Snape was about to cruelly shun her away from any sentiment of passions between them when a Ravenclaw girl burst into his dungeon.
"Hermione, Ron's in trouble!" She looked much like a bird, flailing her arms and squawking. The sorting hat wasn't wrong.
Snape did not see Hermione glance back for approval before she ran blindly into the halls. Left feeling a bit perturbed, he waved the high strung Ravenclaw off and came back to his thoughts. What did she have to worry for? Shouldn't she be thankful that the red head and the boy-who-lived hadn't allowed her to suffer the consequences of their latest venture as well?
He gathered his cloak and recomposed his steely aura before entering the halls. He should be present to see just what the boy had gotten himself into, after all.
He looked on amidst his colleagues as explanation fell from their lips about the pale, bedridden boy. He looked as if he had swallowed something worse than a bezoar. It wasn't too much longer before he discovered his assessment to be correct. At least Potter had retained some information in that lofty skull.
Suddenly, another girl with her knickers in a twist had entered the hospital wing. Quite the busy day for hormones, he noted. He paid little attention to her banter, but his ear seemed trained to hone in on Hermione's responses.
"I happen to be his friend."
Why did he feel a sense of both relief and tension at that statement?
"I've always found him- interesting."
She looked away after that comment. Perhaps because the girl was struggling to come up with the appropriate adjective when placed on the spot? What was she arguing for, anyway?
Snape admired how Hermione coolly stood her ground, but he couldn't get his stomach to offer the same respect as his mind.
Out of the darkness, the word 'Hermione' had feebly fallen from Weasley's chapped lips. And that was all it took for her to sit at his bedside, an unyielding grip on his hand.
Friendship had never been something that Snape had a firm concept of. When he saw the two teenagers, he thought back to what he would do if it were Lily. He would have done the same, but then again, that wasn't friendship. That was something deeper that brought him to sell his soul to the Dark Lord and Dumbeldore out of retribution, out of something he liked to believe was love. The only fruit to drop from the barren tree of his heart. Much like a photograph, it was easy to distinguish in those days, but yellow and faded as of late. Fraying at the edges and becoming lost in translation. Applying that infantile feeling to what he was seeing now was driving his insides to slowly cannibalize themselves.
"Oh to be young and feel loves keen sting."
Had Dumbeldore noticed his discomfort? Was he trying to offer assistance or twisting the knife at uncovering any thoughts besides those which were binding his soul to Hogwarts and eternal servitude at the old wizard's feet?
"Let us go, Mr. Weasley is well cared for."
Snape had decided; it was both. With a turn of his heal, he offered Hermione the same kindness she had afforded him. He did not look back. He would not. He could not, not now, with his unbreakable vow and fate sealed.
Hermione slid her hand on top of Ron's. "Oh shut up." She whispered to Harry, who soon exited along with the others. She was left alone with her freckled friend.
She had always been poised to win, to be the best at everything if she could, which left her conflicted as she sat. Was that show between her and Lavender only about her pride? Had she truly won anything? Sure, she used to like Ron. And yes, she could admit now that she was a tad jealous of the constant attention Lavender was getting. Yet, she was also a bit nauseated by the thought of the boy making out with anyone. It was in fact a love between them but, she knew now, it was a sibling love. The strong type that develops over years of childhood memories and time spent in the Gryffindor tower, in Hagrid's hut bonding. It was the same love that she had for Harry. It was equal, neither had more than the other.
There was one other reason why her heart couldn't go in that direction, the mysterious master who lurked in the castle dungeons, and the one who had taught her harshly and left her lusting for more. She felt the clammy hand slip from her fingers onto the white linen as the realization washed over her. Her Professor had been watching the whole time, hadn't he? What would he think of her now? Her eyes swept back and forth as she analyzed her actions. Typical Gryffindor teenager was what they spoke of. Perhaps even a romantically ignorant defense of love. And in her intellect and interactions, she could gather that Professor Snape could not distinguish between a love among friends and something more. Hell, she was finding it hard to distinguish herself.
What could she do now? Her effort had been coming in waves to erode the barrier around his heart and mind. And yet, she could feel with every tick of the clock how he was rebuilding the longstanding walls, stone by stone. She looked sorrowfully back down at her sick friend. He was becoming a blur before her eyes. A hot tear colored the fabric a shade darker as she leaned over to pull his limp frame into an embrace. "I'm sorry Ron, I'm being so selfish." Hermione choked into his clavicle. At least he would let her hug him. He was always so warm and open. But she had become inclined to dark, cramped spaces and that was exactly where she needed to go.