A/N: Right, reason for the 1am update is that Snape being really nasty (because that's a real shocker) seems to have distressed some of you. Okay, I know, Hermione doesn't deserve this, but Snape's space is his own and he's moody tonight!

Oh, and for those of you who expect this to become a HG/SS romance, it will, and it won't. I'm tired. It made sense to me.

Oh, and please don't be too offended by the Christmas comment. I just feel that old wizarding families (which make up most of the wizarding world) are more likely to be pagans than Christians. I could have said they celebrated Christmas because they were ensnared in the materialistic trappings of a global capitalist society (types she on her laptop), and have succumbed to the age of unbelief, but fun was easier to spell, when I thought about it.

Thanks for all the reviews - I love you all. Bye - Photis.

Chapter 7: Amends

As Snape strode towards Hermione, taking long purposeful steps, robes less than immaculate and flapping wildly, she backed away hastily.

She was absolutely terrified. Whatever progress had been made in the past days towards regaining her former self-assurance, it had now become totally irrelevant.

Not that she was sure that even an undamaged Hermione could have stood up to an angry Potions Master acting like a wounded bear. His features had moulded themselves into the look she remembered from the Shrieking Shack incident four years ago. Back then, she'd talked to him, tried to explain the situation, and had been told in no uncertain terms to shut up.

Right now silence, and getting out of his way were looking like the best options.

Except that the getting out of his way part was impeded by the bookcase behind her: Snape had backed her up to the wall, and continued to move closer, presumably for the kill.

When he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face, he finally stopped, and seemed to take a moment to compose himself. The folds of his robes brushed against her legs as he arranged them, and the expression on his face became marginally more impassive.

However, rather than being reassuring, the silence that accompanied this series of events was intimidating. He must know how afraid she was.

"How fitting, Miss Granger. The one time I am actually interested in the answer you were asked to give, and you have nothing to say." His voice was pure ice.

She knew she wanted to tell him that she'd waited because she was worried for him - that he was rapidly becoming the most important person to her at Hogwarts - but on this occasion, words indeed had failed her.

Instead, she did the only thing she could, and forced herself to look him in the eyes, which meant she had to shuffle her shoulders against the bookcase to look up, as he was so much taller than she.

Looking into his eyes gave her the familiar sensation of getting lost in empty, darkened tunnels that lead to only a deeper darkness. But this time she held his gaze longer than she had ever previously dared, and saw something else there.

"You're hurt."

"How observant of you. However you have yet to answer my question."

Okay, Hermione. Concentrate on breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Now think.

But when she finally opened her mouth to speak again, it was with a voice cracked in emotion.

"I was worried, and I - I, um wanted, um - I -" A pause. A ragged breath. "Oh, God, too close." The last words came out in a choked sob.

He finally seemed to realise what he was doing to her, or that realisation had just made it to the top of his priority list, and he backed away a step, looking at the panic written on her face. He seemed to wait for a heartbeat, perhaps to catch her if she fell, the crossed to his chair in front of the fireplace.

He sat with his head in his hands for a while, allowing Hermione to observe him properly. She noticed that he too was shaking.

For her part she stayed pressed up against the bookcase, unwilling to move just yet.

"I wanted to check that you weren't to badly hurt when you got back. I know that there's nothing I could do to help, but I couldn't just go back to my room and put you and your suffering out of my mind."

"I've told you what you need to do about my suffering."

"You still have to help me get my life back first. Well, I'll go away now."

"NO!" the harness with which he answered shocked them both, although it was Hermione that visibly flinched, "I mean, you don't have to go. As you've already broken in, stayed out past curfew and raised my blood pressure to dangerously high levels, you may as well stay a bit longer, that is."

"Okay" she replied, following his gesture and sitting down opposite him, shivering slightly.

"Are you cold?" Please let her be cold not afraid.

"Yes. Could you light the fire?"

He chuckled despite himself. "You mean you've made yourself at home poking round my rooms, but didn't dare light a fire?"

"Well," she said indignantly, "I didn't want any unexpected calls; I guessed this fire was on the Floo Network."

"I see. So it was fear of discovery that drove you to my rooms."

"Well kind of."

"I see. So you'd rather be discovered here and accused of being my lover, than in the classroom suspected of brewing illicit potions, or my office, pegged as a cheat."

"That's about it - but I brew my illicit potions in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"That would be the polyjuice, then."

"What? How did you? Why didn't you put me in detention?"

"Boomslang skin is only used for one thing in Hogwart's textbooks, and I was more than impressed with your abilities, so chose to overlook it."

"Aren't you going to ask who I impersonated?"

"I already know - Milicent Bulstrode's cat. Less than successfully, I recall."

Hermione's cheeks coloured red, but she grinned anyway.

"You just love knowing everything, don't you Professor?"

"Only as much as you do, Hermione. And as were trading such personal insults why don't you drop the formalities?"

"Okay, er -"

"Severus."

"Severus. Okay. You're still hurt. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. I presume you know the Cruciatus curse (here she paled slightly) works by blocking everything put pain for a while after it ends, so the victim feels the aches it produces, and nothing else."

"No, I didn't. Is it a time-lapse thing?"

"No, other sensations have to build up until they overcome the barrier left in place, then the pain fades with time, as it would with a normal injury."

"Oh."

A moments pause and then she stood and walked round the back of his chair. Ever so gingerly she began to touch his scalp with the very tips of her fingers. Immediately he braced. "Hermione, I -"

She cut him off. "My mum gets lots of migraines. She had me trained to do this by the time I was walking." He still wasn't relaxing. "It's alright, I tell anyone who asks I'm just trying to get better grades, not seduce you."

He grudgingly sat back against his chair, murmuring "Most generous of you."

She worked her fingers along his hair line and then down over his temples, only using the lightest of touches, just enough to register, but not enough to cause uncomfortable pressure. Then moving back up, she traced circles back through his hair, over the crown of his head, down, ending in short brushes at the base of his skull and in he soft hair on the back of his neck.

His breathing was slowly growing more regular and easier, as her fingers became slicked with the grease from his hair. Strangely enough, she didn't mind, the satisfaction she felt from helping him outweighing what would otherwise be truly disgusting.

After a while she fell into a pattern of motions and repeated them over and over allowing her thoughts to wonder as he seemed uninspired to talk more. She was here, she finally admitted because he had saved her. Not from jumping, but from that wild, uncontrolled run from the tower, and from spiralling depression that would have surely followed. He had drawn her out when she was in real danger of withdrawing within herself, with pertinent questions that she had answered to herself later, if not to his face at the time.

Eventually, she noticed that he was drifting towards sleep, and at the end of her cycle, lifted her fingers away. He murmured slightly, so she asked softly, "Have I done enough?"

"If I say yes will you stop?"

"Not if you want me to carry on."

"No, you've done enough." With which words he seemed to fall asleep.

As quietly as she could, Hermione retrieved her cloak, and headed for the door.

* * *

While she closed the door, he heard her mutter 'sweet dreams, Severus,' before leaving him alone.

Alone. Again. As always.

Not that it was her fault - if he hadn't have pretended to fall asleep, she would have stayed and talked all night.

He still had the bitter aftertaste of her fear in his mouth, although he had consciously tuned it out at the time. She had committed the unforgivable sin, invaded his private space, the buffer zone he kept around him to stop anyone getting emotionally of physically too close, and adding to the scars on his psyche. She had violated his refuge.

And it had taken her tears to prove to him that he didn't care. He'd rather she be there and happy, than somewhere else and crying over him.

He didn't deserve her tears.

On top of that, he could still feel the tingles her fingers had caused running over his scalp and down his spine. How she had been brave enough, or cared enough, to do that, he would never understand.

The aches of the Cruciatus were gone, replaced by a deeper, older ache of need and loneliness.

He didn't deserve her. He could never deserve her.

But she was better gone.

That way she'd get some sleep. And he'd be free to relieve himself of his throbbing erection, concealed by the robes.

With a supreme effort he got out of the chair and headed for the shower.

* * *

It was much later, as he finally got round to a review of the nights event, that he remembered he hadn't shared his discovery with her. The way that Voldemort had hinted that he was behind Potter's sudden change of character.

He wondered if that was the same explanation she had come up with, which she had wanted to tell him tonight.

He knew that she was desperately seeking his approval - the way she had glowed at his praise earlier in the evening was proof enough.

He owed it to her to hear her ideas out, and you never knew, she was quite capable of producing a stroke of genius.

After all, she was simply amazing. For a Gryffindor, of course.

Picking up his quill, he began to write, as expressively as he could.

* * *

The letter was waiting for her at breakfast, as was Snape.

When she retrieved the letter and noted the handwriting, she looked up to the head table to see him looking at her.

A ghost of a smile crossed his face.

She began to read;

Dear Hermione,

I should begin with my sincerest thanks for your skills - they turned out to be invaluable. Your mother must dread being without you.

I suppose I should also apologise for falling asleep before you had chance to tell me your theories. I am still keen to hear them, especially now I have a few ideas of my own on the subject, gleaned from various . . . meetings.

If your work is heading where I think it is, it will be less of a fairy story and more of a fairytale ending. I feel privileged that you want me to be a part of it.

As today is Saturday, I suppose you had noticed, there are no lessons, but I keep office hours for any student who should need to see me. If you were not too offended by my behaviour last night, I would appreciate a visit.

To discuss the ideas I mentioned, of course.

Yours hopefully

Professor S. Snape (Severus)

Hermione looked up and grinned, only to find him gone.

Foolish man, she thought, so insecure he can't even bare to wait for my reaction. He'll just sit at his desk and lurk in his dungeon and sulk till I show up.

Still, this letter was a vast improvement on the last one, and showed some improvement in his usually dour outlook on life.

And, better yet, he wanted to help her work on her theory.

It just went to show that every cloud has a silver lining. She'd get to do the research she'd spent a good few years pining to do, and earn the respect of the teacher she most desired to impress.

Breakfast forgotten, she bolted back to Gryffindor Tower to fetch her notes.

It was time for the war-council to convene.