I'm still here. I'm still writing, but it's so slow, and I don't have much finished. I still get story favourite/follow alerts sometimes, and I'm so grateful. If you're still here, thank you. I can't promise timely updates at all. But I do hope to finish this piece... one day.

If reading about mental health issues troubles you, this may not be the story for you. It will feature anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, and eating disorders, including in this chapter. Please don't read on if this will trigger you or cause you any harm.

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Chapter Sixteen

The next morning at breakfast, Ron's reply arrives. It just says "Rock by the lake, today at 12." For some reason you look up at the Head Table. Snape isn't there. You wonder if he was at dinner the day before, or lunch. You weren't there to see.

When you meet Ron, he has already cast a warming and cushioning charm, and is sitting on the same rock you sat on back in October. You sit beside him without saying anything. You don't even ask him how he got onto the property, although you're curious what kind of strings he pulled.

Ron gives you a weak smile and hands you your mittens. "You forgot them yesterday," he says quietly.

You smile back. "Thanks."

He runs his hand through his hair. It reminds you of Harry. He sighs. "I guess we fucked this up, huh?"

Your heart sinks. That's not what you were expecting he'd say. "What?"

"I just think... so much is happening, you know? Maybe this just... isn't right?"

You look at the ground. It's true. You know it's true. But you don't want to say it.

"It doesn't feel right, does it?" he says, softly.

You shake your head. "No. It doesn't," you whisper.

"It was different at the Burrow," he says. Not really a question, not really a statement.

"It was," you agree. "I needed you."

"I needed you too."

"And now?"

He shrugs. "Everything in your letter was right. I just didn't realize it."

You nod slowly.

"I love you, though," he says. He looks at you, into your eyes. You know he's telling the truth.

"I love you too," you whisper.

"And I want to be with you. I do. I thought we'd get married and..." he breaks off and turns to the lake.

"I know," you say. "But…"

"I know," he says softly. "It's not the same now. I was trying so hard, thinking if maybe we moved in together, sped things up, things would get better. Like if we saw each other more, it would be like it was at the Burrow again."

You nod slowly. "Yes." You understand. You really do.

He sighs. "I don't know… Maybe we could try again? When things are different, you know?"

You look down. "Of course. But I… I can't lose you, Ron. I need you. I need you, I need your family... You're my family." You feel your heart start to speed up, panic in your chest. "I can't…"

He shakes his head emphatically. "You won't lose me, Hermione. Never."

He gently wraps your hand in his, and you both stare out at the lake in silence. He doesn't hug you. You don't know what that makes you feel. But you know it means you shouldn't say anything else. It's not his job, anymore, to calm you.

When he leaves, you stay sitting on the rock, watching the frozen lake, the barren trees, the stillness of the winter. The serenity before you does nothing to calm your racing heart, your shallow breathing. Ron's warming charm wears off, and soon you see your breath in the air again. You feel your fingers start to tingle and then become numb.

As you walk into the castle and warmth begins to seep into your bones, you notice your legs are shaky. You assume, at first, it is the heat of the castle taking hold of your cold, aching joints. But with each step, you feel more unsteady. Soon, you feel your entire body trembling uncontrollably, as if you have a fever.

Something is wrong. You don't feel… right. Frightened, you realize you can't control your movements. Your limbs quake, and you can't stop them. You find yourself walking toward the dungeons, but your mind is a bubble, far away from your body. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. You are not in control. You aren't well. You feel.. Weak. Wrong. Something is wrong.

Your heart races, pounds in your ears, becomes fast and thunderous.

As you descend the stairs, you feel a lead weight on your chest. And pain.

You're dying.

With that thought, you attempt a gasp, and realize you can't breathe.

You burst into Snape's office without knocking. He is sitting at his desk, but when you appear at the door the thunderous expression on his face shifts into angry concern and he abruptly stands up, walking swiftly towards you.

"Miss Granger, what is wrong?"

You try and take a breath to tell him, but with the heaviness, the pain in your chest, you can't. Instead, you keep hanging onto the door in a vain attempt to stay upright and manage a croaking, "I can't... breathe."

He immediately grabs your shoulder with one hand and puts his other arm around your waist, leading you to the chair across from his desk. Gently, he sits you down and says, "Breathe, Miss Granger. Deep breaths."

You try to take a breath in, but it's not working. You're not getting any air. There is no air, you are dying. You're going to die like this. Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest. "I... can't..." You feel the room spinning. You look at his face and notice everything around it is fuzzy, dark. The darkness starts to close in, seeping into his features, until you see less and less of him. "Can't see," you manage. You stare into what you can still visualize, his eyes, willing him to understand, even if you can't tell him.

"You can," he insists. "Look at me. Focus on my voice. You can breathe. One deep breath in. Now. Do it."

You try to breathe in. It catches, and you feel your throat close. You make a wheezing sound, still staring at the sliver of Snape's eyes you can see.

"Miss Granger. You can do this. Breathe with me. In. Now."

You hear Snape start to inhale through his nose. You concentrate. You take a long, shaky breath in, focusing on his deep voice, the sound of the air entering his lungs, his eyes, so black.

"Good," he says. "Now out."

You breathe out, and the darkness around him starts to dissipate, revealing more of his sallow skin.

"Again," he says. He is still looking at you, right into your eyes, as you continue to breathe with him, slowly. In. Out. In. Out.

As your heart starts to calm, and your vision returns, you notice Snape flicks his wand toward his desk, although his eyes don't leave yours. He hands you an empty glass, casts a wordless spell to fill it with water, and nods to you to drink. You sip it until it's all gone. He takes it from you and sets it down.

"I feel sick," you rasp, as a sudden wave of nausea hits you.

"Put your head between your knees," he says, and you are momentarily taken aback at how soft his voice sounds. "Keep breathing."

You nod, just slightly, as your head has started to pound. You bend over and feel the blood rush to your forehead, pounding in the rhythm of your heartbeat. You groan.

"Headache?" he asks. You mumble the affirmative and after a swish of his wand (which you hear, not see), he hands you a potion. "Don't raise your head much. Drink like this." You obey and within moments you feel the headache remedy swirl through your veins, reaching your head and soothing the pounding beat. Shortly after, he hands you another vial. "For nausea," he says. You drink this one in the same manner. He takes the vials from your hands.

Moments pass. You keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The nausea dissipates, and you sigh in relief. After some time, Snape breaks the silence. "Raise your head slowly," he instructs, still softly. You do so, feeling your cheeks flushed and your forehead damp. "Keep breathing," he adds.

When you open your eyes you see Snape is crouching beside you, his brows knitted together.

"Thank you," you say. It comes out in a whisper.

He shakes his head, as if shaking off your thanks. He doesn't move, just watches you.

You look down, clear your throat. Despite the water he gave you, it feels dry.

Snape, apparently taking the hint (or reading your mind, you think, with a bit of humour), picks up the glass he gave you before, and refills it wordlessly. You nod your thanks and drink. Briefly you find yourself wondering if it is his glass, if you drank out of the same cup as he had.

After a few minutes of neither of you speaking or moving, except for your occasional sip of water, you break the silence. "What happened?"

Snape surveys you for a few moments before answering, slowly. "I believe, Miss Granger, you had a panic attack."

A panic attack?

You aren't expecting that. You feel… embarrassed.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Snape says after another moment. Your eyes shoot to his. He looks back at you, but you sense no intrusion, no hostility. "Witches and wizards in much less… stressful situations have experienced them."

You look back down. You've heard of panic attacks... Seen them mentioned in books once in a while. But you've never had one yourself. Never thought you would. Never gave it much thought at all, really.

Never thought it would be so frightening. That it would feel like dying.

You trace your finger around the rim of the glass. "Have you? Experienced them?"

You don't expect him to answer, so when he eventually does, breaking the silence of the dungeon, you almost jump.

"Perhaps."

What a perfectly Snape answer. You can't help but let out a small laugh. Preparing for a rebuke, your eyes immediately shoot up to meet his.

"As of late, I find myself saying the same thing to you over and over Miss Granger; that is none of your concern."

He's not upset; his voice contains none of the coldness it had in the past, when he'd spoken those same words. Perhaps it's pity. Perhaps he feels sorry for you, since you barged into his office, convinced you were dying, and almost passed out on him. Perhaps he doesn't want to kick you when you're down.

Or, perhaps, he understands.

"Yes, yes," you say sarcastically. "None of my concern. Mind my own business. I recall."

He doesn't seem to expect that. He lets out a breath. Almost a chuckle. Not quite.

But maybe if you squinted.

Snape gets up, then, a joint cracking audibly. You flinch but he doesn't seem to notice. He makes his way around the desk, taking a seat at his chair. "I…" you begin. He puts his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers, regarding you impassively. You clear your throat again, finding it still feels dry. This time you grab your own wand and fill up the glass. He nods his approval. You take a sip, trying to formulate exactly what you want to say.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, instead of waiting for whatever you were trying to articulate.

You nod. "Yes, sir."

"I'm sure you could use some rest. Even better, sleep. Do you feel well enough to travel to your dormitory?"

Your heart sinks. Your dormitory. Ginny. Sleep. You can't sleep. Ginny. Sleep.

You shake your head. He looks concerned for a moment.

"No, I'm sure I can make it there," you clarify. "I feel better. Thank you. I just… Can't sleep. I don't sleep. Not much. It's… difficult to." You don't know how to describe it. The hours spent, avoiding sleep, only to finally give in and be greeted by those images...

He surveys you for a moment. "Have you spoken to Madam Pomfrey about this?"

You feel the cold grip of panic in your chest, again. You don't want her to know. "No," you say, quickly. If you were speaking with anyone else, with Ron or Harry, you would tell them it was fine. Reassure them.

Lie.

But somehow you doubt Snape would believe you. Not after today.

"It would be remiss of me to not recommend you see her. If not for sleep, then for what just happened."

"I'd rather not."

"And why is that?"

You don't answer. You don't know what to say.

"You might be surprised as to what others... understand."

You sigh. "I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has enough to worry about."

He leans back in his chair. "Very well. What do you suggest, Miss Granger? Shall I sedate you? Will you rest then?"

His voice drips with sarcasm. You smile. "Perhaps," you echo. Before you can think better of it, you continue. "Actually, sir, could I stay here?"

His eyes narrow. "To what end?"

Again, You could lie. You could even come up with a believable one; you want to research something, discuss your latest essay, what have you.

Or you could be honest.

Start as you mean to go on…

"I've had a rough afternoon," you start slowly, looking at your hands, still clutching the glass. "Even before I thought I was having a heart attack in the dungeons," you mutter. He huffs at that. Almost a chuckle, again. "I can't go back to the dormitory right now. And the only other place I feel safe is the library. And there, I may run into further… questions."

His arms are crossed over his chest. He regards you in silence, his brows furrowed. You're quite sure inside his head, the wheels are turning, but he gives nothing away.

"Only 'til dinner," you add.

"Well, I'm relieved you weren't planning on moving in."

You smile to yourself.

After a moment he answers. "Very well, Miss Granger. You may stay. On one condition."

You nod. Too emphatically, you assume.

"I find myself low on headache remedy. You will brew a batch."

You smile. "Yes, sir."

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A couple of references here to two of my favourite fan fiction pieces. "Start as you mean to go on" is from Aurette's "Side Effects." And "if you squinted" is from Aurette's "Appetizers." She is the most fantastic author, I highly recommend checking out every one of her stories. I love how she writes Snape.

- CBot