A/N: Thanks to those who have reviewed already! I appreciate every one of your comments! ~Sara
Chapter 2
The silence in the dungeon workroom was so complete, Hermione fancied she could hear her Professor's anger churning in his stomach. She watched him stare morosely into his cauldron, her concern for him deepening and growing until she felt she'd burst with it. His harsh announcement had shocked her so thoroughly that she had forgotten how to breathe for several terrible seconds. Her own potion had long since been finished, stoppered, and delivered to the hospital wing but she hadn't wanted to leave the Potions Master in his current state. For the first time in years, she was afraid of what he might do to himself. After all, she knew all too well what he could do in a fit of melancholy.
Three years later, she still couldn't say what had drawn her to Professor Snape's office that cold December night. She had been in the common room of Gryffindor tower playing exploding snap with Ron and Harry, smiling at the celebrations going on around her. It had been the end of term and just one week after Harry had defeated Voldemort for what everyone knew was to be the final time. Harry still looked the worse for the wear, a bandage covering his scar which had burst open and bled for two days after the battle. His arm was still stiff and bandaged though Madame Pomfry had mended the break with a quick flick of her wand and he could barely walk what with the bruises covering nearly every inch of his body. Despite his injuries, Harry was the happiest Hermione had ever seen him and her heart ached with his joy.
Surrounded by happiness and warmth, Hermione had jumped in shock when a wave of cold descended upon her. No one else had seemed to notice but her heart skipped a beat as she felt despair so deep it hurt wash through her and she knew something in the castle was terribly wrong. She had stood quickly, dumping her cards and Crookshanks to the floor, and bolted for the portrait hole, Harry and Ron calling after her urgently. Once out in the hall, the portrait swinging shut over her friends' increasingly frantic calls, she'd begun to run.
Her feet had taken her to the door of Snape's office and for a brief moment she felt beyond foolish for what she was about to do. But as the icy feelings covered her again, she threw open the door and stopped just across the threshold. At first she thought he was merely sitting in the chair behind his desk, his head resting against the back, his eyes closed. Then she'd noticed the knife lying loosely in his hand and the blood pouring from a wound on his lower arm, the loss of which was causing his pallid skin to turn an even sicklier shade of white. With a short cry, she had rushed to his side, knocking shelves from their cases in her haste.
She was horrified at the state of her Professor's arm. Even as she'd torn a strip from the bottom of her robes to press against the wound, she'd wondered what could bring a man to such self destruction. The skin of his forearm was completely shredded to ribbons except for the dark mark which was angry red and visibly throbbing. Hermione fought against the urge to vomit and pushed her swatch of black fabric firmly against the copious flow of blood.
"Blimey, what's he done to himself?" The whispered question was harsh and loud in the stillness of darkened room. Hermione looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway, his eyes unbelieving as he took in the sight before him. Panic began to beat against her brain as the blood continued to drain and Ron continued to stare.
"Ron!" Her voice was shrill and high; she barely recognized it. "Ron, the fireplace! Use the Floo Powder, get McGonagall!" Her fingers were slick with blood as fear welled up inside her, choking her with its intensity. She heard Ron's voice break as he stammered to Professor McGonagall. It seemed like an eternity before a group of professors emerged from the fire and took Snape away from her but it was only a matter of moments. When they were gone, she felt the silence close around her and Ron's voice had echoed through as she'd fainted dead away.
****
The growl of her stomach had brought her firmly back to the present and the memories of that dark night faded away. Professor Snape was still sitting behind his cauldron but now he was watching her, his expression unreadable. She half smiled at him and returned her eyes to the notes she'd been trying to take before her mind had wandered to the past.
"Miss Granger, it is now one quarter past eleven at night. Why are you still here?" His voice was smooth and calm as it broke the eternal silence.
She glanced up toward him and shrugged. "I didn't feel as though you could be trusted not to completely botch that potion you've been brewing for a week, Professor."
"You are beyond impertinent," he sneered but there was no malice behind it. "You are also here on your night off. What does Mr. Weasley think of that?"
"It's none of your business, of course, but I have…" She hesitated. "I've broken it off." The change in Snape's expression was imperceptive but she could feel his question before he asked it.
"Though I can't deny I am delighted," he informed her in a monotone and she snorted. "I can't help but find myself wondering why."
She rolled her eyes. "Ron is and always has been a man with a child in his eyes. Compared to our scintillating conversations about the properties of dragon dung, Quidditch seems so juvenile." Distractedly, she shoved her quill into her tangled mass of hair and avoided his gaze. "I found him with another woman."
"Fascinating." In his current mood, Snape was not surprised at the hot anger that licked through him at her quiet confession. Since the night he had woken up in the hospital wing after trying to cut that infernal mark out of his life, he'd been oddly protective of the young woman now fidgeting with her hair. His opinion of Hermione's choice of partner had never been high and he'd informed of this several times, always in the acid tones she remembered from her school days. He could just imagine how the scene had played out. Weasley had most likely staged it in the hopes Hermione would react with a shrieked "Get your filthy hands off my man!" When she'd failed to react, the boy had probably become angry and hurt her unnecessarily. His hands clenched tightly beneath the desk.
"Actually, I'm glad," she sighed, interrupting his murderous thoughts. "I'd been looking for an excuse to set myself free. I walked in and dropped the key on the both of them while Ron stared at me stupidly."
"Ah, I see." He felt an uncharacteristic flash of embarrassment at her words and returned his attention to his cauldron. Silence reigned for several minutes and he heard her begin to pack her things away with a vague sense of relief.
Hermione hefted her satchel onto her shoulder and glanced at the dark figure hunched over the table. As she watched him stir the potion bubbling in the thick black cauldron, it suddenly occurred to her that she knew very little about him despite the time they spent working in the dungeon together. His announcement earlier had floored her and she realized that if she left the room, they would never speak of it again. As the time crept towards the midnight hour, Hermione dropped her bulging bag of books to floor and strode over to Snape's worktable. As she had done so many times during her apprenticeship, she perched herself on the edge of the table and watched her professor. When he looked at her, one eyebrow raised, she forced herself to draw forth all of the Gryffindor courage she possessed and throw caution to the wind.
"Tell me about what happened with Persia," she said and held her breath.
Chapter 2
The silence in the dungeon workroom was so complete, Hermione fancied she could hear her Professor's anger churning in his stomach. She watched him stare morosely into his cauldron, her concern for him deepening and growing until she felt she'd burst with it. His harsh announcement had shocked her so thoroughly that she had forgotten how to breathe for several terrible seconds. Her own potion had long since been finished, stoppered, and delivered to the hospital wing but she hadn't wanted to leave the Potions Master in his current state. For the first time in years, she was afraid of what he might do to himself. After all, she knew all too well what he could do in a fit of melancholy.
Three years later, she still couldn't say what had drawn her to Professor Snape's office that cold December night. She had been in the common room of Gryffindor tower playing exploding snap with Ron and Harry, smiling at the celebrations going on around her. It had been the end of term and just one week after Harry had defeated Voldemort for what everyone knew was to be the final time. Harry still looked the worse for the wear, a bandage covering his scar which had burst open and bled for two days after the battle. His arm was still stiff and bandaged though Madame Pomfry had mended the break with a quick flick of her wand and he could barely walk what with the bruises covering nearly every inch of his body. Despite his injuries, Harry was the happiest Hermione had ever seen him and her heart ached with his joy.
Surrounded by happiness and warmth, Hermione had jumped in shock when a wave of cold descended upon her. No one else had seemed to notice but her heart skipped a beat as she felt despair so deep it hurt wash through her and she knew something in the castle was terribly wrong. She had stood quickly, dumping her cards and Crookshanks to the floor, and bolted for the portrait hole, Harry and Ron calling after her urgently. Once out in the hall, the portrait swinging shut over her friends' increasingly frantic calls, she'd begun to run.
Her feet had taken her to the door of Snape's office and for a brief moment she felt beyond foolish for what she was about to do. But as the icy feelings covered her again, she threw open the door and stopped just across the threshold. At first she thought he was merely sitting in the chair behind his desk, his head resting against the back, his eyes closed. Then she'd noticed the knife lying loosely in his hand and the blood pouring from a wound on his lower arm, the loss of which was causing his pallid skin to turn an even sicklier shade of white. With a short cry, she had rushed to his side, knocking shelves from their cases in her haste.
She was horrified at the state of her Professor's arm. Even as she'd torn a strip from the bottom of her robes to press against the wound, she'd wondered what could bring a man to such self destruction. The skin of his forearm was completely shredded to ribbons except for the dark mark which was angry red and visibly throbbing. Hermione fought against the urge to vomit and pushed her swatch of black fabric firmly against the copious flow of blood.
"Blimey, what's he done to himself?" The whispered question was harsh and loud in the stillness of darkened room. Hermione looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway, his eyes unbelieving as he took in the sight before him. Panic began to beat against her brain as the blood continued to drain and Ron continued to stare.
"Ron!" Her voice was shrill and high; she barely recognized it. "Ron, the fireplace! Use the Floo Powder, get McGonagall!" Her fingers were slick with blood as fear welled up inside her, choking her with its intensity. She heard Ron's voice break as he stammered to Professor McGonagall. It seemed like an eternity before a group of professors emerged from the fire and took Snape away from her but it was only a matter of moments. When they were gone, she felt the silence close around her and Ron's voice had echoed through as she'd fainted dead away.
****
The growl of her stomach had brought her firmly back to the present and the memories of that dark night faded away. Professor Snape was still sitting behind his cauldron but now he was watching her, his expression unreadable. She half smiled at him and returned her eyes to the notes she'd been trying to take before her mind had wandered to the past.
"Miss Granger, it is now one quarter past eleven at night. Why are you still here?" His voice was smooth and calm as it broke the eternal silence.
She glanced up toward him and shrugged. "I didn't feel as though you could be trusted not to completely botch that potion you've been brewing for a week, Professor."
"You are beyond impertinent," he sneered but there was no malice behind it. "You are also here on your night off. What does Mr. Weasley think of that?"
"It's none of your business, of course, but I have…" She hesitated. "I've broken it off." The change in Snape's expression was imperceptive but she could feel his question before he asked it.
"Though I can't deny I am delighted," he informed her in a monotone and she snorted. "I can't help but find myself wondering why."
She rolled her eyes. "Ron is and always has been a man with a child in his eyes. Compared to our scintillating conversations about the properties of dragon dung, Quidditch seems so juvenile." Distractedly, she shoved her quill into her tangled mass of hair and avoided his gaze. "I found him with another woman."
"Fascinating." In his current mood, Snape was not surprised at the hot anger that licked through him at her quiet confession. Since the night he had woken up in the hospital wing after trying to cut that infernal mark out of his life, he'd been oddly protective of the young woman now fidgeting with her hair. His opinion of Hermione's choice of partner had never been high and he'd informed of this several times, always in the acid tones she remembered from her school days. He could just imagine how the scene had played out. Weasley had most likely staged it in the hopes Hermione would react with a shrieked "Get your filthy hands off my man!" When she'd failed to react, the boy had probably become angry and hurt her unnecessarily. His hands clenched tightly beneath the desk.
"Actually, I'm glad," she sighed, interrupting his murderous thoughts. "I'd been looking for an excuse to set myself free. I walked in and dropped the key on the both of them while Ron stared at me stupidly."
"Ah, I see." He felt an uncharacteristic flash of embarrassment at her words and returned his attention to his cauldron. Silence reigned for several minutes and he heard her begin to pack her things away with a vague sense of relief.
Hermione hefted her satchel onto her shoulder and glanced at the dark figure hunched over the table. As she watched him stir the potion bubbling in the thick black cauldron, it suddenly occurred to her that she knew very little about him despite the time they spent working in the dungeon together. His announcement earlier had floored her and she realized that if she left the room, they would never speak of it again. As the time crept towards the midnight hour, Hermione dropped her bulging bag of books to floor and strode over to Snape's worktable. As she had done so many times during her apprenticeship, she perched herself on the edge of the table and watched her professor. When he looked at her, one eyebrow raised, she forced herself to draw forth all of the Gryffindor courage she possessed and throw caution to the wind.
"Tell me about what happened with Persia," she said and held her breath.