I promise to stop making the characters so frustrated at the moment, I'm feeling very frustrated at the moment and it seems to be wearing off on my writing. I truly am a brat! It's really quite a mental chapter.

There is not much dialogue in this chapter, I didn't feel it was needed. Yes, this yet again another thought devoted chapter, looking at how everyone's feelings and how Snape is dealing with things.

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Chapter Thirty-Two

Over the next few weeks, Harry felt as thought his suspicions about Snape not being the man Hermione thought him to be seemed to be concreted. The once snarky Potions Professor seemed to go from worse to worse yet, and Harry, after being in the class of the man for seven years, truly did not believe it was possible. But apparently it was. The horrible man became even more unbearable during class; Harry was surprised that Neville had not died from fright during a few of the lessons where Snape appeared to be in a particularly bad mood.

Students did not dare venture outside their common room beyond curfew anymore, whereas once they often did. But not a single student wanted to meet that whirling black robes of fury that appeared to be Professor Snape these days. Even the Slytherins were finding their house points diminishing, but no house was losing as many as Ravenclaw. For some reason - which Harry was sure he knew the answer to - Snape was not taking out all of his problems on the Gryffindors for once.

Yet despite the rage that swooped along the corridors of Hogwarts, and the terrified squeaks of students and the tears that had erupted during the classes, Harry noticed with a sharp distaste that his best friend Hermione seemed completely oblivious to any of it. With the fast approaching NEWTs, Harry admitted to being highly surprised that the brilliant witch was noticing what she was eating – though once or twice he suspected she wasn't eating at all. She was often not seen for hours on end, though reports from other students informed him that she was curled in the corner, becoming as snappy as Madam Pince

Once or twice, while using the enchanted Marauder's Map to sneak back to the common room after taking a stroll, he could not help but notice that his friend's ink dot was currently placed in the chambers of one Severus Snape, usually accompanied by his little dot. Though he would not give her the satisfaction of commenting on it, he highly disapproved of this time she was spending with him. What was she studying down there? She'd refused to tell him, saying he wouldn't understand, he wouldn't care. The words had stung, but they had come soon after the row that ended with her stalking from the common room and not being seeing until many hours later.

The two friends had not spoken for a few days after that, and Harry found that Snape's attitude towards him had turned nastier as well, bringing Harry to the conclusion that whatever was Snape's problem these days had something to do with his friend. If he was really that annoyed with having her study in his rooms of a night, then why didn't he just tell her leave? Something stirred in Harry's mind when he realised that it couldn't have been just that. So what was going on?

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It was barely a month before NEWTs when Hermione first really began to take notice of the terrible mood swings that Severus Snape seemed to be suffering from. While she had heard from the other students, and more than once comforted a crying one, that he was being more terrible then anyone had ever experience, she found that she hardly had time to notice or care. As long as he allowed her to keep studying in his chambers, with his most marvellous book collection, she wasn't about to be fussed. Often she was left alone in his rooms as he had work to do as well, preparing for classes which were steadily becoming harder. Hermione found it no trouble to keep up with the work load, but began to fear that the other students may not. She'd starting helping Neville with his work, and Harry, but a few times had just shouted at them and left, unable to take their unwillingness to really apply themselves to anything outside what they truly loved. And it drove Hermione wild.

While she worked in his rooms, they had managed to conjure up a working relationship, talking about what they needed to and nothing more. A few times she managed to find herself setting her work aside for a moments and indulging in conversations about other things. She found herself talking to the Severus Snape she'd met while sick, the man who had looked after her and was kind to her in their conversing. She found the conversations much more interesting then the ones she would have likely encountered up in the Common Room.

It was one night in the warm spring Saturday afternoon that Hermione found herself sitting once again on his floor, near the dying fireplace. It was not late in the day, hardly. She'd only rushed to lunch to grab a small bite before heading down his dungeon rooms, seeing that he had not been seated at the midday meal. When she reached the dungeons, she'd hardly gotten a reaction out of him as he paced his office floor, into the sitting room, potions lab and bedroom, back and forth, walking seemingly unconsciously along a well worn path.

After awhile, she began to find his pacing quite the distraction. She'd been having a bad day, with Harry and Ron begging her for help. Ron had become intolerable in the past few weeks, as he and his girlfriend had unfortunately split. In his usual form, he had started throwing dark looks across the common room at Harry and Ginny would snuggle up, and often, she found herself on the receiving end of dark looks from him. Harry had clearly told him of where she was spending an evening or two a week.

She had left the common room that afternoon for no other purpose then to get away from the tension that crackled in the air like sparks around the common room. Fifth years were facing their OWLs soon, and with school exams coming up for the rest of the year, everyone was beginning to throw themselves in to a study routine. Anyone who dared break it was seriously reprimanded by Hermione.

Personally she found it odd that whenever she craved a bit of solitude these days, she found herself crossing the threshold into the private rooms of the Potions Master. His company had proved to be pleasant, despite the dark mutterings about him that were widely sweeping the school halls. What had been most shocking to her however, was that day, before making her way to his rooms, she'd heard three young Ravenclaws talking.

"Do ya reckon the Head Girl is related to Snape?" One had asked.

The others snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised. Even though she's meant to be muggle born, look at the attitude on her! Always sniping and demanding silence."

The laughter had trailed off through the corridors as she kept walking, their words ringing angrily in her ears. They brought back unpleasant memories of her first year when Ron had said some quite nasty things about her after proving herself in a Charms class. While it was before they were friends, those words still affected Hermione to this very day.

Watching Snape pace his determined path through his rooms, she remembered the words of the Ravenclaws. Well, if she had an attitude, she should be able to stand up to him and his ludicrous pacing.

"Sir?" she asked, her quill poised over her parchment. "I hate to be an insufferable child, but that pacing is getting to be a bit much."

Much to her surprise, he simply glared at her, and strode into his office. She waited the few seconds until he came out, but it never came. It was only then that she really began to wonder what was worrying the man. Noticing her quill dripping ink over her parchment, she let out a frustrated noise and dropped it back into her ink well, before turning her gaze back to the office.

He was sitting with his back to her, his head tipped back over the chair, his black hair falling over his face. Silence fell over the chambers as it often did when she was there, except this time, the scratching of quills could not be heard. Knowing she wouldn't be able to pick up her quill again, Hermione folded her hands in the lap, thinking of what was happening with the Potions Master.

Lately she had suspected that he had been sleeping very little, or at all. His pale complexion seemed waxier then ever, and dark circles surrounded his black eyes. Though she had seen it, realised it, it was only now that she felt a rush of worry for the man who sat so oblivious in his chair. He was obviously stressed, more stressed that she'd ever seen him, and she could only wonder why.

Pausing for a moment, she stood and approached the office door. Perhaps, it was time to find out.

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Snape threw himself into the chair behind his desk, covering his eyes with his hands. He was angry, he was tired, he was hungry, he was frustrated, he was… he didn't know. He didn't know why he didn't rip to shreds the witch who was plaguing his thoughts. It would be so much easier to deal with… this.

He had been most horrified when one night, he had sat in his office, anticipating the arrival of the little witch to his rooms. He had found himself looking forward to having someone in his quarters, someone to talk to. Oh, he'd known that he was lonely, and that the girl's presence was welcome, but never, never had he wanted to find himself anticipating her time spent in the chamber, sitting quietly on the floor, exploring his many books, being so careful not to disturb him. She alone seemed to appreciate the need for peace, as he discovered from their numerous chats about the behaviour of the Gryffindors of a night.

Truthfully, he was disgusted with himself for awaiting the time she would spend reading in his presence. He had allowed himself to make a vow to care for her studies, help her as much as he could, but he had never wanted to allow himself to care for the chit herself. But, now that she was there, he couldn't help but caring.

It wasn't just that, really. She seemed to the only person in the world right now who wasn't looking at him with utter distaste in her eyes. Since the return of his beloved potions book, Snape had found himself on more then one occasion falling into the habits that he had formed at the beginning of this year. The presence of the book in his rooms seemed to remind him of all he had done in his life, all the mistakes he'd made. His mind had decided to push to remember things he had done last year, things that had been shoved into his unconscious mind during the previous two years.

Snape found it unbearably horrid to 'forget' two whole years of his life. He had first tried to recall things, but when he found of some of the things he had been forced to do under that disgusting curse, he wished to the high heavens that he could forget. It was too much, it was too horrible, and it was too… everything. The events of the years plagued his mind at night, crawling into his dreams while he slept.

One night, however, when in his dreams rose the image of the Gryffindor seated in his sitting room, he had forced to wonder if the memories were any worse then what he had seen in that dream. His problems seemed beyond the Dreamless Sleep Potion, nothing seemed to work on chasing the horrid thoughts from his mind, whether they be fantasies or dreams. Sometimes, when his mind was screaming at him for rest, he could not tell the difference.

Night after night, he had begun stalking to castle, not once taking in his surroundings. His classes became nothing but an annoyance and more then once, in his sleepless evenings, he wondered if any of it was worth it. Why was he still teaching? If they were all correct, he had nothing to fear these days. Yet, here he was, his loyalties still lay with the school and its bratty students. His fatigue was driving him into rages that he did not like, causing him to take more points and assign more detentions then ever.

A sound behind him snapped him out of his fatigue fogged brain, and he turned, flipping his raven hair from his eyes so he could see the witch looking intently at him. He cursed silently as he noticed the worry in her eyes. She walked around the desk and stood before him.

"Miss Granger?" He asked softly.

"Are you okay, sir?"

He pondered her question for a bit, wondering if he should answer her question truthfully or not. He decided against it, knowing the truth would send her from his chambers, the idea of never returning well planted into her head. So he opted for a distraction – for both of them.

"I do believe I told you once that I would take you flying again, did I not?" He watched as she nodded, seeing the flicker of shock flit through her brown eyes. He stood, and moved towards the door. When he turned back, she was still standing in the same spot. "Come along, Miss Granger," he commanded. "It will do you – and I – good to get some fresh hair."

He wondered what it was in him that surged when he saw the grin cross her face and she joined him at the door and they made their way out to the Quidditch pitch. Surely, he told himself, it was simply fear of what he had said, his fear of getting back onto a broomstickwith her.

But he was Severus Snape, and he didn't scare easily. No. It wasn't that at all. So what was it?

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I really wanted to write another flying lesson, and NayNay reminded me of his promise.

This chapter's a little…. Urg. I hope you all do like it :-)

I can also promise this lesson won't be as easy as the previous one ;-)