A Rose By Any Other Name.

By Kes.

Disclaimer: As ever, nope, I am not JKR. Sorry to disappoint.

After their trip out, having settled down to the idea of going out and about again, Hermione had slept well that night. Despite being alone in the infirmary, part of her felt warm and fuzzy, content with the fact that Severus at least seemed to care for her. Of course, she could have been reading it all completely wrong, but hoped that she was right.

The next morning as she was getting dressed, Hermione mulled over what had occurred the previous day. She had gone outside in public, for the first time in a few weeks. Yes, she had ended up having a mild panic attack, but she thought she had done quite well. Yes, she had hyperventilated every time she had seen someone look at her, or whenever she had gone outside of a shop on her own, she became jumpy.

She was now dressed and ready for breakfast and so she made her way to meet the staff. As she wandered lethargically towards the Great Hall, she mulled over her new feelings. She was not used to this at all.

Thinking back, she realised that the last time she had felt this – she supposed 'giddy' - was with Lockhart. Admittedly, she had only been about twelve at the time and so could not be wholly blamed for falling for someone so obviously entirely wrong for her. Even after that fiasco, she had had a hard time forgiving herself for it, even at the tender age of twelve. And, of course, there was Viktor in her fourth year. 'Going out' - if you could call it that - with a man who could hardly pronounce your first name correctly, and whose main line of conversation was about charms that could make his broom go faster without messing up his hair just was not what Hermione called a good idea.

Then there had been Ron. They had decided to have a go at being a 'couple', but after the disastrous first kiss, and Ron's attempt at a little bit more, they had decided to just be friends, although Harry had told her recently what she already knew - that Ron still had feelings for her. The only problem was, they were not reciprocated. Fleetingly she realised that she had not had a reply to the rather disorganised letter she had sent them. Had she sent it? Now she was not so sure…I'm really not back to myself yet. I suppose I'll have to send a letter if I don't get a 'reply' soon…

But now it was a tall, dark, handsome man with a voice that could send shivers down her spine with a simple "Could you pass the coffee please?" in a gravely tone. No one had ever had this effect on her before. Not even Ron. She felt slightly guilty, as she saw the looks Ron still gave her over their cornflakes. She sighed audibly as she walked towards the Head table. What was she going to do?

"Something wrong Miss Granger?" She closed her eyes briefly at the sound. Mm...that voice.

"G-good morning Professor." She sat down shakily as he gave her a puzzled glance. Minerva grinned at the rising blush in Hermione's cheeks. The other women also seemed to notice it. They had all been affected - at some degree or another, even those supposedly old enough to know better - by Severus' velvety voice, and had been waiting to see how long it would be until Severus ensnared his next victim.

Of course, the man in question was totally oblivious to the effect his voice had on the opposite sex.

Breakfast went without a hitch. Unless you count Hermione's breath continually hitching in her throat every time the man next to her - far too close for her liking - spoke. She did not like this sensation one bit; she could not control her reactions any more. Whilst part of her was excited, she was scared he would notice.

As Hermione reached for some more orange juice, it suddenly dawned on her that she was wearing the same top that she had when she had spoken to Professor Dumbledore about her mother's funeral. How she had remembered, she was unsure. But she knew of it.

This triggered memories of her mother, both the good and the bad. Her mother cowering by the oven in the kitchen as her father yelled at her with a knife in his hand - he had never actually used it, liking far more the satisfying sound beneath his own hands at the sound of bones breaking. Then there were the happy ones. Usually when her father was away, or when he was on a 'happy fix' as she had called them. But even these moments were occasionally littered with the memory of her continual on-edge fear of what to and not to say.

She swallowed deeply and took in a few extra breaths.

"Ex-excuse me." She said quickly as she rose from the table in a hurried manner and practically ran from the Great Hall. Severus automatically rose to follow her, but was gently held back by a hand on his arm from Professor Dumbledore. He looked curiously at the older wizard with a look of annoyance and the look that was returned was one of understanding.

"I know Severus. But no. You can't go. Let her have her cry out. I'd follow her too, you know that - " He defended as he saw the angered look he received. "But I think that she needs to be alone right now."

Grudgingly, Severus sat back down, knowing that Dumbledore was as right as ever, glad that they at least had that life-essence charm on her to check that she would not do anything silly.

Hermione stood by the lake, silent. The lake she had been placed at the bottom of during her fourth year for Viktor. The dunce. I could've had myself and everyone else out much quicker than him. And as for 'Macho Harry, The Testosterone Kid', honestly! He wasn't much better...Did he honestly think that Professor Dumbledore would let us die? The silly boy...

She started to giggle quietly to herself. That's the first sign of madness Hermione. And, you're talking to yourself... She sighed.

Her mind flashed forwards a year from her temporary habitation of the lake, to when she received her OWL scores. Eleven Outstandings, naturally. She was proud of herself and the hard work she had put into achieving them. Her mother cried when she got home. Anne was so proud of her daughter. They had decided not to tell her father, he would not have wanted to know…

It was about six weeks ago. Six weeks since her father had killed her mother. And, after a speedy trial, her father was discovered to be a wizard (a squib, but still a wizard) and packed off into Azkaban faster than she could jump up and down in hysterical laughter.

She had not yet visited her mother's grave.

She could not bring herself to.

But she knew she would, eventually. In her own time. She just needed some time.

And right now, she had plenty of that. She had done all of her homework, if not a little more. Staying at Hogwarts definitely had its advantages. She was able to ask the teachers for help and advice regarding her homework. She had even asked Professor McGonagall for animagi training.

As she stood there, reflecting on her past triumphs, and her mother's face, beaming with unabashed pride at her daughters achievements brought tears to her young eyes that had seen far too much hardship in too short a time.

A dark figure was walking slowly towards the lonely girl as he quietly watched her. She was standing at the edge of the lake, looking outwards but not really seeing the lake. He had heard her laugh gently and had decided that he liked the sound. Severus became resolved to hear it more often.

With her light brown curls swaying gently in the light wind, and her cloak swishing about her ankles, she was the vision of beauty.

But this was swept quickly away...

She screamed.

"Bloody merpeople!" He heard her curse before her body was pulled under the water. He quickened his pace, but when he arrived, she was hacking and coughing in an undignified manner attempting to get the excess water out of her lungs.

In between her deep heaving breaths, he could hear a variety of colourful curses coming out of her seemingly innocent mouth. He heard a few that he recognised as curses of the Weasley clan and smiled gently, laughing to himself.

He knelt down beside her and raised an eyebrow. "Do you require assistance Miss Granger?"

Her brown head shot up, eyes blazing. "No, it's all right thank you. I can inhale water just fine by myself, but thanks all the same." Realisation appeared on her features as it dawned on her who she was back-chatting to. She blushed. "I'm-I'm sorry Professor..." She's blushing and stammering an awful lot lately. Perhaps it's because of me... No, Severus, be serious. Between you and the athletic boy-who-lived, who do you think would win the contest?

As they both sat there, him kneeling, she squatting on the floor heaving for deep cleansing breaths, they hardly looked like the conventional couple. However, as Severus helped her slowly up to her feet, his hand lingering on the small of her back a little longer than was necessarily required, and her grateful smile as he gently pushed her damp hair out of her eyes as he cast a drying charm, they made the perfect picture.

High up in a tower above them, Professor Dumbledore, complete with twinkling eyes covered with half-moon glasses was looking at them, smiling serenely to himself.

Why am I even here? I never fly. Oh well, I need a little more fresh air I guess. And I dare not go anywhere near that damned lake again...

Hermione unlocked the broom shed with a quick flick of her wand and selected a broomstick. She locked the door again and walked out slowly towards the middle of the Quidditch pitch. I haven't been here since I did that spell on Harry's glasses. I'm usually on the side-lines...

She silently mounted her broom as she contemplated the fact that her Quidditch life exactly mirrored her life with Harry and Ron: She was just there to help, get them out of tricky situations with her intelligence, but other than that, she was just the voice of reason and restriction. She was never really allowed to have her own adventures. I suppose I'll always be seen as the (perhaps clever, if they remember) "little muggle-born friend of the Boy Who Lived and his pure-blooded sidekick". No matter what I become, I'll always be seen as a mudblood. Dear God. Malfoy's right!

She lifted herself up from the ground hesitantly, broom shaking slightly. After a few moments she got the hang of it and began to slowly move the broom around, a few meters forward, a few meters back…

Even with Voldemort gone, I'm still looked down upon, as if I'm a lesser person just because I'm not a 'pure-blood'...not officially anyway. Fudge said that my dad's real blood-line would be disgraced, even though they'd have a good witch in their family. Admitting my father is a squib would be worse than him being a muggle.

By this time, she had successfully raised her broom about twelve feet into the air, and was currently hovering. She then managed to fly around the pitch a few times. This is more than I can usually accomplish! Harry and Ron would be so proud... She grinned from ear to ear and she did a - wobbly - figure of eight and a loop-de-loop.

She stopped suddenly, jerking the broom and her hair flying into her face. No. They wouldn't. They'd probably see it as yet another thing I've accomplished, even if it is a big thing, for a muggle-born...

Hermione looked down. She was high, very high. Oh my god. She floated downwards with as much grace as she could muster, proud with herself that she could do it. Even though no one was watching. Even if they were, they'd just say an obligatory 'Well done Hermione, of course you did it. You're Hermione.' It's not fair. Just because I'm clever doesn't mean that I find things easy.

When she landed, she was annoyed at people who were not even there. Perhaps that was why. She chucked the broom on the floor with as much anger as possible, satisfied with a slight crunch. Good. It looks like Ron's now. She thought with a trace of malice.

Hermione stormed off to the one place no one would suspect her to be. Moaning Myrtle's 'home'.

Little did she know that a black figure was watching her intently from a window high up in the astronomy tower, his black cloak swishing characteristically around him in the slight wind.

Hermione had been in the girl's toilets for a couple of hours. She had managed to stop crying once or twice. However, one casual glance in the mirror and the sight of a red puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks graced her viewing; she had started up yet again.

Her feelings of nostalgia for the good old days when it was just her, Ron and Harry in their first year, and when her father had been on a weekend conference to Brighton, and her mother and herself had been alone for an entire week. This automatically led to her mother's death, to her helplessness and feelings of guilt at not helping her. This then led to her father. His lack of remorse, and cold eyes boring into her very soul had disturbed her more than she was willing to admit.

She kept thinking about those at Hogwarts, her classmates. Very few of them would consider her a friend. She had tried to be liked, really she had, but so few were interested. She was unusual, she was unique. People tend to dislike those who fail to conform, even in the Wizarding world.

Myrtle had been in the u-bend once again when she heard the ominous sobbing. She was about to yell at whoever the heck it was to get out of her bathroom until she noticed who it was. She gasped. Hermione? I haven't seen her for years...She must not like me anymore...Once again, Moaning Myrtle's fragile self-esteem was in tatters as she floated quickly to her u-bend again, intent on flushing the entire room out when she heard someone gasp in pain.

"Hermione?" She inquired quietly. Moving slowly through the stall walls, trying not to make a sound, seemingly forgetting that she was a ghost. Finally she came upon Hermione.

Myrtle screamed.

"Hermione! What have you done!"

Hermione was laying on the floor, gasping for breath, her blood-stained wand on the floor, partly transfigured into a razor.

And there was blood covering her wrists, slowly flooding the space around her in a deep red - she must have cut deep. It looked as though Hermione had involuntarily collapsed onto the floor. As if she had doubled up with the shock of pain, and then passed out with blood loss.

What do I do? A thought drifted through Myrtle's mind that she would at last have a friend with her, until she heard a slight whimper:

"Severus."

Hermione had opened her eyes, whispered, and was again silent. Myrtle could not quite tell if it was because Hermione was unconscious again, or because she had no strength.

Myrtle thought fast. Severus? Isn't he a student...? No, no, he's a professor now...but for what? Potions! When Hermione made that potion in her second year, she said he'd be mad at her for doing this! She rattled her brains as to where the potions classroom was, she had hardly needed to know - and prayed he was there...

Severus was marking papers from the end of term exams, wishing he had something more interesting to do when suddenly, someone was screaming in his classroom. A very pale someone...

He raised an eyebrow and looked up, apparently unperturbed by the presence of a screaming ghost. "What do you want?"

Myrtle attempted to compose herself as she relayed the events in a very hurried fashion.

Severus noticed she had traced of tears down her cheeks. Various thoughts questioning a ghosts ability to cry fled his mind when he heard the words "Hermione", "blood", and "passed out" in the same fragmented sentence.

Myrtle was about to go through the walls when she realised she was in the presence of a fleshy. She floated through the corridors as Severus ran very quickly behind her. They finally - which was only about a minute or so later - reached their destination.

He gasped audibly.

"Oh my God, Hermione."

He ran to her side whilst simultaneously pulling out his wand and began casting healing charms on any place where blood was evident. His eyes never left her body, even when he instructed the pale ghost to go and fetch Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey.

His face began to look as green as the ectoplasm splattered on the various walls of the toilets as he worked in an attempt to save her life.

Hermione awoke with a start in the Hospital Wing. Seems familiar, it's as though I never left... As she attempted to remember why she was there in the first place, her memory of the night before kicked in. She had attempted to kill herself. Apparently, I'm not very good at it. Well, that's a first. She thought wryly.

She started to cry.

I'm so crap at everything, and I miss mum! I want her back, it's not fair! And this whole 'moving on' crap just isn't working at the moment. Why can't I just live a normal life with a normal family? And why the hell haven't Harry and Ron replied? I know that they're away watching Quidditch, but you'd think they'd take a little time to write to me! Oh, God. I feel so alone...

Severus watched her from the doorway of the Hospital Wing. He was about to go and see her when he noticed she would probably want to be alone for a little while.

It then belatedly occurred to him as he was walking down the corridor that perhaps that was one of the reasons why she had tried to kill herself...now, more than ever she needed her friends, and they were not here, even though she had been there for Potter all those times. He quietly acknowledged the fact that the Potter boy and his sidekick were hundreds of miles away, but he was still mad at them both.

He quickly turned around and headed back towards the crying young woman.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up at the sound of his baritone voice. She sniffled a couple of times whilst trying to locate him in the room.

And there he was. In the doorway, head peeping from the side as if afraid to come in.

She looked away from him.

"Why?" She said. As he walked forward, he looked somewhat puzzled. She elaborated, not looking at him, but sensing his confusion.

"Why did you save me? Couldn't you take a hint?" There was a slight tone of resentment in her voice, but Severus was unfazed. He had heard that tone many times before, and from many different sources.

"Because you are ill. You're depressed, Hermione. Your mother is dead, your father has been convicted of her murder, and you are now finally free from a domestically-abusive home environment. I know for a fact that that would be a shock to anyone. You did not mean to kill yourself - well, you did - but, in your heart, I knew you did not want to die...Just think about all the NEWTS you'd have missed."

His attempt at a joke was missed.

"Exams?" She laughed harshly. "You said yourself that I've been through a lot, and that's true. But now I've got things into perspective. I don't care anymore. Not about schoolwork, not about grades, not about anything or anyone. We're all going to die in the end right? So why delay the inevitable? So...so just...leave me alone."

The resignation in her voice surprised him. He had thought that she would have done the 'Granger-thing' and piled herself with a ridiculously hectic schedule in an attempt to learn things that she already knew.

But no. Not this time. She had changed. Her innocence had gone.