This chapter's a little… lol, I don't really know. I hope you like it anyway.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Beginning classes Monday morning, Hermione was glad to be back in the routine of school life. She preferred to know what was going to happen when, and where. She wasn't worried about being behind, despite missing her classes for a full week; she had Professor Snape to thank for that.

Professor Snape.

Hermione wondered what Potions would be like now. Despite spending an entire week with him and seeing his "nice" side, and him taking her on a breathtaking flight, she did not honestly expect him to give her any special treatment, after all, she was a Gryffindor. She also did not think that most of the school knew where she had spent the past week. From what she had picked up from people's questioning, they assumed she'd been locked up in the hospital wing. She couldn't help but giggle when she thought of the reaction people would have if they knew where she had really been – and the fact that it had not been the absolute torture most people would believe it would be.

Sitting down to lunch in the Great Hall, she glanced up to the Head Table, her eyes searching out the dark Potions Professor. She wasn't sure what the feeling was that rose in her when she found that he was not there, but she chose not to examine it. Instead, she turned to Ginny, whom she had not seen since the evening before.

"How are things going with Harry?" She asked conversationally.

"Great!" Ginny replied enthusiastically. "It's been kind of hard to spend alone together lately thanks to all our homework and Quidditch, but I suppose half the fun is trying to get that time." She giggled into her lunch at memories Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know about, just as the two boys descended upon the table, forcing the conversation to come to quick close.

Reaching over to grab some pasta, Ron turned to look at Hermione. "How are you feeling?" He asked, taking Hermione off guard. She had expected him to make some smart ass remark about her being up to date in her classes despite the time off.

"Fine, thank you." She replied. "Just a little tired."

Hermione hadn't been able to sleep right the previous night. Her mind had kept turning over the events of the flight, and when she had finally been lulled into a slumber, the dreams of the forest and blue sky had returned. Yet, these ones, she had no control over.

So she had watched with surprise when Professor Snape had approached her as she wandered around the forest. Despite his large black wings, he had been clutching a broomstick. Wordlessly, he had motioned for her to join him. With no hesitation she had, and in her dreams, they had again soared.

She had woken, feeling somewhat disgusted with herself for allowing her dreams to wander into such places. But the flight she had experience had clearly left a mark on her.

After the mindless chatter that accompanied lunch, they trio had bid Ginny goodbye and headed up to Charms. Flitwick had graciously welcomed her back to his classroom, and Hermione found herself cutting him off before he mentioned where she had spent the past week, as she was certain that the faculty would have known. As the other members of the class would more then likely be listening, she did not wish to have them hear.

Charms had been easy enough, but Hermione buried herself in her work, and had done so until the bell rang, telling the students it was time to move on. And Potions was next.

Feeling slightly nervous, Hermione made her way down into the dungeons with Harry and Ron. Neither of them had mentioned Snape that day, and didn't seem to be ready to venture into the dungeon classroom. But then again, Hermione thought with a smirk, when did they ever want to go to Potions?

Stepping into the classroom, Hermione found that Professor Snape was not there yet. This did not worry her; she had learnt in her first year that the man preferred dramatic entrances. Sure enough, just as the last student had settled into their set and put their equipment, the office door opened with a bang, and a very sour looking Potions Master stepped out into the classroom.

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He did not want to teach. That was all. Simple as that. He couldn't deal with teaching today, yet here he was, standing before a class of seventh years, the same seventh years that had ruined his classroom just last week. He sighed, storming over to his desk to bark out instructions.

"Today you will be focusing on the Power Reducing Potion." He sneered at the class. "I must impress on you the absolute danger of such a potion, and the stupidity of the Ministry of Magic for putting it into a school curriculum. You lot have not shown me that you have the ability to brew such a dangerous potion, so you are going to spend the lesson on the theory of this potion. Get out your books and find the instructions NOW!" He barked, swinging around to his desk to fetch his own copy of the book.

During the little speech, he had seen Miss Granger's face light up at the thought of being allowed to brew such a potion, then fall again when he had told them all what he had. Oh, he knew that she could brew such a potion without any help whatsoever right at this moment, but he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing such a thing.

Turning back to the class, he sneered. "Now, can someone telling me exactly what this potion is?" He asked. Annoyance rose as it usually did when Miss Granger's hand shot straight into the air within barely a second of him asking the class.

No, he would not give her the satisfaction.

"Potter!" He snapped, turning on the student's friend. "Tell me!" He demanded.

Potter dared to glare at him, which Snape only too happily returned. "The potion, sir¸" Potter began, "is a Power Reducing Potion, as you said; therefore it would reduce the powers of the drinker."

"Explain better." Snape demanded. Oh, how he loved watching this boy sweat. Miss Granger's hand was still waving in the air. Why hadn't she learnt, after seven years that he would not call on her?

Snape waited hardly a moment before cutting off Potter's attempt to re-explain the potion. He called upon the class to help him out, but when no one answered him, only the infuriating waving of Miss Granger's hand, he snapped at the class to begin reading. "Take notes on just what each of the ingredients does. You are to write me two scrolls on what would happen to each of them if they were not added correctly. Longbottom, because of your display of inability from last week, I want three scrolls from you. Have it on my desk by Wednesday."

Giving a satisfied smirk when the hand lowered, he began to walk amongst the students, waving his wand to destroy any piece of work that did not fill his requirements, or contained a little mistake, forcing most of the students to start their work two or three times. At least the bloody class was silent.

It was not to his surprise that Miss Granger stepped up to his desk before the end of the class, and handed him the specified two rolls of parchment, filled with her neat writing. A wave crashed over him as he remembered producing that writing with his own hand. Not allow her to see him admiring her writing, he thrust the rolls open and while she stood there silent, began to read. Once he was finished, he re-rolled the scrolls, and sat them on the corner of his desk.

"Adequate." Was all he said. "You may return to your seat now, Miss Granger."

He watched her as she returned to her seat. It was with surprise that he noted the lack of emotion in her eyes. He had thought she would expect to be treated differently, probably thought herself above the rest of the class. Well, further above the class then she already was. But he had seen no evidence of that. She had hardly looked his way for the entire lesson, had not said a single word, and had not been at all surprised by his scathing tone when he had called her fantastic essay "adequate." For he knew it was fantastic, her work always was. Yet he would not allow her to grow the typical Gryffindor big head.

However, part of him wanted to praise her, to tell her how brilliant her work was, to let her brew the potion right then and there. What was going on there, he wondered, his eyes sweeping across the other students, most of who were scowling at their parchment, their books open. Miss Granger was sitting at her desk, a book open in front of her, and one arm holding her head up. He never wanted to praise students outside his own house; it was against his better judgement.

Once the time came, he was quick to dismiss the class and retreat to his private chambers. There lingered the same sense of loneliness that had settled Saturday morning, when Miss Granger had taken her leave of his chambers. On his command.

Cursing out loud, Snape shook his head. He would not allow his thoughts to travel down that path, no he wouldn't.

Yet, over the rest of the week, the sense of loneliness did not leave him or his rooms. At night, he found himself driven to stalk the corridors of Hogwarts, handing out detentions and deducting points whenever he could. He did not want to return to his chambers, did not want to think about why he did not.

Often he came across Miss Granger on his travels, and he had given her nothing more then a sneer in her direction. Mentally he had been belting himself for doing so; she would never come down and talk to him, work in his rooms, if he were to do that. Then again, something told him, that was the whole reason of this ridiculous behaviour from him, wasn't it? He didn't want that nosey little brat back in his rooms.

It was easy enough to assure himself of such a fact when it was day time and he was busy with classes, and he looked forward to his nightly solitude, his undisturbed peace, the quietness. But at night, when the time came and the solitude fell around him, longing came with it. He worked hard to convince himself it was simply because he missed having someone to talk to, it wouldn't matter who that someone was. Yet every time he longed for a conversation, he longed for a conversation with her, like the many that had had while she was ill.

By Advanced Potions Friday, he was furious with himself. During Wednesday's class he had been ever so tempted to ask her to stay behind after class, to ask her if she wished to take another flying lesson. Thursday evening at dinner he had seen her leave early, without her friends, and was considering following her and asking her if she wished to come and study in his private chambers.

McGonagall unfortunately noticed the darkened look that had come over his face when he had considered this option, and had turned to him to ask what the matter is.

"Nothing," he had replied, quite stiffly, watching Miss Granger leave.

Minerva must have noticed where he was looked, because she dared to ask if it had anything to do with Miss Granger. Trying to cover his fury at himself for wanting to ask her such stupid question, he had spun what he hoped was a convincing lie.

"I am simply furious at the little witch for thinking it perfectly okay to use up my valuable time all week, and then not apologise for wasting my time, let alone actually thank me for all the help I gave her." He sneered.

"Now, Severus," Minerva looked over her square glasses at him, "are you sure you gave her the opportunity to thank you?" At this, Snape had turned on her, his mouth hanging open in pure fury. She had quickly back tracked. "I am simply suggesting that knowing you and your carings about your precious time, it would not have been surprising if you had removed her from your rooms as soon as she was able to walk properly." She gave him a smile. "It would not be like our Miss Granger to leave without thanking you."

Sputtering, he had left the table, knowing for a second that he hadn't actually fooled Minerva into thinking that he had given her plenty of time, and that Miss Granger hadn't actually apologising.

After class Friday, Snape had watched Hermione hurry from the room without as much as a glance at him. He was frustrated – how was he meant to be cold to her when she was being so indifferent to him? Sighing, he had made his way to dinner.

Thanks to the questioning the evening before, he took extra care in arranging his face in the correct evening I-Don't-Want-To-Be-Here Sneer, and did not once look at the Gryffindor table. If he had of, he found later, he would have seen a young witch looking up at him every few moments, trying to catch his glance.

If he had of, he might have had some pre-warning to the visitor he received later that night.

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--yawn-- I think this chapter might have been a little affected by my own emotions, lol. And my tiredness.

Yes, more psycho, flipping out, hot and cold Snape. He just doesn't know what he wants! I don't know how else to write what I want to say, so I hope you all like how I'm doing it :-) I just want to show the turmoil that Snape's suffering.

It'll be good to see what happens next chapter, so stay tuned.