Chapter 12

Harry looks like he wants to ask her the same question again, she can tell that much from the corners of her eyes, and even she wants to ask him for more of an explanation than what he just said, but he thankfully only looks at her. For a little while, it gives her the peace to put her books away, although when he moves from her side to across her on the other side of the table, she finds no escape from looking at him.

'I don't know what he wants, Harry,' she tells him, just barely looking at him.

She won't tell him that she might have a little hunch as to why she's being called, because that has nothing to do with him – and that he might not like to hear that she stole his favourite teacher's sweets.

'I didn't say anything,' he partly shrugs as if he's innocent in cornering her to say something.

'You're looking me like you think I know, when I don't!'

'Well, don't just stand there, go and find out!' he encourages.

'I'm going!' she lets out a little harsher than she meant to, but his blatant curiosity is to blame for that.

If he really wanted to know why Dumbledore's outside of their common room waiting for her, he should've asked him that before coming here to tell her about it, shouldn't he?!

'I'll wait for you here?' he offers, but she shakes her head to refuse it.

'Just keep my books for me,' she slides them towards him. 'I'll tell you about it later.'

'Yeah, okay,' he agrees.

With his acceptance, she doesn't keep about for much longer, expect to smooth her hands over the front of her clothes some seconds short of rushing to the entrance. Inside her mind, she also composes her nerves, telling them to behave so that she can appear before him as though nothing ever happened with him, but she'll only know how well she's done once she's faced with him. As she steps out into the open where he is, her heart lets off a small thud characterized by some apprehension and a dash of guilt for seeing him wearing a pleasant smile on his face; maybe she shouldn't have gone as far as to take all of his sweets – she should've taken only some.

'Miss Granger, thank you for meeting me at such terribly short notice,' he says to her approach, his smile not leaving.

'It's nothing, Professor,' she tells him only to respond to him with something.

Because inviting smiles are an arsenal of weapons to kill, Professor Snape had said in a lesson, and after what he made her believe, she's leaning towards wondering if he's only doing that to lure her to trusting him.

'That comforts me greatly,' he says, waiting for her last step to reach him before he both leads her to follow him and continue speaking. 'I wouldn't have liked to disturb your studies on this fine evening, although necessity would have driven me to you in any case.'

'Hmm,' she sounds out.

That's all that she can do, because as curious as she is to know about this apparent necessity, he's not Professor Snape, and more importantly, her level of comfort with him is not at a point where she'd be willing to ask him to tell her before he's ready to. He seems to understand her somehow, simply nodding to her at first and then only comments on it.

'I am sure that you have questions about all of this.'

All of walking, he means? Because so far, that's much of what they've done away from the common room. She nods, though, still not comfortable enough to express herself as she normally would; no matter what happened, in the end, he's still the headmaster and his authority still remains the highest in this school.

'You have nothing to worry about, my dear,' he calmly assures her with a short look her way. 'I have called for you tonight, because you are my only remaining hope, as you will soon see.'

Oh, she relaxes a bit, it must be to do with Harry.

'It's Severus,' he says suddenly, to which just as suddenly, she stops, her nerves immediately springing up and her body turning to face him.

'Did something happen to him, sir?'

Considering it was just yesterday that she caught Slughorn dismissing his feelings, she's worried that maybe someone else did something to him. It's the thing that concerns her the most, the thing that keeps her attention on Dumbledore as he stills to face her as well, waiting to hear him tell her the truth.

'Yes, something has happened to him,' he answers in a rather serious tone that doesn't ease her nerves.

'Is he hurt, Professor?'

'Severus' position in the Order has led to him being unwell at the moment and I need your assistance in tending to him.'

'Me?' she asks, doubting how she would be his first choice. 'But Professor, wouldn't Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall be the better choices?'

As someone so important to the Order, shouldn't he be getting the best care? She'd never refuse to help him, but between her and them, they would be the best to heal him, wouldn't they?

'Yes, of course,' Dumbledore nods as just then, he picks up walking, gesturing for her to walk with him. 'They are more advanced than you are at healing, however, this is a time when advanced knowledge and experience won't do. In this particular instance, there requires a different sort of approach to reach the desired goal of getting Severus to his full service in the Order.'

Somewhere in there, there was a complete disregard for Professor Snape's wellbeing, and though she stiffens at the implication that his service to the Order is the true priority, she doesn't give the feeling importance, she instead concerns herself with how she can help him.

'Can I really help Professor Snape?'

'I have no doubt concerning that,' he says while turning to face her. 'You do care for Severus, don't you, Hermione?'

Without question, she nods, hardly thinking to be cautious about what she says to Dumbledore about him.

'Then you will do perfectly,' he smiles, apparently rather proud about it.

They walk on in complete silence after that, leaving her to her thoughts about him; if he is fine, if he's in pain, if she can really do anything for him until at last, they reach the dungeons. At his office door, she looks on as Dumbledore performs a complicated and wordless wand movement to open it and then they are moving to the floo. She doesn't get much of a chance to look around his sitting room when they reach it, because he warns her to only be careful in staying behind him.

Doing as she's told, albeit through an additional surge of fretting nerves, they soon move around a well-placed caved turn that keeps his more private space from immediate sight, which leads them to an open door. Before her mind can wonder if it's his bedroom, he motions over his shoulder for her to step in with him. Although she does, she comes to an unexpected stop when she notices him laying on the bed, covered by a thin looking blanket.

Is he really all right?

'He is not conscious,' Dumbledore says and because he doesn't stop or look back at her, she can't be sure if he's simply confirming what she can already see or if he guessed her unasked question.

'What happened to him?' she quietly asks, quietly bring her hand to clutch over her chest.

What terrible thing happened to him? It please, please, please can't be too serious.

'A curse,' Dumbledore announces in a quiet yet heavy tone.

With a wild heart, her eyes widening at the information, she lets out a heavy gasp to ask, 'An Unforgivable?'

Oh no, please, he can't have been tortured to unconsciousness! Please not that – that tortured spider with Moody still makes her uneasy to remember when the torture curse is mentioned.

'No,' he softly shakes his head. 'It was a different sort of curse, but I would like to ask that you stay with him until such a time as he wakes up.'

At first, she looks from him to Dumbledore and finding Dumbledore's attention solely on him, she walks to the bed to look upon him from nearby. He doesn't look to need anything except to wake up, but then again, he never looks to want anything even when he's awake.

'Am I to give him something in the meantime?' she asks, briefly looking at Dumbledore.

'No. You need only watch over him. I did what I could do, and he is aware. Upon awakening, he will know what else he is to do. Only assist him in whatever he wants; I'm trusting that you will, Hermione.'

His sincerity is mostly the reason that has her turning to him in wonder. Unless he isn't the same person who couldn't allow them to have lessons, why is it that he trusts her to watch over him? Madam Pomfrey is used to people being sick and would've taken him in without complaint, so why her? If he believes that she's gained enough knowledge about the dark arts to somehow know how to combat the curse, he's wrong.

'Can I trust you with Severus, Hermione?' he asks this time, probably not satisfied with her unresponsive silence.

'Yes, Professor,' she nods, 'but should I come and get you when he wakes up?'

She doesn't want to not do everything that should be done to make sure that he gets back to himself, and though Dumbledore seems adamant that she's enough to look after him, she can't help it feel that she shouldn't be the one in here. She's usually able to think in desperate situations, it's only that without enough information as to what happened, she can't be sure how truly help him.

'I rather expect that you will have to wait a while before he does,' he rubs his cheek with his forefinger. 'In any case, do not trouble yourself in the least. If Severus feels the need to see me, he will do so.'

'I understand, Professor,' she responds, though that doesn't mean that she completely agrees with his decision.

'Wonderful,' he lightly cheers, reaching out and gently squeezing her elbow. 'I must leave you to your task.'

Following that, he quickly conjures a chair for her, nudging it towards her and then suddenly, he couldn't move faster to make it out of the room and close the door behind him, startling her with his behaviour. She could swear that he's wanted this moment for longer than she understands, but that doesn't matter now; she should rather focus on looking after the man in that bed.

'Severus,' she worriedly says his name, settling herself into the chair.

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Her touch is tentative, keeping her palm only lightly pressed on his skin as her hand moves over his cheek to his chin and then back up again in a gentle motion of comfort.

'It's all right,' she verbally soothes as well, wanting to make sure that he doesn't feel abandoned in his suffering.

It's not enough that she's standing on feet to better access his face, when his groans are coming out in faster intervals now than they did some few minutes ago. Although low in sound, even reluctant to come out, she doesn't need them to be deep to translate his pain; it's there, in his utterance, touching her deep in her soul. He groans again, a light protesting sound that sinks right into her skin again, pushing through to her heart and making her move her palm even more delicately on his face, for fear of contributing to his pain.

'It's all right, Severus,' she softly soothes again, more apologetic than before this time. 'I'm here.'

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She missed his eyes fluttering open, because although her eyes never truly left him since she sat in the chair, they went out of focus, following her mind's trail of simply thinking. That's how his weak, 'You're here,' catches her off guard, quickly bringing her to full attention.

'I'm sorry,' hastily slips from her, stemming from a sudden feeling of idiotic inattention.

To that, he only blinks twice as if to say that he needs to catch himself first, and wanting to make it up to him, she shifts forwards in her chair to catch him up with what's going on.

'Professor, the headmaster told me that you were not feeling well, and we've been worried that you wouldn't awaken any time soon. He left me here to watch over you.'

It all comes out in calm and reasoning voice so as not to frighten him, but it doesn't seem to have the impact that she expected, because he only asks, 'Where is the headmaster?'

'I don't know,' she moves her head. 'He only left me here with you.'

His eyes move to somewhere behind her, maybe to the door, giving her a small chance to look at his face while awake. While he slept, she only knew of his suffering during the intervals where he vocally protested, but maybe now she'll see it on his face and that way know how best to help him. Just then, his eyes return to her, his face taking on a questioning expression.

'What's the matter?' he asks, the words spoken as slowly as he's trying to sit up in bed.

Shaking her head, at least to assure him that it's nothing bad, she answers, 'I tend to hug people when I feel relief or worry. I don't know if I can do that with you now. I'm sorry. Are you all right, Professor? What happened? Professor Dumbledore only said that you were cursed, but he didn't say how.'

Now fully leaning up against his bedpost, his head seems to hang with weakness as his eyes close, and she immediately recognises what he's doing. In her life, she's lived through some pains that she thought closing her eyes would soothe for a while. Though she can't know what he's feeling or how much he's hurting, she hates having to watch him bear it in front of her. It's discomforting to see him so separated from the somewhat grouch that he usually is to everyone else.

'Is there something that I can do for you?' she heartily volunteers, just about ready to pull him from the bed and carry him to Madam Pomfrey if she has to.

'Do you recall your entire exchange with the headmaster?' he wants to know, but with his eyes closed, she doesn't immediately answer him with a nod, which doesn't stop him from adding, 'I'd like to see it,' with the opening of his eyes.

At the meeting of their eyes, she feels a tight tug inside for the image of him like this. After all that she's been through with Harry and Ron, especially with Harry's direct connection to the Dark Lord, it's somehow hitting her now just how cruel and dark the outside world really is. One day, he could go out on Order business and never return. One day, she might never see him again.

'How?' she asks only to distract herself from those thoughts.

He responds to her by beckoning for her to come closer, and realising that he means to see it through her eyes, she nervously stands, moving to press her thighs into the bed's frame. Only once before, he used Legilimecy on her, but she hadn't developed a special liking to him then; her heart is beating faster now at the possibility of being exposed. As close as she leans, however, he still reaches out his hand to cup the back of her head, bringing her even closer than her bent position allowed her before. Closer to him, though he leaves some decent space between their faces, his tired breathing cannot escape her ears, it's only that his fingers dig through her hair for a better grip at her neck, making her focus more on his weakened strength and rather plead with him to allow her to help him.

'Is there something that I can get you?'

Whatever he needs, she will give to him, just as long as it restores him to his full strength.

'Show me,' he breathes, to which she nods, gathering her memory from when Harry came into the common room and his quiet, 'Legilimens,' opens her lake of remembrance.

The images play on part by part, until he at last breaks the connection by closing his eyes, dropping his hand from her and then sitting back against the post much like he's used too much of his limited strength and only needs the time to recuperate.

'Severus?' he raises an eyebrow even with closed eyes.

Oh, he saw that as well.

'I'm sorry,' she bites onto her lip. 'The headmaster kept saying it,' and she supposes that she came to say his name because of that; it wasn't that she planned to call him by his name.

'The headmaster knows very well what he is doing,' he seems to smile, although he could also be grimacing. 'His bringing you here and everything about it was intentional.'

'He said that I could do more for you than Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall.'

'Too well, he knows that,' he answers her, opening his eyes then and looking at her with a tiredness that touches deep into her soul. 'And too well, he knows that I would fall for it precisely as he has it intended. He was well aware that I was due to wake up when he left. He left you with me on purpose.'

Hearing that, her heart skips a beat; firstly for now only realising that she was possibly tricked into believing something that isn't entirely true, and secondly for fearing that Dumbledore's discovered her liking for 'Severus.'

Still, her heart misbehaving isn't enough to keep her from letting out a partially strangled, 'Why?'

She needs to know that much, except, his answer doesn't come immediately. What he does instead, is look out in front of him, his eyes going out of focus. While he looks out ahead, she holds herself, really preparing to hear something about her unfitting feelings and how she should focus her attention somewhere else, but when he at last speaks, it's not to tell her anything like that.

'For a reason,' leaves his mouth.

And then he's shuffling about the bed, soon pulling the blanket away from himself to then swing his legs over, without doing anything to move her out of his direct way. She's not obstructing his path where she stands, but she still moves back, giving him as much space as he needs to move around.

'Should I leave now?' she wonders, her eyes following his every slow move. 'Will you call Professor Dumbledore?'

'Go to the sitting room,' is his answer, his eyes cutting to her as he balances himself on his feet.

Quite taken aback, mostly by his eyes idly running over her, she wants to know, 'Why?'

What for? She's not going to do anything that he doesn't want her to.

'I've ingested a pain potion, and because you already roam as you want in places hidden from sight,' he softly tells her in a way that makes her heart pitter-patter all the way down into her stomach.

Her throat may also feel a little scratchy through her asking, 'What does that mean?' but that's not as big a thing as the other thing.

'That you cannot stay in my bedroom.'

Although soft, it's not necessarily a weak response. It carries with it his seriousness, much more when he moves around her, plainly letting her know where he stands on this.

'I didn't bring myself here,' she reminds him as she turns to find where he's going. 'And I've already been at the bedroom at your house. What difference does being in this bedroom make?'

'To the sitting room,' he repeats, not looking back or stopping his slow steps.

Fine, she silently accepts, she'll wait for him in the sitting room.

Because well, it's just mean to fight with a man who's unwell, isn't it? Even if it wasn't that, what else can she do in here if he isn't in bed to be watched over?

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When he finally joins her in the sitting room, it's the fresh smell that he brings with him that alerts her of him. Through closed eyes, she takes in the lovely smell of a mixture between raw aloe and algae, which must be the result of him having taken a bath - no wonder he chased her out of his room.

He smells really nice, though. Those earthy, somewhat musty smells, like the combined smell of dust and rain, or grass when mowed, or boiling spinach are quite appealing to her sense of smell, and so smiling at his taste in scents, she turns from his small shelf of books to him.

His changed clothes stick out the most to her, the way that his dark trousers loosely hang on him, up to how his equally dark and simple long-sleeved shirt fits onto his thin body. He looks good dressed like that, nearly as appealing as his smell, although his face seems to not have received the same revival for how worn it still looks.

Still, she shouldn't go and fetch Dumbledore for him? Or better yet, shouldn't he rather go back to bed for a little bit more rest?

She thinks to ask him something about his wellbeing, only, he holds up his hand to stop her before she even opens her mouth.

'If you're to be here for some of time,' he begins, 'I might as well teach you something. Sit in that chair and take notes.'

The chair being pointed to is really a single sofa to her right. While it's not the only one that he has, she can understand that the larger two-seated sofa will accommodate him to lie on it peacefully, however, she's not going to accept what he says on this.

'I didn't bring any books,' she argues, which he easily dismisses with a wave of his hand.

'I have parchment.'

'But I didn't come here to study,' she tries to excuse again. 'I don't even want to.'

Can't he see himself? His movements are still far from being how they usually are. And what, doesn't he feel his own discomfort, if not pain? How unfair would it be to take instruction from him when she's supposed to be watching over and taking care of him? Doesn't he know that she's bunked one or two classes in her life, so she knows what it's like to miss out on a lesson on purpose?

'Then what do you suppose you will be doing here, if not gaining some knowledge?' he asks, continuing to walk to where she is.

'I'll just stay here with you,' easily leaves her mouth, not the least bit ashamed to say something like that, despite it being personally to intimately oriented.

'Here,' his eyes cut directly to hers, 'with me?'

'Why not?' she wonders. 'Are you going to be busy? What do you do in the evenings now that we don't have lessons anymore?'

'I do what I always did before then,' he says as he passes her. 'It isn't important. Tonight, I will teach you something, as time is fast running out.'

He sinks into the singular sofa with saying that and just like he did in his bed when he woke up, he leans his head against the sofa's support, seeming to find rest in that posture, with his hands on either side of the armrests and his legs slightly spread open.

'You won't be here next year, will you? That's what you are trying to tell me,' she determines, coming to stand in front of him. 'Something's going to happen to you, and you'll probably have to leave.'

'And were I to leave?' he lazily wonders, one of his fingers drumming on the armrest.

If he were to leave?

If she woke up in the castle and she never saw him again, he means?

Well, that would just be horrible now that she likes him. It would make her sad and she'd miss him being in the castle.

'Would it have something to do with Professor Dumbledore, if you were to?'

It's probably a daring question, but what if Dumbledore could do something like that? He said it himself, Dumbledore is responsible for a few things in his life, so maybe he's being forced to do something for the good of the Order which will require him to leave the school.

He moves his head as much as he can, replying with a low, 'The headmaster would like me to stay,' as though he'd prefer not to say that out loud.

Oh, good. That makes her glad to know.

'Can you?' she's hungry to know, though. 'They say that the Defence post is curse, but if you know about the curse, could you do something to circumvent it?'

He seems to lightly scoff at the idea, but from where she's standing, it only looks like he's lazily forcing out sounds that don't interest him to make.

'Will it make any difference if I don't stay?'

'Yes,' she nods, because she's not sure what it'll be like without him. 'Will you stay?'

Does she sound pathetically desperate?

'If only I could be bribed to stay,' he says deviously, a lazy smile showing on his face with the brief closing of his eyes.

She can't tell if he's being facetious or not, because though she knows him to be flippant about serious things when he wants to be, with a smile like that, she can't be sure. Also, what could she possibly bribe him with?

'You want me to bribe you?'

'It wouldn't take that much,' he replies, eyeing her in a way that looks to be calculating something, 'You couldn't bribe me.'

And then his smile widens, a little bit of his teeth showing as though reacting to an air of intoxication, only for his eyes to close again. Whether teasing her or a direct challenge, she'd like the chance to prove that she can bribe him - it will only be a matter of doing research on what would keep him.

'I can make you stay for four weeks,' she quickly volunteers without thinking about it, to which he only raises his eyebrows behind closed eyes.

'It's true,' she insists. 'I'll tell you a Muggle fairy tale each Friday, leaving it at the best part of suspense.'

That's a stupid thing to bargain with, she realises now, but at least she's trying something and... That's what her grade three teacher used to do, to encourage her classmates not to bunk the library period. At least that will be better than resorting to what she did with Rita Skeeter.

'I have no interest in listening to tales,' he replies.

'It's a very good one,' she promise. 'It has a good moral at the end as well.'

Only slightly opening his eyes, he asks, 'What is it called?'

'I won't tell you that!'

He suddenly begins to get up and believing that she's answered badly, making him lose interest in the conversation at all, she concedes.

'It's Rumpelstiltskin,' she tells him as his feet carry him to the table nearby.

Naturally curious, she trots after him, coming to stand next to him while he pours himself a drink. Watching him prepare his drink, she wonders if he'll make one for her as well. All right, fine, she's of age, but she's never drank before, neither does she think that she wants to. Being at school, first of all, and then a prefect, she must always carry herself as an example. Also, she doesn't want her first experience to be in front of him; who knows how woozy and embarrassing she might be if she takes even a sip of alcohol!

'I know that one,' he says and then takes a sip, tipping his head back as if to savour it better.

'Then you can tell me what you think about it,' she tries.

He looks at her only, and who knows what he's concluding about her attempts to stay with him, but she ignores it, choosing to follow him back to his seat. They reach his seat in as little time as he can manage and once he's seated, she's left standing before him and looking at him. Well, she's not just going to do that, she decides, if he has no intention of chasing her away or going anywhere, she might as well get comfortable as well. As the other so is a bit too far away from this one for her liking, she chooses to sit on the floor at his feet. Drawing up her knees to her chest and touching her back on the portion of the sofa's leg that she can access, she then clasps her hands together to engage him with her thoughts on Rumpelstiltskin.

'It's an odd story to think about,' she begins. 'I read it when I was small, and I wondered if Rumpelstiltskin knew about the girl's father and his love for tall tales, or he just happened to be there in the king's castle that night. It sounded all too convenient that he would simply appear to the girl, when the story never said that he was a wizard. As far as I understood, he was only an ordinary man who had a rare ability.'

She stops for a moment, wanting to give him a chance to respond, but he doesn't even make a sound, so she simply carries on talking.

'The story never made much sense to me, because he never did trick her into anything, he only helped her and then named his price for it fairly. He really do anything wrong by taking the child that he asked for. Of course, I know that living beings can't be taken as property, but she agreed to it and then she turned around and made him the horrible one. I always felt angry that he was outsmarted, to be honest. Maybe he always wanted a child, but no woman ever wanted him enough to give him a child and that was the only way to have a child of his own. If you think about it, he was able to turn straw into gold, but that never pleased him. He probably only wanted a family or someone to give his love and fortune to. It's quite sad how his life was. I think that people considered him old and ugly, so he never had anyone in the world. What do you think of the story, Professor?'

She hasn't even gotten to her interpreted moral of the story, but that can wait after until he's said his part. To get a closer view of what he will say, she turns only to find him with his eyes closed, his head leaning back. The picture, as much as she's seen it before this, is different in a way - like he's not in the least revived and him being in the sitting room is simply an effort that he's making to keep her out of his bedroom. It's worrying to see him trying to be resilient, when he should worry about himself first, so she adjusts herself to onto her knees, facing him.

'Professor, are you sure that I shouldn't get Professor Dumbledore for you?'

She's careful enough not to startle him, but what she really wants to know is if he's all right. He doesn't look it and no, for his own good, she's not afraid to reach out her hand and touch his face, softly placing his cheek in her palm.

'I think you should go back to bed,' she tells him, which gets him to open his eyes.

Seeing his eyes open encourages her to get up and hold out her hand for him. The thought that he would refuse to take her hand and rather stay where he is does enter her mind, although, she's willing herself more to be stern with him and watch over him properly. Not that much surprisingly, he accepts her hand, getting onto his feet without much of her help. What does surprise her, though, is his firm grip on her hand only after he's walking and taking her with him. It's like he has no intention if letting her go, which isn't frightening really, only nerve-wracking, as she doesn't know what he's doing or why he's doing it.

Even so, without protest or question, as blank of the whole thing as she is, she allows him to lead her through his bedroom door right to his bed. He doesn't fiddle about getting into bed, just as he doesn't once attempt to release what his hands are holding; neither her hand or his glass in the other. As he lays flat on his back, seemingly getting comfortable in that position, he gives off a long sigh, maybe of relief, maybe of surrender. The hand with his drink twitches, and she leans over to take it from him, but he doesn't let go.

'I'll go and get Professor Dumbledore,' she tries.

Because none of them want her to know the truth and she can't be sure how to help him.

'He meant for you to stay, so stay there.'

'Are you sure?'

'Only stay there,' he repeats, his hold on her not loosening despite his weak display, and then his eyes are closing for what seems like a long time to come.

Normally, in a situation like this, she would have questions and deep questions about everything to do with this. She would wait for him to fall asleep and then sneak off to ask Dumbledore about it, or if not that, she'd perform her learned diagnostic spells on him, but she simply feels like she should only do as she's told. Why it's like that, she can't say, nor can she answer why it's important that she only stays, why only her presence and nothing else is needed, she can only determine for certain that she won't disobey the orders given. It's the reason why, not knowing what else to do, she takes a seat on his bed, watching him, without much going on in her mind.

For now, she's only focused on staying here as he said. There's not much else that she can do, honestly, expect maybe wait until he's deeply fallen asleep to remove that glass from his hand. If he was Harry, she would've climbed into bed with him, just to lay there with him for support. At a loss of how best to comfort him, she brings out her wand to do one of the things that cheers her up when she's not feeling fine. It takes only a simple incantation to conjure up soft blue butterflies and settle them around them. For extra dedication to her task, she adjusts her hand to fit her fingers through the spaces between his, determining that she's not going anywhere tonight.

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A sleepy glance at the time tells her that much more time has passed since he first opened his eyes. Another sleepy glance at the glass in hand confirms that it still hasn't slipped from his hold, and that astonishes her when her own hand in his is becoming completely numb now. He is incredible; is that something he is used to doing or is he just always in control? The fascination makes her smile, but only for a little bit as unease at what she's about to do touches her.

It'll only be to ease her hand for a moment, she tells herself, and then she'll hold his hand again.

So as not to change her mind and rather suffer numbness to do her duty over him, she tries to remove her hand. Untangling her fingers from his hand proves to be a difficult thing for her numb hand alone, so she brings her other hand to help. In touching their hands, he begins to come to, his head lifting with a spark of startle, but then seeing that it's her, his startled expression softens considerably.

'You're here,' he breathes with relief, allowing his head to return to the pillow.

'I'm sorry,' she soothingly tells him to both apologise for waking him and for continuing to lift her hand free. His eyes immediately dart to their separated hands, and feeling about it, she tries to explain her reason to him. 'It's not that I don't want to, I'm just a little tired.'

On her life, she'd stay with him all night if she had to, however, she hadn't been prepared to be this tired; she underestimated just how tiring sitting and watching over someone could be.

'I will walk you back to your dwelling place,' he hoarsely lets her know, not letting time go by before climbing out of bed.

Maybe she should be protesting, telling him that she doesn't mean to go back to her dormitory, it's only that sleeping in her own bed sounds too much of an invite to refuse. She wants to stay, but even so, she still gets up and stretches, raising her arms high above her head and pulling hard for her back's relief. Vaguely, she feels her shirt hike up from her jeans, probably exposing her skin, but it feels so good to stretch that she even lets out a long moan.

'Tonight, preferably,' his voice breaks through her moment of relief and quickly, she puts herself together, righting her body.

'Sorry,' she says, sending a sheepish smile his way.

'Let's go,' he simply replies, beckoning for her to follow him.

Outside his office door, he takes her hand without warning, suddenly sending a small wave of panic over her. Looking at their joined hand sends another wave of panic through her, but being led to walk with him, she isn't able to stop moving. Only in her mind can she really panic and be afraid of holding hands with him outside his walls. Just the other day he told her to keep her distance as they walked to the castle. It will be worse to be seen holding hands with him so late at night. What's more, if they happen to run into Peeves, he'll fly around shouting about it all day tomorrow, although she doesn't pull her hand away for it. She can at least comfort herself with his strictness, which is enough to scare anyone away from making up and then spreading a rumour. They continue to walk on in complete silence until a staircase close to her common room, they find a waiting, quickly-becoming-shocked McGonagall, coming to a complete stop.

'Minerva,' he acknowledges, simply tightening his hold on her hand.

How he can be so unconcerned, she doesn't know. That's McGonagall, can't he see? She's about to burst from her body just imagining what McGonagall will say to her about at least three of the rules that she's breaking by being here, but he's not reacting?

'Good evening, Professor,' she bravely lets out, hoping that by not shying away from obvious, not much will come from this.

Although McGonagall does spare her a small look, she concerns herself with facing Professor Snape to ask,

'Severus, what is Miss Granger doing with you so late at night?' in alarm.

Because McGonagall doesn't sound to be joking around, she also doesn't look at the man still holding her hand, lest it does something to arouse suspicion in her Head of House. He does nothing either, not say a word or make any sound, which must force her to study the pair of them while she waits for an answer, leading her to point a finger at their joined hands.

'And that?' she gasps.

'Uh, Professor McGonagall,' she scrambles to answer since he won't, 'Professor Snape was walking me back to my dormitory.'

'Surely he needn't hold your hand for hand for that!' she cries, her distress audible. 'His legs alone should prove just fine to lead you home, Miss Granger.'

McGonagall's tone is enough to incite her to try and pull her hand from his, not looking to disobey an indirect order from her teacher right in front of them, only, he doesn't let her do it.

'Minerva, excuse me,' he decides to speak at last. 'I assure you, the headmaster is well aware of how necessary it is that I hold her hand. Take up your complaints with him, I'm afraid.'

'Thank you,' tightly leaves her mouth, all seriousness showing on her face, 'but I shall take her home, Severus, if you please.'

So much for putting on a polite show when not even a second after she's made her order, her hand reaches out and wrenches her hand away from his, just as quickly pulling her to her side as though they're in an act of a hostile rescue.

'You are coming with me, Miss Granger,' her eyes run over her for a bit before she returns them to him. 'And I shall be having a word with Albus about this. It doesn't look right, Severus, regardless of what Albus may agree with. I'll be back shortly. Come, Miss Granger.'

McGonagall follows her words with steering her in the direction to the common room, taking away her chance to bid him goodnight. She dares to look over her shoulder at him, but even that McGonagall doesn't allow, urging her head back forwards before it fully turns to see him.

'Miss Granger, as your Head of House, it is my duty to know if there is anything inappropriate going on with you and Professor Snape.'

'No, there's nothing, Professor,' her head shakes. 'I was with him, because Professor Dumbledore asked me to be. He wasn't feeling well and I had to watch over him.'

Nearly missing a step up the stairs, her teacher whips her head to her so fast, that surely her head spins for the first seconds of shocked silence. Her teacher's eyes look at her as though she's become someone else before her eyes and all she can do is pretend that nothing is the matter, keeping on with her steps, one after the other.

'You were inside his private rooms?' she asks at last, to which she doesn't hesitate to give an answer.

'Yes, Professor.'

'You should know better, Miss Granger,' she chastises. 'It gives off the wrong idea that a student, a prefect at that, would be seen in the late hours of the night, holding hands with her male professor. And coming from his rooms? It's a terrible look to have, Miss Granger.'

'I didn't go there by myself,' she tries to reason. 'It was Professor Dumbledore who fetched me from the common room. You could ask Harry or Professor Dumbledore about it.'

Yes, she's done questionable things with Professor Snape, and yes, her feelings for him aren't appropriate at all, but she won't allow herself to be blamed for something that didn't happen because of her. It's one thing to catch her in the act of something that she instigated, and it's a completely different thing to accuse her of being improper in a situation that she just happened to be involved in. If she's to be blamed, it should be for her own faults, not someone else's doing; she wants that clear at least.

'I will be speaking to him soon,' McGonagall seems to disapprove of the idea. 'However, you still must know much better than that. Propriety should be maintained at all times. Now off to bed you go.'

Wanting to get as fast away from McGonagall, she wastes no time in climbing up the rest of the stairs, giving the guarding lady the password when she's reached the portrait and entering without looking back. Inside, she takes a moment to lean on the wall next to the entrance, to try and organise her mind with the consequences of tonight. It only takes thinking about what McGonagall could say to her in the light of day, to push herself off the wall in fear that she'll be followed up here. Trust can easily be broken and if her teacher's trust in her is beginning to crack, she better not give her any more reason to believe that she's a disobedient student, and she can start with heading for her dormitory and jumping right into bed.