two hours too, so maybe he'll pick a potion with a long waiting period. I do hope so. I've got to try and go to bed now. I only wrote this cause my mind wouldn't shut down and was just spinning until it eventually landed on this. But I should at least lie down, I don't want to wake Parvati or Lavender with the light.

Goodnight xx

The excitement of her letter couldn't reach Snape; all he could see was the depressing nature of a child who planned for the future. He had never had a plan himself; the war was already underway when he began Hogwarts. While he developed a deep love for potions, it never seemed prudent to plan for anything. It had been a shock to his system when the war suddenly ended in 1981; he hadn't expected to survive. To see Granger so excited, not knowing how much weight her last letter carried, was heartbreaking. Voldermort was still somehow working, ruining lives, but she had no idea. Blissfully unaware. Snape checked the date. Not three months later, this child brimming with optimism for the future would be lying like a statue in a cold hallway because of his carelessness. He felt sick.

4/2/1993

I had my meeting with McGonagall today, and she said she would help me. I'm so happy I can't stop smiling. It feels like such a drastic change from the last few weeks but I just feel like laughing all the time. I have two people on my side. Two people that are going to help me achieve my goals. Heh, almost like parents. I feel a little bad caring about them both, what they think of me, so much. It almost feels like a betrayal to my own parents. Of course, I love my parents; they're my parents. But it is so lovely and so comforting to have people care about me without the obligation of being my parent. I know family doesn't have to care about you (take harry), but parents who want to appear decent parents do have some sort of obligation to care for you and about you. I suppose I wonder if they would if I wasn't their daughter. I think the problem is I don't feel like they know. Being away all the time, I feel like I'm missing out on their lives. Like they'll grow old, and I will be a stranger. Anyway, I was happy. I'll return to that. I've got my lesson with Snape tomorrow. I might go to bed early tonight, so I can think up how I might approach the subject. I don't want to make him angry. I'm not sure why but I feel the chamber is something he might be a little sensitive to, being a Slytherin and all. Maybe I could pose it as though I'm upset or scared? And tell him that just knowing would make me feel better. He might believe that. If he's in a good mood, he might indulge me. I've been surprised this year; he's been actually kind of nice. I'm not sure why we were so intent on him being evil last year. He seems a perfectly trustworthy man. Anyway. I think I might try that tactic, see what comes of it. Otherwise I'll go to the library on Friday and have another look. I should write to mum and dad now, I haven't for a while, and I want to tell them all about Snape and McGonagall and my future.

Bye, Hermione.

Snape groaned at her gratitude to... the universe, it seemed. She was so grateful that people would help her it was almost pitiful. Did her parents not care at all? She was so heartrendingly remorseful that she was missing her parents' lives. It was their grief to bear that they were missing hers. Not the other way around. But... His mind couldn't go past it. She cared for him.

He felt his stomach shift; he had reached the letters marked with the small SS. Snape couldn't discern what exactly he was feeling, especially considering he did not know what the letters meant. But just seeing his initials printed in her small handwriting gave him a tiny flicker of hope. He did not receive many letters, including professional ones, and it felt as though somebody out there wanted his presence. Even if it wasn't Miss Granger, it definitely wasn't Miss Granger, he reminded himself (she was a damn student). Still, those little letters gave him a glimmer of hope. Actually, no, he corrected himself again; Miss Granger was precisely what he needed. Someone to care for from afar, someone that was as desperate for a parental figure and guidance as he was. Someone he could take care of without the responsibility of well being responsible for them. A parent without the title.

Shaking his head, Snape realised how completely ridiculous he sounded. He couldn't use a child like that.

Trying to dismiss the thoughts, he picked up the first letter.

5/2/1993

Dear Professor Snape,

Gosh, it feels so odd to write your name at the top of one of my letters. I feel like I should be writing to you but I just had to say how much I appreciated what you did this afternoon. I fell asleep in your class; I feel so bad about it, but something about your voice was so...silky(?) smooth, maybe? It just made me want to sleep but in a good way, not like Binns. I had thought you would be so terribly mad, I thought I'd ruined my chance to ask you about the chamber, but you were so lovely about it. SO nice about it I can't understand. You just woke me up and offered me tea. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. You seemed so concerned, but also, no, I don't think concerned is the right word, you were interested. You just seemed to care a little. You told me to take care of myself. My parents never even notice if I fall asleep reading; they never come to check on me after I've gone to bed. And you remember when you found me. It feels like such a long time ago but you remembered it. You've never bought it up again, never questioned me yelling at you (I think I yelled at you). You just acted like nothing had ever happened, and I appreciate it so much. It was so wonderfully normal but at the same time so unbelievably surreal. It feels like my lessons down in the dungeons don't exist to the outside world, like we just fade out of reality for an hour or two. I don't understand why you are so nice to me. I love it, but I don't understand it. You hate Gryffindors. You hate students in general (why you are still a teacher, I have no idea), so why? Why do you seem to care? But then again. You probably don't. I am just another student; I have to keep reminding myself of that. You must get paid extra to tutor me. I don't really know how the fees work, but maybe, that would make sense. Either way. You confuse me but I enjoy your company. There is something in everything you don't say that is just so pleasant to be around. Well, I am going to follow your advice now and get some rest; I really am exhausted. I think I will play some chess later with Ron maybe, or Harry – he's more at my level.

Goodbye, thank you.

His heart jumped as he read his name on the parchment. They were for him. Snape picked up the remaining letters and ran them through his fingers, all for him.

An uncharacteristic blush rose to his cheeks as he continued, remembering clearly what Granger was recounting for him. That day she fell asleep in class. His voice, she liked his voice. It was calming, calming. Calming. The word ran span around his head; she was calmed by his presence. No matter how many times he read that, no matter how many times she told him that through writing, he couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it.

She appreciated how much interest he had shown; she appreciated that he tried to care for her. He could feel the faint lines of a plan forming in his head. She... she...she loved when he was nice to her.

What was going on? What was happening? Surely, she couldn't...have a crush on him? No. That was ridiculous; she had just compared him to a parent. He was her teacher. He was awful to her. She should hate him, at least fear him. It would be more than a little concerning if she wound up having a crush on him. He couldn't let that happen.

Despite calming a little over Miss Granger's excessive praise, Snape found himself alert. His nerves felt frayed. He had no other description for it, and it had barely begun. He would have to endure a lot more before it ended, all the time not knowing if there was a life afterwards.

13/2/1993

Hello,

I obeyed your instructions this weekend. I haven't tried to get ahead in my work at all; I just got up to date and have been 'socialising', as you call it, with Harry and Ron. We've played a lot of chess, and then I read while they went and played Quidditch for hours on end. The Hogwarts library has a great collection of wizarding literature. I find it really useful cause since I obviously didn't grow up in a magical family, I don't seem to have the intuitive knowledge of the world most other people do. So yeah, that's what I did for the weekend; played chess, read, and slept. Tomorrow is Valentine's day. I feel stupid admitting this to you. I should have just written this one to myself, but oh well. I have a card for Professor Lockhart. Just to let him know how much I enjoy his classes and how much I think of his accomplishments. It makes me happy just thinking of it. Anyway, I should get some sleep ready for tomorrow. I did actually have a nice weekend.

Bye, Hermione Granger.

Snape had not considered the fact that Granger did not come from a wizarding family; he supposed the surprise at a house-elf should have given him the heads up, but for some reason, it didn't. Only she would justify reading by saying it was to learn how to integrate properly into society. A society that, at this stage, still implicitly regarded her as inferior. He smiled weakly at her card for Lockhart; really, her taste in men was most condemnable. He found himself glad she had obeyed his instructions and relaxed for a weekend, even if she still consumed books at what was probably a concerning rate. Snape felt a little guilty. He had been very rude on Valentine's Day.

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.

Snape grunted indignantly at her assessment that he was always in a dour mood on Mondays; she would be too if her weekend ended with idiotic children butchering your passion. Her criticism cut so deep, far more profound than it had at the time. She was disappointed. It wasn't even obscured frustration like earlier; he could feel the disappointment seeping through the page and into his chest. She was right. How dare he not care?

Snape got up, incensed, and began pacing his sitting room with the letter in hand.

"Oh, what about my future, you ask." He grabbed a stray vase and threw it into the fireplace. Flicking another silencing ward to his door, Snape screamed.

"I have no future! There is nothing there. Nothing at all. I am here because I failed, and Lily is dead." A decade later, the sentence pierced his heart like it did when he delivered the news to Dumbledore.

"You are right. You impudent little girl. There is nothing inside me. I am lifeless."

Snape fell to his knees, the occlumency shields finally falling as he was overwhelmed by emotions. Grasping his hair, Snape felt wetness on his cheeks.

"Lifeless," he whispered. "Just lifeless."

Springing to his feet, the ferocity of his anger not diminished, Snape bough his wand down to sweep across his arm. Slashing the white fabric of his undershirt. He paused.

For a moment, nothing happened. Snape thought he had just managed to tear the fabric. And then he saw it. Red began seeping into the linen, proof. Roaring in his agonising victory, Snape bought his wand down again and again. Until the sleeve was in tatters.

Clutching his left arm, Snape felt the blood dripping through his fingers onto the stone below him. A drop landed on his bare feet. Then several more.

Snape stood frozen as the pain began to make itself known. Thoughts of his induction came rushing back, and Snape remembered why he had never abused his left arm before now. With his shields down, memories of the war flooded his brain. Voldermort, revels, torture, torturing others, death, pain, blood. So much blood. And Lily.

"Lily, not lily."

His right hand dropped his wand as the tremor became uncontrollable. Snape reached for it but found he couldn't hold it. Beginning to panic in earnest, Snape attempted a wandless healing charm, feeling very lightheaded. It wouldn't work; he couldn't control his magic. Snape was scared. It was not often he felt entirely out of control.

He tried to walk towards the fire, suddenly cold, dropping to the floor once more as his knees gave out. Black spots entered his vision. The floo Snape realised; he had no other choice. He would pay for it later, but right now, he was concerned with little more than not passing out.

Using the fireplace as a crutch, Snape managed to raise himself to the mantle. Grabbing a handful of floo powder, he threw them into the flames, greeted by a familiar green. He stepped into flames, delighting in the warmth they offered.

"Hogwarts hospital wing." He cried weakly.

Stepping out, when he stopped spinning, Snape could no longer hold himself upright. Poppy would be notified, he was sure, she would have alerts for her floo, just like every other Professor.

He lay down on the carpet and closed his eyes.

"Evening Granger," Snape muttered before passing out on the rug.

A/N: Okay this was a mad effort. I got up 12 hours ago with 1500 words written and was concerned I'd have to pad it out. Please tell me what you think, I've never written anything like this and I know it's a delicate subject so I would love to know if I handled it okay, what I could change for next time. Thanks for all your comments so far. I really do cherish them.

Sprite xx