A/N: All of the slush I have stored in Media Player has been my muse today (Special thanks to Whitney and Genesis), so here is a third chapter full of melancholy angsty slushy goodness. I have the next two chapters virtually planned out, they won't be long . . .

Small errors in the first two chapters have been corrected.

Thanks to everyone who reviews, I love you guys, you make me want to write more (and that must be a good thing, right? Right?)

***

Hermione felt as if a great dam within her had burst, she was powerless to stop it. Her tears came, and then the sobbing began as she desperately tried to catch her breath. She could not cope with the myriad of emotions that were assaulting her; she could not believe that this had been done to her.

She was dimly aware of Snape's impassive presence next to her whilst she put her face into her hands and cried; she half expected him to leave but he did not. She could sense his unease but ignored it, and him. The deep silence was punctuated only by her hiccupping sobs.

She had been crying a few minutes when he at last decided to offer her comfort. He murmured to himself for a few seconds, again cleaning up her broken cup, and when that was done he rose silently from his chair, dropping to his knees in front of her. With two gentle tugs he had pulled her hands away from her face, holding them in his own, looking sadly upon her crumpled and tearstained face.

"Oh, Hermione," his voice was unexpectedly gentle and in one fluid movement he had gotten to his feet, pulling her up with him. She swayed on her feet, closing her eyes and leaning into him in sad defeat and he stiffened, unaccustomed to such close physical contact with anyone. She rested her head on his shoulder, turning her face into his neck and several hot tears slid from her cheeks, beneath the collar of his white dress shirt, and onto his skin. Severus sighed and hesitated before wrapping one arm around her slim waist and pulling her closer, sliding his free hand into the waves of her hair to cradle her head gently. Hermione made a small snuffling noise, and her sobbing resumed in earnest.

Severus held her. Held her and waited. He was surprised to find himself in this situation, he should have been uncomfortable, and he should not find this as easy as he did. But the truth was, it *was* easy. She felt so natural in his arms, like she could belong there if she stayed long enough. He lowered his head to hers, feeling her hair tickle his nose. It touched him so strangely, he could not put words to the way it made him feel, and instead he stood still with the sobbing woman in his arms and waited her out.

Patience was a virtue that Severus had learned the hard way, and he was fully prepared to put it to good use, but to his surprise her tears were remarkably short lived. He found himself wanting to hold her long past the point when her sobs subsided, but when she abruptly stiffened in his arms he knew he had to let her go. He dropped his arms to his sides, taking a small step back as he did so. She stood alone for a moment, shakily wiping her tears on the sleeves of her robes, and then slid neatly to the floor next to the fire, bringing her knees up to rest her chin on them whilst she stared into the flames. A few minutes passed before she stared up at him with resigned eyes and he silently joined her on the floor.

"I miss him." Hermione whispered at length. "I miss him every day."

"Did he . . ." Severus was hesitant. "Did he know, Hermione? Did you tell him?"

Her laugh was hollow. She shook her head.

"There was never a time. Harry never felt the same way about me."

"I am sorry, Hermione." He found himself sincere in the face of her pain.

"It hardly matters now, does it?" She was bitter, refusing his sympathy. He understood.

"If it still pains you, it matters." He saw her eyes flash as something angered her.

"I would prefer not to revisit the past." She said tightly.

"Then you will never let it go."

He looked at her steadily, without malice. She stared back at him angrily.

"What do you know about it?"

"Plenty." He crossed his arms across his chest defensively.

"Such as?" She leaned towards to him, he caught the scent of her hair, and took a deep breath.

"You're not the only one to lose something precious to them. I lived a lie for years, Hermione. Years. A decision that I made when I was eighteen effectively ruined *my* life. I've wallowed in self pity and bad humour for the rest of it. You don't need to be like me." His voice was brisk, his eyes hard. The truth could be such a sad thing, and the realisation that he had screwed up his life had come long before this. He had never managed to admit it to anybody else. Until now. It was perhaps the longest speech he had ever made to her, to anyone, on the subject. He was relived to find that it did not pain him as it once had.

Hermione was staring at him, eyes wide. She had more in common with him than she could have imagined. She looked at his strong profile, able to feel sorrow for him for the first time. It was . . . odd, she realised.

"You don't need to be like me." He repeated. "Whatever your mistakes, whatever your loss, you don't have to shut yourself away from the world."

"But it's the only way that I can survive!" She protested heatedly.

"Wrong." He shook his head emphatically; she saw some of the Professor of old. "Wrong. To live is to feel, Hermione. If you care for nothing then what is the point?"

"I did care! But Harry . . . it was . . . I was . . ." She struggled for the words to explain.

"Did you feel that you were not allowed to love him? That it was in some way forbidden?" He was touching a nerve, he could see it in her face.

"He was not for me," she flushed suddenly. "Ginny . . . he loved Ginny." Severus saw the reasons for her pain, her conflict then. She had been in love with a man who had loved someone else. She had been overlooked, and for a close friend at that. Her feelings had been carefully stored away, never resolved and certainly never acknowledged like this.

"We cannot choose whom we love." He told her. "It was not your fault."

"After he died she grieved for him in a way that I never could," Hermione continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "And I was almost . . . jealous of her. If I envied her when he was alive it was ten times worse after he died." She bit her lip. "How horrible is that? What kind of person does that make me? She was devastated and I couldn't comfort her because I was too busy missing something I never had!"

"It was a long time ago," Severus spoke slowly and quietly. "And it does not make you a terrible person. It just makes you human. For whatever you perceive your crimes as, I think you've paid for them long enough. But it is all in the past. You cannot change any of it; no matter how much you might wish to."

Hermione covered her mouth with her hands. A strange keening sob came from her throat, and fresh tears filled her eyes. She collapsed against him, he gathered her into his arms without hesitation this time.

"You must be strong," He murmured into her hair. "You must face this and move on."

"I know," her voice was muffled by clothing and tears. "I know."

He looked down at her shaking form and wondered if they might come to a sort of understanding this night. He saw her struggle, saw how it mirrored his own in many respects, and he did not think less of her. On the contrary, he found that he now had a grudging admiration for her.

Her tears were brief, and when she pulled away she even managed a watery smile. Her tired face seemed to light up fleetingly, it was at least a positive sign.

"I'll be okay." She managed quietly.

"Good." Severus reluctantly climbed to his feet, and stared down at her thoughtfully.

"Honestly," she assured him without shifting her gaze from the floor. "What you've said is true. I trust your opinion, and . . . I'm glad you were the one I shared this with."

She was paying him a compliment, Severus could not believe it. In all of the years they had known each other neither had chosen to bestow a single word of praise upon the other, until now. The very nature of this conversation and meeting had changed irrevocably the way they each saw the other.

"Thank you," he said softly, and then stiffened, slipping easily back into his 'fearsome professor' persona. "Feel free to talk to me further, if you should require it."

She looked up then, knowing that the barriers were once more in place, and nodded.

"I will."

They both knew that she would not, but it felt better saying it somehow, like he needed to hear the words as much as she wanted to speak them. His smile was slow and mocking as he walked to the door that would let him out into the corridor. Hermione got to her feet and followed him to it, opened it.

"Good night, Hermione." He said. She hesitated, seemingly torn between saying something else and remaining silent. Choosing the latter, she nodded and watched as he left the room without a backward glance and made for the stairs. Closing the door, she leant against it and drew a shaky breath.

It was going to be another long, wakeful night.