The meeting with Sirius had been interesting; he'd certainly made her think.

*"Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing ... the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere ... panic ...confusion ... that's how it used to be."* He'd said.

Shit.

Would it be like that again? Death Eaters and the Dark Mark at the World Cup, Bertha Jorkins going missing, Moody being attacked, Harry's name coming out of the Goblet, Mr Crouch's mysterious illness and breaking into Snape's office, the Dark Mark burning and getting darker.

He was coming back.

And Crouch sent his own son to the dementors. That was cold. How could anyone do that? Hermione hated Malfoy but she didn't think she'd even send him to Azkaban. At least not for long.

*"Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters. Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."*

Yeah, and you tried to kill him. She felt a stab of irritation at Sirius. Then all she could think of was a sallow skinned, greasy-haired little boy, unwashed, unloved, with an extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts that fell in with a bad crowd of Slytherins. Not that any of that was an excuse for becoming a Death Eater, but still – it went a way to explaining how he was drawn that way.

Winky was in a right state.

*"Master - hic - ill?"

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

"But we're not sure if that's true," Hermione said quickly.

"Master is needing his - hic - Winky!" whimpered the elf. "Master cannot - hic - manage - hic - all by himself..."

"Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky," she said severely.

"Winky - hic - is not only - hic - doing housework for Mr. Crouch!" Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. "Master is - hic - trusting Winky with - hic - the most important - hic - the most secret..."

"What?" said Harry.

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.

"Winky keeps - hic - her master's secrets," she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. "You is - hic - nosing, you is."

"Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!" said Dobby angrily. "Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!"

"He is nosing - hic - into my master's - hic - private and secret - hic - Winky is a good house-elf - hic - Winky keeps her silence - hic - people trying to - hic - pry and poke - hic -"*

And then she collapsed unconscious. What was Mr Crouch's most important secret? Oh she didn't like that man. Mistreating his house-elf who obviously adored him, sending his own son to prison, disappearing to God knows where and breaking into poor Snape's office.

*YOU ARE A WICKED GIRL. HARRY POTTER DESERVES
BETTER. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM MUGGLE.

"They're all like it!" Hermione said desperately, opening one letter after another. "'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you...' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn...' Ouch!"

She opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils.

"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" said Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.

"Ow!" She said, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves.

She would get that bloody bitchface Rita Skeeter if it was the last bloody thing she did. Oooh she would pay for this. She'd fucked with the wrong silly little girl.

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry as the owls around Hermione took flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone..."*

And she rushed out of the Hall so fast, she didn't see Professor Snape until she'd collided with him very hard, and fallen back onto her bum. She looked up at him, his annoyance vanishing when he saw it was her, and his expression shifted into one of cruel amusement. She couldn't help it. Her hands hurt. Her bum hurt. She was humiliated. She was sat on the floor with her hands swollen and lumpy. A couple of tears fell from her eyes. God she didn't want to cry in front of Professor Snape. Hermione leapt to her feet and made to dash towards the Hospital Wing with a mumbled apology. He caught up with her in 5 steps. She braced herself.

"Miss Granger what has happened to your hands?" He asked, his voice oddly neutral.

"Undiluted bubotuber pus sir, hate mail from that article you read out in one of our lessons." She answered. He looked marginally surprised.

"Evidently quite a lot of people do find my social life fascinating." She snapped. Then she blanched. It was not a good idea to snap at Professor Snape. She looked up at him; he appeared more amused than anything else.

"Please could I go to the Hospital Wing sir? My hands hurt and I don't want to miss my lessons."

He stared at her for a minute, looking slightly troubled.

"There will be no need." He replied silkily. "Madame Pomfrey is exceptionally busy this morning, some 5th year Hufflepuffs attempted to transfigure each other into various animals. One girl still has a very stubborn set of udders. I shall treat you in my office. Follow me."

And he swept away, his black robes billowing behind him; it was a sight that was endearingly familiar, ridiculously overdramatic and oddly impressive. She quickly went to catch up with him, bewildered in the extreme.

He led her down into the dungeons, taking a short cut she'd never seen before, and let her in to his office. She took the seat opposite his desk and put her bag down, he was looking at her oddly from the other side. Seeming to come to some sort of a decision, he selected a jar on one of his shelves, which she thought contained essence of Murtlap, poured a large quantity in a bowl and added a huge dollop of some other, much thicker substance and mixed them together with the grace that only a Potions Master could possess. He looked at her with distaste.

"Hold out your hands."

She complied and he immediately began smothering her hands in the concoction, between her fingers, her palms and up to her wrists, he was a bit rough, but the paste was so soothing to the throbbing.

"Don't move."

He disappeared through an adjoining door she hadn't noticed when she'd entered and returned shortly afterwards with what looked like a roll of cling film, but was probably the magical alternative. With difficulty he wrapped the film around each of her fingers, then over the rest of her hands so she was basically wearing paste-filled cling film gloves. She looked up at his troubled face.

"They need to remain in this state for at least an hour and a half. You may stay here." he told her emotionlessly then settled down at his desk to mark essays. What was she supposed to do for an hour and a half in Snape's office? She couldn't hold a pen, turn a page, she'd already pushed him to talk to her quite a lot recently; she didn't think she'd get away with it again. She looked around the room; it wasn't a very welcoming place. It was gloomy and dimly-lit, the fireplace stood empty and the lights from the candles cast strange shadows on the walls which were lined with shelves, shelves covered in jars of pickled animals and plants and bits of animals. Charming. She looked at the man sitting before her. He was very tense. Was it her presence or was this tension always evident these days? She'd have to keep a closer eye on him.

"Is there anything useful I can be doing Professor? I can't exactly read one my books, I don't think I'd be able to turn the pages."

He frowned slightly before looking up at her, his face expressionless once more.

"You could count out eels eyes and dead spiders for my lesson with the first years this afternoon. They're brewing a slightly more complicated potion and, imbeciles that they are, I doubt they'll be able to come close to completing the potion if the required ingredients aren't already measured out for them." Snape said.

She suppressed an amused smile at his criticism of his own class; she didn't think she'd ever come across a teacher that hated students as much as he did. Then she waited for him to get up and get the ingredients for her to count but he was still watching her. Why?

Oh.

He was waiting for her to agree. He was giving her a choice. How utterly un-Snape-ish.

"I may as well." She answered with a timid smile. He frowned again, then swept out of his office, returning a few minutes later with a tray of eels eyes, a tray of spiders and a huge stack of bowls. He placed them on his large wooden desk.

"Each student will require 10 spiders and 13 eyes. Put them in separate bowls. There are 19 students. Any marred eyes or spiders with legs missing need to be discarded. Begin." He snapped.

Well that was more like it. It was quite boring work really, made tricky by her hand issues but it was doable. In truth she felt quite pleased she was doing something to make Snape's life easier, even if was something tiny; if she was stressed about all that was happening this year and what it was leading to, she couldn't begin to imagine what Snape must be feeling, knowing he'd have to actually return to You-Know-Who.

She found she was very aware of his close proximity; she could have easily lifted her hand and touched the top of his bowed head. She finished sorting the ingredients for his class and the bell rang. She'd missed the whole of Herbology. She went through the remaining eyes and spiders, fishing out and vanishing the imperfect ones, hoping this small gesture may be of some use at some point.

She was getting closer to finishing when he dropped his quill, and gripped his left forearm, she was sure he was holding on to it so tight he's leave bruises. He was silent but his face was contorted in pain, his eyes shut. She hated, hated seeing him in pain.

She didn't know why she did it. It was a bad idea. But she did it anyway.

Hermione grasped his left hand with her right one and held on tight. His eyes flew open, showing her a mixture of shock and alarm but after his initial, flinch - or perhaps it had been a jump, she had grabbed his hand rather suddenly – he didn't move, he didn't hold her hand back, but he didn't pull away either. They stared at one another.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

He pulled his hand from her grasp and turned away from her bodily, he was breathing very fast. She stared at him openly, waiting for a verbal assault that never came; he seemed to be pretending she didn't exist. Well. Ok.

She'd held his hand for 8 seconds.

Oh dear God what was happening to her life? She'd grabbed Professor Snape's hand and held it for 8 seconds. He'd let her hold his hand for 8 seconds.

Maybe he'd been in too much pain to pull away. She doubted it.

Oh.

His Dark Mark had burned badly again.

Shit.

"It wasn't a Summons?" She asked him quietly.

"No." Snape snapped, still turned away from her.

Well at least that was something. She began sorting through the ingredients once more and, after quite some time, Snape returned to his marking.

"I need to take the film off." He informed her at length.

She held out her hands and he unwrapped them, still not looking at her. Her Professor then applied more of the paste, wrapped her hands in heavy bandages and sent her on her way; he didn't make eye-contact once. She wasn't brave enough to dawdle, or do anything else reckless for that matter. But she didn't go straight to Care of Magical Creatures; she felt way too … something. Her chest felt a bit funny, the feeling intensified every time she thought of Snape's face, twisted in pain and the feel of his hand under hers.

He'd let her hold his hand for 8 seconds.

She'd offered him comfort when he'd badly needed it and, while he hadn't exactly accepted it, he hadn't totally rejected it either. This was definite progress.

So why did she feel so miserable?

Is Hermione starting to catch feels? Or is it just indigestion?

Hope you like this chapter, I'm a bit worried I'm moving their relationship along too fast but I guess 8 second, one way hand holding isn't exactly falling in love and doing it all night.

Just a lil reminder - to myself as much as to anyone else - our Hermione is still only 15 at this point, I shouldn't imagine Snape will start to see her as a sexual being for a while yet, I don't want him to be creepy (what I would perceive as creepy anyway).

The next chapter probably won't be for a few days, I should imagine Monday or Tuesday- I'm going away this weekend without my laptop and then I have a crazy busy couple of days at work. Real life can be such an inconvenience.

As always thanks for reading.

*Text in between asterisks* from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by my hero J.K Rowling.