"Listen, I know you don't like him, but abandoning Occlumency is not an option." Hermione had let the wise part of herself and swooped on Harry the moment Flitwick ended his monologue and invited them to practise freely. Class was filled with all sorts of hexes and jinxes at once, and the chattering on top of it provided them with a nicely loud environment. "Dumbledore must have had his reason if he wanted you to learn -
"How come everybody is so damn sure about what Dumbledore wants or doesn't want, Hermione?", Harry shot back at her, performing an acceptable colour change spell on the mouse in front of him, "Besides, these meetings never did me any good, I've hardly ever had less nightmares."
"But you're still having them. Ron told me!", she insisted.
"Leave me out of this", Ron muffled from Harry's other side, enlarging his snail rather than changing its bright lilac into some other shade.
"Sometimes", Harry replied, but she was pretty sure he was lying. At this point, it was no use talking sense into him, he would only become less accessible, and she hated it when he lied to her.
"What about yours, anyway?", Harry inquired, honestly concerned. "Have you been able to sleep through lately?"
"About three nights a week", she said, but telling the truth here was hard.
The whole school soon learned about her duel with a member of Umbridges brigade, not at least due to the fact that they had half smashed a corridor in due process. Their new headmistress, however, seemed not care, at least no word got out from her stern talk with Nott and Snape. However, a week later it was rumoured that their potions master had convinced Umbridge to provide her with an aide for his experiments, and now Nott spent every Friday and Saturday night peeling eel's eggs and sorting out moonlight grown daisies from bunches of Muggle farmer's harvest. It was not quite the punishment Hermione had had in mind for leaving her like this, but better than nothing at all.
"You're face looks quite normal", Harry correctly guessed her greatest worry. Parvati had seen her sneak into the ladies bathroom between lesson quite often lately, but after some serious consideration with Lavender - they debated over Hermione's lack of interest in 'normal' girlish accessories like make-up, hair-dressing and clothing for two hour in the dormitory, completely unbothered by the fact that she heard them - came to the conclusion that she finally developed some healthy amount of vanity, which was an error in judgement Hermione was perfectly fine with. Apparently, the extend of her injuries never made it out of the hospital wing, but she was grateful for that.
"I know you don't want to hear this, Harry", she replied, voice down, "But if it hadn't been for Snape, I'd bled to death right in that bed."
He did not argue with her, in fact, he looked slightly uncertain. At least they were close enough that he cared more for her wellbeing than who was responsible for it. "I'm glad someone could help you", he managed to bring himself to say. "He's been almost nice to you in class, have you noticed?"
This time, Hermione caught herself not being fully honest with her friend. "No. Has he?"
"Yes, he has", Harry pursued the matter much to her uneasiness, blind to the effect it had on her, "Telling Seamus to take a look at how you kept the temperature at the required level with your Containment Charm is as much a compliment as you can expect. More, I'd say."
"Was that before or after he told you that your lessons had ended?", Ron threw in, frustrated that the snail had turned into a squid by now, which was slowly sucking its way to the edge of his desk.
"Why d'you ask?", Harry and Hermione replied in unison.
"I mean", Ron reluctantly mused, "Pulling you in on a first name basis might be Dumbledore's way of keeping an eye on Harry, wouldn't it?"
"I wouldn't put it past him", Harry agreed, but Hermione said nothing.
It had never occurred to her that Snape might have built their relationship for such a purpose, but now thinking it through, the idea made perfect sense. And he had wrapped her well around his finger, more than she cared to admit. Kissing Krum, with whom she had shared several passionate embraces, never left her with the longing lurking in her cushions and beneath the blankets at night: Her experience with the reactions of her body in the hospital wing was followed by uncounted others. But then, Hermione agreed with the much too chatty girls in her dormitory for once: Turning seventeen this year she was rather late to engage in these activities than premature.
Revision for OWLs and Easter holidays allowed her to avoid Snape for a while, but Ron's suggestion kept nagging her. Attending potions in the last term made her increasingly uncomfortable, for her classmates were watching them both very closely. Snape quickly caught up on the faint chatter among Gryffindors and kept his distance, too, but Hermione found herself in growing ambiguity rather than clarity. She caught herself planning on sneaking into his office late, for one of those stirring conversations, she told herself. If her memory of their evenings was not completely misleading her, he had never extracted any information about Harry or their forced entry into Umbridge's office to speak to Sirius, one he, she was certain, had not learned about from any member of the Order, as Sirius himself. Strictly speaking, she had no reason to seek him company any more, since having abandoned the Occlumency lessons for Harry terminated any risk of her best friend suffering maltreatment from the Potions master. If she was out to sell her story of wanting to learn Occlumency herself, however, she could not wiggle herself out of the entire adventure so easily...
Being told two very different things by her heart and her head made her tense throughout the holidays, but with exams getting closer, no one wondered about their most ambitious student's stress level reaching new heights. Her outbursts and slightly dominant manner was tolerated by Gryffindors and secretly appreciated by Harry and Ron, but when she ran into Theodor Nott two nights before term resumed, nightmares threatened to push over an already critically balanced set of feelings. Tuesday morning, she did not cleanse and iron her sheets from products of previous nights vivid dreams, but from sour sweat and tears in the pillow. Tuesday evening, she excused herself to the Restricted Section, where no one would look for her, and left the common room for the dungeons.
"Miss Granger", her teacher looked up from an overlarge essay on worn out parchment, "I was not expecting you." With a flick of his wand, the mainly dark room was lit up by the familiar fire in his crimson. Another wave, and two broad armchairs appeared, one turned into his direction, the other slightly closer to the wall. She took the latter one and made its thin legs scratch over the stone floor until their paddings faced each other. If did not insist to stay behind his desk, he would seat himself much closer. Snape took up on the message instantly, though did not rise from behind the old wooden bar he worked at. She decided to wait. Pushing him never turned out to repay her.
Accompanied by the soft, distant crackling of the fire, warmth spread slowly though the dimly lit room. She knew - without being able to tell, how – that it had to be him to break the silence.
He strained on her patience. The parchment seemed at least two feet long, and he was obviously determined to read and mark it completely.
"It must be an urgent matter to require my attention." Back to the vague phrasings again, Hermione acknowledged, with a subtle tendency to insult one, if the receiver was open to read an offence into it. He rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into a desks drawer, but made no other movement.
"Yes, Professor", she flatly confirmed.
"What matter could be urgent enough to be put forward at this hour", he inquired, "In this setting?"
The physical distance, paradoxically, worked on her as an obstacle: On her way down to the dungeons, she had felt sure about what to say, and how to say it, but then, she had imagined him in the close and reachable position as she had grown accustomed to. An arrangement, she now noticed, she had begun to favour, yet failed to appreciate. By asking, however, he expressed being conscious
of the lack of proximity.
"I would like you to teach me how to get back to my over-developed rationality."
"And why is that?"
"Because my raw emotions prevent me from keeping up with my revision." She deliberately left out the usual, otherwise appropriate address of 'Sir' or 'Professor'.
"What makes any emotion of yours", he replied coolly, but without insisting on the proper suffix, "My business? At this hour?"
"Well, since you've proven your excellency in challenging my limits for a learning process's sake", she laid out, unyieldingly patient, "I deemed it within the range of your competence to lead me back to my former state of stern state of mind, which you declared as unfit for Occlumency."
"Your stubborn state of mind, you mean to say."
The built tension was palpable, but Hermione had moved beyond mistaking it for a sign of disapproval or adversity. If he wanted her to leave, he would have flatly asked her to. "That's what I mean to say, yes."
"I am not so sure if that's what you're asking for."
"Excuse me?"
"I said, I am not certain if getting back your rationality is what you really want."
"Why would I not know what I want?", she snapped back at him, unable to suppress her anger. Glancing at the smooth, dry look of his face, her anger got hold of her. "HOW DARE YOU TELL ME -"
He almost jumped from behind his desk, across the carpet, and took the empty chair next to her. "I'll explain it to you, if you stop shouting at me", Snape calmed her down, still stern, but definitely touched. Furious and breathing heavily, Hermione managed to keep quiet. He must have seen that she was either unwilling or unable to speak, and simply went on.
"There's no 'going back' in the progress you have made. I cannot erase the realizations from you mind, about the different between memory and emotion, or how encompassing the latter can be", he explained flatly.
She dared to look him in the eye. Though he had never asked for the usage of the light Amortentia he had given her, she did not doubt he was aware of its effects on her. The blurred, incoherent scheme of the interaction never taking place between them in the infirmary crept into her conscience.
"And I am not sure that you would want to miss these insights, either." He must have been aware this might push her over the edge again, but rationality had kicked in by now, and realizing that he was looking her straight in the eye, she blinked and decided to muster the carpet.
"I misunderstood your objection", she admitted, "I am sorry."
"I can see that."
The fire filled the silence. She was not uncomfortable.
"Can you tell me, Hermione", Snape finally spoke, "What made you wish to get your rationality back? Since when do you miss it?"
"I've been all over the edge, and it's exhausting. Ever since holidays are over, I'm a mess."
"How do you feel, when you're especially messy?"
"I am so … angry, all the time." The revelation made her stiffen and shiver, but the process was cathartic: Taking a deep breath, she let herself fall back against the chair's rest, feeling less tense already.
"We'll get back to that." Snape must have registered the obvious change in her, but decided not to comment on them. "What else gives you ease?"
Glad that her position did not allow eye contact, she had to reflect on the question. "Moving", she said, after a while, "The hours in the library used to calm me down. Within a book, I sailed through an ocean, flew the sky, unravelled the finest mechanics of difficult charms work... now I'm just feeling stiff, like my head was locked in an obscure cellar, and I can't get anything done in hours."
"Not getting anything done does not sound enraging to me."
"No, it's rather... I feel -", the clot in her throat demanded that pause, "It makes me helpless."
"But you've found out that moving eases that strain?", he inquired.
"Yes", she said, "But I can't get my revision done walking. I've tried."
"Some students have been seen walking around the lake, reciting rehearsals or questioning each other", he suggested.
"I need a challenge, Professor. New cross-connections between subjects, new theories, and pen and parchment to adapt them to my models", she disagreed politely. "Not everyone's up to it."
"I see." He let the matter of her inadvertently isolating herself go uncommented. Those were matters she could resolve on her own. Her condition demanded a different focus.
"I guess we can agree that strictly speaking, you don't want your rationality back, but be able to use it according to your liking again?"
"I know I need to calm down", she rushed ahead. "But the anger comes back to me. It's just – there."
"Has this rage been – overpowering you", he uttered the words slowly, careful to watch her reaction, "Ever since you delved into revision? Or perhaps earlier, and fostered by it?"
She dwelled in reflection for a while. "Earlier."
"And have you felt like this ever around Christmas?"
Another pause. "No, not that I recall."
She seemed calm enough and ready to take the blow, so he decided to pin through her defences. "Has this occurred for the first time after your duel with Mr Nott?"
She did not burst into anger, as he had anticipated, but her effort to stay calm was obvious. Halfway through the third deliberately deep breath, her legs started to shake.
"Look at me", he said.
She turned away from him in hiding.
"Look at me", he whispered, moving his chair up to hers, within an arms length. With pale, warm hands he placed the bushy brown hair over her shoulders, out of her face, revealing hot and shameful tears. The shaking grew more violent.
"We were on a basis of trust, remember?", he added.
She was in no shape to resist him. He moved even closer, until one thigh met her knee, and took her hands into his.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"Promise?"
"Yes", he assured her. "Now hold your breath. Embrace that burning in you chest."
"I can't -"
"Consider this an extension to the lesson on encompassing feelings", he quickly offered her a frame she could link to. "You've done well on those. You'll master this one."
"We never did pain. Last one was pleasure", she pointed out, sobbing. "This one -"
"- This is terror. Hermione, no one said my teachings were easy. Now breathe."
Halfway in his arms, the thought occurred that it might be a smart move to do as she was told.
"Embrace that burning sensation", he repeated, barely audible. At a remote edge of her mind, she noticed how close they were. "Until it moves up into your throat."
Much to her surprise, it worked: Her legs were less unstable and shaky, then felt like legs again. The huge, hot, pressing mass in her chest began to shrink. As it rose up, it seemed to harden, and got stuck in her throat.
"You've been crying the whole time", he commented on shame she did not feel, "No need to hide." By then, he had backed away a little, letting go of her hands, but still resting a thigh against her knee. If she felt ashamed now, then only because a part of her realized that she did not want him to move back further.
"I'm ok – I – guess", she forced some words past the clot.
"No, you're not", he refused to play along.
"What – am I supposed to do?"
"Trust me", he answered, looking rather stern. "Show me what happened to you that day in the corridor."
"It's not a happy memory", she pointed out dryly.
"I have plenty of those", he whispered, "I can handle them. And yours."
More worn out and strained as ever, she held up to his gaze, allowing him - to see what she saw, feel what she felt...