Disclaimer: This is J.K. Rowling's creation that I've mixed up a little. Please leave as many reviews as you like; I am always happy to hear everyone's opinions on my work. I have recently come back to this story. Having moved countries, learnt an entire AS syllabus in 3 months, etc I haven't had any time to think about this, but I thought I'd have another try. Many thanks.
Chapter 1 – Disturbing Revelations
After the Sorting Ceremony and the usual feast, Hermione escaped to the confines of her bedroom, which was awarded to her as Head Girl by the Headmistress. Pulling out one of her favourite books, a muggle novel – "To Kill a Mocking Bird", she curled up on her four-poster and fell asleep, dreaming not of the book, but of her devoted Ron.
The one positive aspect of returning to Hogwarts was the constant, distracting nature of study. Classes were as she expected, perfectly and graciously distracting. She absorbed herself in the texts she read even more than she had the year before last, until one class, the last lesson of the day – Potions. Hermione sat herself as far away from Snape's desk as possible, followed by Harry. It wasn't that she disliked the man, but his presence reminded her of a past that she was determined to ignore.
Slamming the doors open, with swishing robes and hair, Professor Snape entered his old classroom, with the same elegance and style that he had a year and a half earlier, before the tragic task that earned him the hatred of more than half of the wizarding world. Deliberately ignoring frightful stares and gasps from the seventh year students, he turned and examined his pupils. All were far less innocent and naive than he remembered, and his teaching reputation he noted was heightened rather than hindered by the world's judgement of his participation in the war.
"Introductions I trust are not required, and neither is idle chit chat, Mr Finnegan! Turn to page three hundred and fifty and attempt to complete the set task without ruining your cauldron, Mr Longbottom!" Snape's tone left no room for argument.
"Professor, we studied this the year before last, surely you do not expect us to complete it again?" asked Hermione.
"Miss Granger, although you may have certain privileges due to your student status, that does not give you the authority to question my teaching tactics, fifty points from Gryffindor, for your cheek!" Snape growled.
Hermione rolled her eyes and continued reading through their assigned lesson.
Snape stalked noiselessly from his desk, and basked in the momentary pleasures afforded by the looks of sheer terror on his student's faces. He observed that Granger was absorbed in the text and moved to stand behind her.
"Miss Granger, are you intending to start the assigned project, or have you developed your skills at being an insufferable know-it-all, and learned how to produce a potion by simply learning the text by heart, and producing it as a direct quote devoid of any originality?" said the silky and venomous voice of the Potions Master.
Hermione's face went a violent shade of red at Snape's comment, but unlike her previous years of suffering in silence, she decided, or rather her emotional state forced her not to think, before she spoke and exercised some, as he put it – originality.
"You, sir, are a git! Just because Dumbledore could see through your sour and displeasing disposition and find it in his foolish heart to not flay you alive, does not give you the right to inflict even more pain than you and your cowardly death eating fuckwits already have!" Hermione yelled.
Immediately covering her mouth and lowering her head, Hermione braced herself for the onslaught of Snape's heated remarks.
Snape caught his surprise split seconds before it appeared on his face, instead letting a disturbing sneer ignite his facial features. "You will please restrain yourself, Miss Granger, and restrict your remarks to soft whispers telling Mr Longbottom how to complete the set task," said Snape silkily, gliding towards his desk. "Oh, and you will be serving detention every night until you have learned to keep your tongue under control. Now continue your work, or more appropriately, start it."
Hermione couldn't help but swear under her breath, she'd just been given not just one, but several detentions on the very first day of school by none other than the arrogant prat of a Professor whom she had tried to avoid at all costs. Packing her bag as quickly as possible, Hermione raced out of the door and straight up to Gryffindor Tower.
The arrogant, self righteous prat, complete and utter bastard! Detention, give me detention, if it wasn't for me you'd have bled to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack! Self important, murdering scoundrel!
She bashed every piece of linen in sight, and right before breaking the lamp next to her bed she was interrupted by the very bastard himself – Professor Snape's head had appeared in the fireplace.
"Miss Granger, you might wish to eat something before tonight's detention, I do not expect you will be returning to your room before midnight. Oh, and as for your attire," he said, while looking disdainfully at the pink, fluffy slippers Lavender had given as a 'sorry he's dead' present, "muggle clothes will suffice, and I'm sure you possess plenty of those." With that he disappeared.
How dare he, how DARE HE!
Sending the lamp flying into the fireplace, Hermione changed into the worst muggle clothes she could find – a pair of torn jeans, a size theoretically too small, although Lavender would disagree, and an equally tight polo shirt. She didn't even bother to survey her appearance in the mirror, but simply tied her untameable mane in a ponytail.
Snape was just about to send a nasty alarm charm into Miss Granger's room when he heard a knock at the door. "Come," he groaned.
Hermione opened the door leaving it slightly ajar as she contemplated taking the seat opposite the formidable figure of her disregarding inflictor. Deciding that it would be safer to stand, she planted her feet firmly on the stone floor, nearer the door than his desk, lest she need to exercise a quick escape from his drawling, malignant tones. Slowly drawing his eyes away from his grading, Snape started to formulate a witty remark which lodged in his throat when he saw the relatively naked form, in contrast with completely unrevealing school robes, of Hermione Granger.
"What in God's name do you think you are doing, Miss Granger, wearing something of that nature to a detention? Go back to your room and change this instant!" Snape barked, banishing the choked sound momentarily audible in his voice.
Hermione stared at the hateful man seething at her and replied with a drawling disregarding tone, not dissimilar to the one which the man opposite her usually engaged, "I beg your pardon, but I believe that you may have the authority to give me however many unnecessary detentions as you see fit, but you do not have the right to dictate what clothes I am permitted to wear, even if you do find them inappropriate! These are my worst, as you put it, "muggle" clothes, and as I assume that my detention will consist of manual labour, I would rather not turn a reasonably good outfit to dust, even if it would help your peace of mind, Professor!"
Hermione was proud of herself, if not horrified at her lack of respect and tact. That remark would surely cost her at the least another night in the presence of this monster.
Choosing to ignore her impertinent remark, Snape simply glanced at the work bench containing one cauldron, a first year text book and various ingredients. Delighting in the obvious confusion and curiosity emanating from the bushy-haired know-it-all, he motioned her to take the seat nearest the cauldron.
"Professor, I don't understand, what is it that you want me to do exactly?" Hermione inquired, managing to keep her vocal tone even.
Sneering inwardly, Snape moved towards the bench and stood towering over the small and delicate frame of Hermione Granger. He allowed the sneer to envelope his face, and felt increasingly superior as he noticed her squirm under his piercing gaze and stiffen at his impeding closeness and invasion of her personal space.
Feeling exceedingly uncomfortable, and robbed of air, Hermione managed to banish fear and straightened, looking defiantly up into Snape's black eyes.
"You will not be undertaking any manual labour tonight, or any other for the remainder of your detentions. You will be completing all the practical components of every potion in the first year text book," Snape said, with a hint of satisfaction and malicious joy.
Resolved not to give him the satisfaction of showing her utter revulsion, Hermione simply opened the text book and began the preparations for the first of many mundane potion assessments that Snape would undoubtedly force her to repeat if she did not maintain a level of absolute perfection.
Not looking up from her assigned task until she had completed several potions with more care and delicacy than she had ever managed, Hermione whiled away the hours until the clock struck twelve, and she was ushered out with a cold and disdainful glare.
That night Hermione woke in a pool of sweat. She had dreamt that her parents had tried to save her from the onslaught of spells cast from several Death Eaters, while Ron's lifeless body lay limp on the damp soil in front of her. Washing her face and looking at the clock, she pulled on an old sweater, tracksuit bottoms and some trainers, and walked distractedly down the stairs and through the doors onto the grounds, assaulted by a welcome gust of ice-cold wind, awakening her senses and freezing her heart. Determined to rid her mind of the horrific images revolving through her head, she broke into a run. With eyes closed and emotions slowly subsiding, she charged unknowingly, head-first into Professor Snape.
"What in Merlin's name do you mean by running recklessly in this manner, at night, outside, Miss Granger?" Snape growled.
Trying desperately to recompose herself, Hermione brushed away wayward tears, and stiffened, replying coldly, "I am terribly sorry, Professor Snape. I was not looking where I was going."
Snape stood observing the distressed and sorrowful form of Miss Granger and sighed inwardly. He was tired of maintaining the persona of the frightening and unapproachable Potions Professor, and longed to be able to recoil and reject society as he so desperately wanted to. He had not thought that he would survive the war, in fact he was counting on the opposite, but life does have a way of disregarding what one wants and implementing what it thinks is best, or in Snape's eyes, more torturous.
Recollecting his thoughts, Snape spoke with less venom than he intended, bordering on understanding, or perhaps resignation, "No obviously you were not, Miss Granger. One should not wander alone at this hour, there are still dangers left in this world, even though one of the most eminent is no longer present."
With that he stalked away, puzzled at his unguarded choice of words, followed by Hermione's curious and dazed stare. Coming to her senses several minutes later, she hurried back to her chambers, realising that if Snape caught her outside again, he would not hesitate to deduct house points, and fill her calendar with demeaning detentions.
Forcing herself to eat a piece of lightly buttered toast, Hermione stared into her plate of untouched cereal.
"Hermione, are you okay, you've hardly touched breakfast and you haven't had a proper dinner since the Sorting Ceremony?" Harry asked soothingly and somewhat hesitantly.
"I'm fine, Harry, I'm just a bit out of sorts, being here and everything, everyone continuing as if nothing has happened, I just can't move on so easily," Hermione whispered, not looking up from her bowl.
"Herm, I think you should move in with me. I know what it's like to just brood in a never-ending cloud of hopelessness. You need to at least start to move on. Ron's gone and, and your parents, Hermione they aren't, they aren't coming back. You can't keep bottling everything inside and living in denial," Harry said, throwing caution to the wind. "At least you know that your mum and dad are ok, they're happy and they're alive. They may not be the same people as you loved, but they're safe, that's more than anyone could hope for."
"My parents are not alive, Harry!" Hermione stood up, her eyes welling with tears. "I may not be the boy who lived, whose parents died when I was young, but I'm the girl who followed you to the ends of the earth and lost parents who I actually knew and loved. They are not alive Harry. Don't you understand? They're dead, they don't remember me, and they don't know who I am! I wish they had died. I wish I could be certain like you can that they love me. But I can't. All I have are the memories of a life that I will never have again, not because death took them, but because if I saw them on the street, or ran up and hugged them, they'd no more recognise me as their daughter than they would a stray cat. I wish I had died instead of Ron! Do you know what it's like knowing that I'm the reason my parents are dead to me? DO YOU? So don't talk to me about moving on. I think I'm doing a bloody brilliant job of just being able to go through the day without crying," Hermione sobbed, staring at Harry with an expression of betrayal and distrust.
With that Hermione picked up her bag and retreated to the confines of the library, where the walls of books seemed to shelter her from the harsh reality outside of the musty, yellowed pages.
Hesitating on the threshold of Snape's gloomy dungeon cell, Hermione knocked with surprising confidence and entered the dimly lit, dank room. Without a word or glance in Snape's direction she seated herself in the place she had occupied the night before, and resumed her dreary but distracting task. As she worked she felt her eye lids grow heavy and almost dropped a plate full of newly cut ingredients. Adding them to her boiling mixture she noted that one of the ingredients that she had used the night before in a Sleeping Draught could potentially be incorporated into the potion she was currently working towards completing.
Deciding to trust her instincts, and many years of studying the properties and dangers connected with mixing certain ingredients, Hermione cut up what she estimated as the necessary amount, and cautiously added it to the simmering concoction. With a momentary bubble, the potion went a violent shade of purple and exuded a smell similar to that of cinnamon and other exotic spices.
Showing the first acknowledgement of her presence all night, Snape strode over towards where Hermione was working and looked disapprovingly at the strange purple liquid in her cauldron.
"And what, if you would be so kind as to tell me, Miss Granger, is this tripe you have concocted?" Snape drawled disappointedly. "I was under the impression that you were a capable, or at least adequate imitator of all things regarding a text book. Why then am I observing a purple liquid that does not resemble a Rapid Growth Potion in the slightest?"
Plucking up courage, Hermione stared defiantly into the cruel man's eyes and said simply, "I have added an ingredient which I believe will make the potion not only more effective, but more pleasant for the drinker, and in turn reduce the terrible side effects experienced when ingested."
Snape looked down his crooked nose at the confident creature looking up at him and noted that at last, a small flicker of the spark that he had hoped to kindle in her at the start of her first year pronounced itself. While he knew that Miss Granger believed his insults and exceedingly harsh critiques of her work were aimed at torturing her, which was exactly what he wished her to believe, he was in fact working towards challenging the girl who every other professor had chosen to dote upon and therefore stripped of any hard work. At last she was proving herself to be more than simply adequate at regurgitating boring and unoriginal facts. Well, perhaps a little more than adequate.
Smiling inwardly, and feeling the first form of joy unattached to human suffering, Snape spoke with a deceivingly uninterested tone, "Very well then, Miss Granger, if you believe that your potion is more potent than that in a text book that has been in existence since before you were born, then why don't you prove it. Drink your potion and then we shall see."
Filled with dread and regret, Hermione had no intention of backing down, but she was not wholly overjoyed at the idea of taste testing an experimental potion that was by no means ensured of success. Grabbing a vial of the purplish liquid, and saying a quick prayer to whatever force governed the universe, she lifted the vial to her lips and tentatively emptied the contents into her mouth. Swallowing the surprisingly tasteful potion, she started to feel an odd tingling sensation throughout her entire body and without warning she started to grow at an alarmingly fast rate. Obviously convinced of the potions effectiveness, Snape muttered a spell and just before her robes began to rip she shrunk to her normal size.
"And how do you feel, Miss Granger? Was the taste of the potion satisfactory? You don't seem to have curled over in a heap and died, so I suppose it cannot have been a complete failure," Snape sneered.
Puffing up her chest Hermione stared at Snape, and replied with a sharp tongue, rivalling that of a Slytherin, "You know perfectly well that it was not a failure in any respect. It tasted of exotic spices, which I am more partial to than the usual taste of rotten bat carcass, and I do not feel feverish or violently ill, nor have I died. Therefore it was a complete success, and should exempt me from any further detentions."
Snape could not help but smile at this outburst of genuine pride and spirit, as he looked on the bright and confident face of Hermione.
"You are quite right, it does appear to have been a success, but I would not have permitted you to drink it if I had not been sure it would not have caused permanent damage. Contrary to what you and your Gryffindor counter-part may believe, I do not take pleasure in murdering students, or watching people die," said the pallid faced Potions Master.
Hermione swallowed hard and shivered at the hint of malicious and sorrowful discontent audible only to the very observant, in Snape's last comment.
"I did not mean to offend you, Professor; I was just merely stating that I felt that my potion was a success. Forgive me for my insolence," she whispered hoarsely.
Biting her tongue, Hermione stared at the unreadable face of her Potions Master, and wondered what had possessed her to react in such a feeling way to a man who no more desired her sympathy than her presence.
Staring at each other for what seemed like an age, Snape wondered why he had not immediately repelled her apology with a cutting and witty remark. When had he allowed himself to drop his defences to an extent that had enabled him to betray some of his inner most feelings to the bushy-haired witch? Why did he feel so out of control, so ruled by his emotions?
Recollecting himself, Snape strode away and back to his desk, where a pile of untouched first year essays awaited his critical quill. A short time later, Hermione managed to regain some of her dignity and continued to work her way through the first year text book, adding several ingredients of her own as she went.
By the end of the night the pile of first year essays still lay untouched on Snape's desk, as his focus seemed unmovable from his present company. Thirty minutes after Hermione's first experimental potion, and the awkward silence that followed, Snape had resolved to abandon his futile attempts at marking the highly mundane and horribly poor excuses for essays, and observe the silent and determined young witch while she added peculiar, but clever and well-suited ingredients to potion after potion, occasionally voicing suggestions which she seemed to soak up like an ever-hungry sponge.
It was only after the clock struck one am that the pair realised the late hour, and hurried to vacate the area.
Pouring his nightly glass of firewhisky, Snape pondered on the night's events. It was nearing five am and he knew that if he fell asleep he would wake even more haggard than if he stayed awake.
Miss Granger was turning into a bright young witch. While his colleagues would argue that she had always been such, Snape knew that what the girl usually displayed and what she had managed tonight were two extremely different evidences of intelligence. Anyone could memorise a text book, perhaps not as effectively or as quickly as Hermione, but creating and analysing potion ingredients and being able to implement them in other potions, taking into account the delicate properties and boundaries was genius, and was worthy of even Snape's praise, although he did not allow himself to see or express it.
Harry wandered through the Great Hall, the Library, the Gryffindor common room, and scoured the school grounds for Hermione, but since their discussion two days prior she was nowhere to be found. Ginny had not seen her, and it seemed that she was growing even more reclusive. He had realised after the discussion that he was completely out of line, but he really had not meant anything by it, he only wanted to help her, but he had never been good at dealing with anything other than relying on pot luck, which everyone else called defeating Voldemort. Finally he saw her bushy-head enter through the fat lady portrait and rushed without consciously wishing to be intrusive to talk to her.
"Hiya, Harry, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Hermione joked.
Hastily shuffling her out of ear shot of the other occupants of the common room, Harry spoke in a hushed and urgent whisper, "I... I haven't seen you since yesterday and well, Herm, I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do. I've lost Ron and now I feel like I'm losing you too. Please think about what I said, about moving in with me I mean. I think it'll be good for both of us. But if you don't want to, I'll understand." Harry braced himself for an onslaught of tears or hushed, angry words.
"I'm sorry, Harry, I've just been so busy with work and detentions, and I've just not been coping very well. I snapped, and even though you were out of line, I'm sorry about some of the things I said. I understand what you're trying to do, but I have to at least try to get through this on my own," Hermione whispered, placing a slightly tentative hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate it, Harry, really I do, but I just need you to be there and just kind of let me get by. I promise that you won't lose me. I just can't give up hoping that they'll remember. I just can't."
Harry embraced her and felt her relax in his arms. How had the bushy-haired little girl grown up into such a strong and independent adult, and why didn't he feel like he could follow her on whatever mission she was embarking on? He just knew that he'd be there waiting, with her whenever she needed him, even if she never did.
Retreating to her rooms, Hermione felt content for the first time since Ron had died. She knew that she'd never be the same girl that she was, she had changed, and she'd never regain that innocence joyfulness again, but she could at least be content.
With the first glimpses of the sun, Hermione woke from what felt like the most sound and longest night's sleep she'd had in months. Pulling on her trainers, she tied her hair into a messy bun and decided to go for a run to clear the clouds of sleep from her mind.
Feeling the rush of cold air against her skin, Hermione ran to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and noticed a small stream of smoke coming from Hagrid's previously homely hut. Curiosity getting the better of her, she jogged to the door and opened it, to find her sullen and defeated looking Potions Master, sitting with his head in his hands. Straightening at the intrusion, Hermione saw the momentary gap between the Snape that no one except Dumbledore knew and the mask that was the persona of the cold, disdainful Professor. Before she could close the door, he was upon her, his hand wrapped painfully around her fragile wrist, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.
"What are you doing here? What do you mean by bursting into a place where you have no right to be, you insolent, disrespectful chit of a girl?" Snape hissed, gripping her wrist tighter, causing the imprint of his hand to stain the otherwise perfect porcelain skin. "Well, well, speak child, speak you insufferable wench." Snape shook her and released her arm, pushing Hermione into the door, causing it to slam behind her.
"I... I was just, just going for a run, and I saw smoke coming from the chimney and I..."
"Thought you'd stifle your curiosity by trespassing," Snape interrupted, slicing Hermione's nerves into pieces.
"I am sorry, Professor. I'll just go back to the castle," Hermione managed, before he resumed his firm grip on her aching wrist.
"Oh no, but don't you want to marvel at the hideously hilarious form of your defeated Potions Master, the hateful man that has made your life hell since you were eleven, who killed Albus Dumbledore? Don't you want to bask in the glory that is his emotional defeat?" Snape said venomously, boring into her soul with his cruel and sorrowful words.
"No, Professor, I do not want to interrupt your time of solitude and deserved peace, as I would not wish you to do if I were in such a state," Hermione managed, hoping her remark would not fuel his turbulent temper.
He flung her away from him, and walked haggardly to resume his post next to the fire place. "Get out! Get out and stay out," Snape said resignedly. "Did you hear me? GET OUT!"
Hermione pelted as fast as her legs could carry her, away from the disturbing presence of Snape. She did not stop until she was safely behind the walls of her own chamber and collapsed on the floor, tears sliding down her cheeks. Pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging into them, she never felt so cold and alone.
She tried to understand what she had seen and what she had heard, touching the blackening marks where Snape's hand had crushed her wrist moments before, but she was numb to the pain. It seemed like the world Hermione knew, was crashing down around her and she could do nothing but watch, as it took everything and everyone she loved. She had no idea why the discovery of Snape's hidden torment had affected her so, but she knew that she couldn't face the world today. Climbing into bed, she wrapped the covers around herself like a cocoon, protecting her from the harsh reality and cruel state of the world.
Hermione slipped in and out of fitful dreams, some containing images of Ron and her parents and others involving a little boy, curled up against his door, in much the same state and position that she had been in at the start of the day. She recognised the face. It was a younger and much more innocent reflection, but Snape's pale hatred of the world and deep, lingering torment were evident in his black, cold eyes, that even in her imagination, bore into her soul and wrenched at the lonely part of her heart. She was more like the distant shadow of a man than she realised.
The clock struck eight pm and Snape was pacing the dungeon, thinking of the predicament he had gotten himself into. The girl had been frightened, deeply disturbed, he saw it in her eyes and could still feel her squirming under his harsh and domineering hand. Why had he hurt her so? After all, she was not to blame for his state of mind, or for being curious at the addition of smoke coming from a place, which he reminded himself, was extremely close to her heart. She had more right to find solitude in the little hut than he did, but still he could not extinguish the anger in his heart, directed more so at himself rather than the girl. How could he have become so careless, let his emotions control him and leave him like a sitting duck to innocent, prying eyes. Those eyes that bore into his soul, they were the eyes of a heart not untouched by grief, not unmarred by life, but far too young to be so wise and so melancholy. He had hurt her, he was in no doubt of that, and he cursed himself for doing it.
What was more disturbing was her absence from class, and on further investigation from every class that day. Snape knew that the last place she would venture would be the dungeons, but still he waited and paced, until lo and behold, a hesitant and hurried knock sounded on the hollow wood of the dungeon door. Opening it tentatively, there standing determinedly before the door was, Miss Granger. Moving backwards to allow her admittance, she hurried past him and stopped dead, turning to look Snape square in the eye.
"I meant what I said this morning, Professor. I am terribly sorry that I disturbed your peace and quiet. It was not my intention, and I assure you, was I aware of your presence, I would never have grossly interrupted your solitude," she said, her voice catching half way through.
Standing dumb struck, Snape closed the door and stood studying the solemn-faced, but obviously nervous student. Sighing audibly, he let himself show more of his character than he necessarily intended, but did not amend his lapse of defence.
"Miss Granger, it is I who should be asking for your forgiveness, and apologising to you. Not only was I completely out of line, but I physically assaulted you, and I am more sorry than you can imagine. I know full well the weight and depression that comes from being physically and mentally assaulted by someone who you believe to have power over you, and I allowed myself to wield that power in an unacceptable way. Please forgive my lapse of judgement, my only excuse, and it is a poor one, is that I was not in my right mind, forgive me," Snape concluded, with a sorrowful sigh, not daring to look towards the girl who at this moment held the weight of both their sorrows.
Taking a step closer, Hermione commanded attention, unintentionally using her limited knowledge of Legimency to entreat him to look at her. His eyes fixed on hers, for a moment the words she was sure of a split second before, caught in her throat, and for an instant she was torn between the urge to flee from his presence, and physically comfort him. Composing herself, she did neither and simply held his gaze, before she chose to speak, making sure she trod carefully. If nothing else, she had learned that Snape was easier to anger than a Care of Magical Creatures textbook.
"Professor, I no more blame you for your outburst, than I do the sun for setting. As you said, you know the depression that comes from being controlled, I know the desperation that comes from ones most private and intimate moments being invaded by prying eyes, no matter how innocent. I know you do not desire my pity, or my sympathy, so I will offer you none. I merely want to ensure you that I did not miss class today because of you, but for my own personal lamentations. You need not fear that what I have discovered, which is very little, will ever pass my lips to another living soul. Your business is your own, I am just sorry that I invaded it so carelessly." Hermione risked a long and unguarded gaze at the man that stood before her, before seating herself and continuing to work through the last of the first year potions quietly.
Snape stood watching the girl for a long while and finally came to his senses, drifting towards the bench where she was seated.
"Miss Granger, you are exempt from further detention, you may return to your chamber," Snape said with his usual cold and disdainful air, returning to his recomposed persona.
Hermione lifted her head and mustered all of the courage she possessed. She had planned on asking this question at a more opportune time, but seeing as he was presenting her with possibly her only opening, she plunged head first into what she knew would become, at best a heated discussion, and at worst, a catastrophe.
Standing up, she cleared her throat and made herself look directly into Snape's eyes.
"Well, I was wondering if I could have a word with you about that?" Hermione asked cautiously.
The look on his face made Hermione aware that his full defences were back in action and the frail and vulnerable Snape was no more.
"Perhaps I could handle one word from you, although I doubt very much whether you could limit yourself to even one hundred words in the space of a minute," Snape said, hurting even his own ears.
Seeing the look of momentary confusion and hurt written on Hermione's face, he summoned a seat and sat down, never taking his eyes of the young witch.
When Hermione failed to commence her tale, Snape said coldly, "Well, speak girl."
With Snape's harsh words came renewed strength, and Hermione cleared her throat, ready to divulge as much information as she could before the temperamental temper of her Potions Master would force her into silence.
"Professor, I know that you have never warmed to me, or even tolerated my presence, but I would like to ask you something, which I believe to be of the utmost importance," said Hermione, rather quickly.
"Yes, I believe we've established that you wish to ask me a question, Miss Granger, so if you could stop wasting both our time and get to the point, it would be much appreciated," Snape drawled.
Swallowing hard, Hermione continued with a steadier and more even tone, "Professor, I would like you to assist me in further studies regarding potions."
Shocked into silence, Snape gaped at Hermione until he found his tongue and said somewhat croakily, "Miss Granger, what would give you the idea that I would ever agree to such a preposterous notion. You are quite capable of passing your Potion N.E.W.T without any extra help from me."
"Professor, it is not the desire to do well at any exam that has fuelled my question," Hermione managed, gaining strength from the look of bafflement only just visible in Snape's pallid complexion. "To be brutally honest, I intend to undertake some individual research, and I am not ashamed to admit that I am by no means able to complete or even start it on my own."
"So you expect me to sacrifice my own personal time and energy to help you add another notch of brilliance to your belt. Well you thought wrong. I refuse to pamper your intellectual vanity, Miss Granger, now return to your chambers immediately!" Snape drawled venomously.
Refusing to obey the temperamental Potions Master, Hermione took a step towards him and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a sickening sensation and an awful headache. Swooning, Professor Snape sat her down on a bench chair and waited for her speech to become coherent.
When she could stand without toppling over, Hermione lashed out and flung her fists at Snape's immovable form.
"How dare you, you cowardly, unfeeling bastard, how dare you, how dare you use Legimency! How...dare... you!" Hermione managed in between panted sobs and punches, the images of Ron and her parents floating through her mind, evoked by Snape's uncouth intrusion.
Not bothering to attempt to stop the aggravated witch, he said simply, "I had to be assured of your intentions, and believe me, Miss Granger, if you cannot cope with my behaviours, however uncouth they may seem, I suggest you leave," he said, grasping both of her hands mid punch.
Looking up into the cold, unreadable eyes of Snape, Hermione struggled against the Potions Master's firm grip on her fists, gaping at the unfeeling figure before her. Finally giving up her futile struggle, she stopped, and refusing to be ushered to sit down, glared at the man towering over her.
"You are the most unfeeling shadow of a man I have ever met! What gives you the right to probe into my mind, uninvited?" she said, through gritted teeth. She still had her reputation as Head Girl to think about.
"Would you have given me permission, Miss Granger?" asked Snape genuinely. After receiving no response he continued. "I had to be sure of your intentions and what exactly this personal research involves. Now I know the answers to both these questions, I can process the information and come to a conclusion about my next course of action."
Hermione stared at the bat like figure towering over her, and felt neither fear not hatred, but complete defiance. He was who he was, and he always got what he wanted, but not from her.
"Professor, you must excuse my momentary lapse of judgement. It was wrong of me to impose on your valuable time, asking you such a dim-witted question. I will leave you to your thoughts," she said, turning to leave. "Good evening, Professor."
Grasping her wrist with the same cold, clammy hands, Snape pulled her around to face him, with a far gentler demeanour gracing his countenance. "Miss Granger, I have not bid you leave. Do you not wish to hear what I have to say?" he enquired, raising one questioning eyebrow. "I will aid you in your personal research, Miss Granger."
"What?" She managed before collapsing onto a seat, conveniently summoned by the Potions Master.
"Do try to keep up, Miss Granger. I said I will help you. Now go to your chamber and return here at precisely eight pm tomorrow night," Snape said, turning from a bemused Hermione. "Oh, and you will not be skipping dinner any night which we are working together. I will not have you collapsing on my watch."
Regaining her courage and banishing the sickening feeling at the pit of her stomach, Hermione stood and mustered all the height that she was afforded.
"And what makes you presume that I would accept your help after your blatant disregard for my privacy?" she asked boldly.
With an audible sneer and obnoxiously arrogant air, Snape drawled, "Because you made it quite clear, Miss Granger, that you lack the means, self-determination and intelligence to complete your research, let alone start it without me. I will see you at eight pm sharp, Miss Granger. Now leave!"
"You know, you could have simply asked my intentions, Professor."
"And have wasted several of my highly precious hours in discovering what I gained in mere seconds. Now what would have been the point in that?" he said, with a huge smirk igniting his features.
With that, Snape left Hermione shell-shocked in the dungeon classroom.