Chapter 5

Hermione's shift was very busy, and she shamelessly used that as an excuse to keep away from Harry and Ron's partitioned cubicle. Even when Ginny asked her to accompany her to see them, Hermione had only smiled and said she hadn't the time.

She was irritated and half afraid of Ginny anyway, not just for her ridiculous inferences about Snape, but because she would not stop hinting at said inferences.

"You are being really very trying, Ginny," Hermione said wearily, as she and her tormentor prepared their patients' evening dosages in Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Am I?" Ginny asked innocently. Hermione glared at her in answer.

"All I'm saying is that you should think about the possibility of a relationship with Snape ... maybe write about it in that journal of yours ... you know, to sort out your feelings."

"Nonsense!" Hermione blustered, slamming down a bottle of tissue-knitting potion rather harder than she'd meant to do.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Ginny said with a knowing smile.

"All right!" Hermione spat, her eyes on fire. "I'll think about it, since I know you won't stop blathering on and on until I say I will!" She picked up her tray of potions and headed for the door.

"That's all I'm asking," Ginny replied happily, while grasping her own tray and following her friend.

As Hermione stepped out on the floor, she nearly ran into Madam Pomfrey herself. "Oh, I'm sorry," she spluttered, quickly wiping a scowl off her face and steadying her tray. Ginny slipped past both women with a deferential nod to the matron.

"That's all right, dear," the matron said, as she hurriedly returned Ginny's greeting. "Don't you have Zacharias Smith on your patient load today?"

"Yes," Hermione answered feeling a sense of foreboding.

"Well, Miss Brown worked with him today," she said, warning in every syllable. "She says he's been a bit … difficult."

"Oh, good news," Hermione mumbled.

"Yes, well, good luck, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, and she headed away in a billow of her skirts.

"Zacharias Smith!" Hermione whined to herself. "Just what I needed—another challenge!"

None of the assistants enjoyed working with Zacharias. He was not a particularly pleasant person when well, but ill was unbearable.

He had suffered from a rather extensive Skin Flaying Hex near the middle of the final battle, which had afflicted over fifty percent of his body, mostly the upper half. Madam Pomfrey had cast the counter-curse when he'd been brought in, and the patient had been put on a regimen of skin restoring and pain reducing potions. He had been improving steadily ever since, but he didn't seem at all appreciative of the care he was getting. He complained almost constantly. Nothing was ever right, especially not, it seemed, Hermione's care giving skills.

Zacharias, in fact, seemed to make it a point to give her the hardest time of all the other assistants. Today was to be no exception.

"You're too rough! Must you blunder about like a hippogriff in a china closet!" he complained when she attempted to turn him over to change the bandages on his back. Hermione set her jaw and rolled her eyes while he wasn't looking, but bit back the sharp retort perched on the end of her tongue.

Later, Zacharias complained that his soup was cold. "It's your fault, you know!" he groused petulantly. "You waited too long to bring it, and now it is stone cold."

Hermione offered to cast a Warming Charm on the soup, but Zacharias only pouted and pushed the bowl away roughly, thus splashing its contents all down his front. "Oh, now look what you made me do!" he bellowed, his face purpling with rage. "Fat lot of help you are!"

Hermione nearly choked herself on the tirade she wanted to unleash on the prat, as she changed his pajama top with quick, practiced hands. And the fact that he groaned and cried out as though she were beating him the entire time didn't improve her disposition one whit.

When she could finally get away from him just before lights out, she threw a "goodnight" at him and flounced off as quickly as she could before he could think of any other demoralizing invectives to throw at her.

In between Zacharias' unreasonable demands, Hermione fed, dosed, and bed-bathed her other patients, all the while feeling more and more tired and unwell herself. Her chest was aching all the time now, and her breathing was sorely taxed by anything over a sedate walk.

Damn cold! she thought, partly because she would've felt too guilty "damning" the real object of her ire.

It was ten o'clock before she was finally able to begin her paperwork. But, Zacharias was still not done with her. When she heard him ring his bell, she heaved herself from her chair with a very unladylike growl and trudged to the tyrant's side.

"Yes?" she gritted out.

"My blanket is too scratchy," he fretted, without preamble. "Get me another one."

Hermione did not bother to point out that he was now using the same blanket he had used since he had begun his hospital stay, but only shot off to find a different one—of exactly the same make and material.

When she had finished tucking the new blanket around the troublesome boy, he started squirming in the most exaggerated and irritating manner possible, complete with little grunting noises. "My God! I'm roasting! Can't you do something about it?!"

Aaahhhhhhhhhhh!

Finally, at around eleven p.m. Hermione found herself seated in the staff room finishing up her notes, when Ginny entered, humming. Hermione eyed her wearily with her hollow dark-smudged eyes.

"Are you about finished, Hermione?" Ginny asked pleasantly, as she took a seat at the table next to her. "You look done in. In fact," she said, eyes narrowing suspiciously "you look positively ill. Are you all right?"

"Zacharias Smith," she groaned, her countenance grim.

I am not sick!

"Oh," Ginny replied with a wry smile. "That would explain it." Hermione nodded mutely. Ginny patted her hand. "Do you want to go to the kitchens and let the house-elves feed us when you're done? I could wait for you."

"No, thanks. I'm so exhausted, I think I'll just finish my notes and head to my rooms."

Besides, I don't want to have another round of, "Let's talk about Snape," right now.

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione." Ginny departed with a sympathetic glance.

Hermione wrote her last comment on Zacharias Smith's chart—"difficult tonight!"---and flipped it closed with a snap.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the room, a frown on her face. "Are you still here, Miss Granger?"

"I was just getting ready to leave, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione assured the somewhat harassed-looking Matron.

"Well, good. Miss Weasley informed me you've had a time of it tonight." she continued in her usual no-nonsense tone, as she stepped in and snatched an apparently forgotten chart off the table with a disgusted scowl. "Are you very wound up? Do you need a sleeping potion?"

"No, thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'm fine." For a moment, Hermione considered telling the distracted matron about her rather unusual symptoms but decided against it.

All I need is a good night's sleep, and I'll be right as rain, she thought, not quite convincing herself.

"All right, then. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night," she said with a perfunctory smile, as she rushed to leave, brandishing the chart in front of her. Hermione smiled when she heard the good matron muttering to herself in low, obviously irritated tones as the door closed behind her.

A few minutes later, Hermione pushed through the double doors and gratefully turned her aching feet toward the dungeons and her rooms. She was infinitely glad that Ginny had not insisted on their getting together that night, for she was exhausted and wanted to think of nothing more than her rooms and their small comforts. She most certainly did not wish to talk about and/or think about Snape, and Ginny, who could be like the proverbial dog with a bone, would not have let her friend get away with that.

But, now she was alone, Hermione's mind seemed to naturally swing in the direction of Snape and his unaccountable behavior, first in the Potions room, with his almost apology, then that tiny nod he had afforded her at lunch in the Great Hall. She had to admit, those incidents did seem to indicate somewhat out of character behavior for her normally austere ex-professor.

"Oh, really!" she huffed. "I'm too tired to think of this now. I'll think about it tomorrow!"

But, as she continued on her weary way, she found that, much as she wished to think of anything but Snape, he seemed to be invading her thoughts anyway. "Oh, bother!" she cried in frustration. "All right, now it is, then!"

What do I think about Snape? She questioned herself bemusedly. Well, he's brilliant, I suppose. He's also brave, and loyal, even to his own hurt.

Here, she paused in her cogitations long enough to slip behind a dusty, old tapestry which led directly to a secret passageway to the dungeon corridors. The passageway itself was dank and musty, winding and steep. Every few yards the steps were lit by bracketed torches, whose curving light created eerie shadows on the walls as Hermione passed.

As she carefully descended, her heels clicked, the even staccato echoing around her. It was a sharp, but strangely comforting sound. "Now, where was I?" Hermione muttered, her voice semi-drowned out by heel clicks. "Oh, yes, the qualities of one Severus Snape, as I see them … honestly, Ginny!" she admonished the ginger-haired meddler in absentia. "It does seem we have some things in common," she admitted grudgingly, "Like, a love of Potions, research, and reading—just as Ginny mentioned." She gave a mental tip of her hat to her friend—along with a healthy eye-roll.

With her feet on autopilot, Hermione tried to imagine spending time with Snape pursuing such common interests as a couple—for arguments sake. She envisioned quiet nights by the fire reading companionably, or even aloud to each other. She could almost hear his rich, deep baritone as he expounded on an article in one of their favorite magazines, or perhaps, as he read out one of Shakespeare's sonnets.

That thought made her giggle and squirm a little bit. "Snape, reading a love poem to me, of all people!" But, she found it was not an entirely unpleasant idea. "Oh, yes." she mocked herself with a somewhat indelicate snort. "Perhaps I could talk him into it one day."

Just then, she gained the bottom of the steps and pushed through the small, somewhat scarred door leading to the dungeon corridors proper. She turned to the right and upon sight of them, headed towards her rooms, feeling more exhausted the closer she came to them.

"I suppose he's not handsome in the conventional sense," she continued to herself conversationally. "With that lank hair, hooked nose, and those crooked teeth … but, he's certainly not what I'd call ugly." She thought a moment more. "I don't think that matters so much anyway." With this, she had reached her quarters at last.

She crumpled against the wall beside her portrait hole door, forehead against its cool stone form, to let her breathing even out. She did not bother cursing her "cold", as she didn't have the lung power for even that. And, her ability to continue to deny the truth about her ill health was quickly slipping away from her.

She returned her mind back to the subject at hand in an attempt to distract herself. "If he wasn't such a terrible curmudgeon, he might actually be attractive," she murmured, relieved to feel her breathing returning to normal.

"Who might be attractive, Miss Granger?" came the deep, falsely polite voice of the mysterious wizard himself.

"Don't do that!" she shrieked, whipping around in a flurry of robes. Then, she closed her eyes in an anguish of embarrassment, as well as renewed breathlessness. She felt she would like to sink into the floor.

She did not see the concern that flitted across his eyes for a moment. She did not know that it was on the tip of Snape's tongue to ask if Hermione was all right … until her eyes flew open and her red hot glare reassured him his solicitousness was not necessary.

His face cracked into an amused half-smile, his beetle black eyes appraising her interestedly. "To what are you referring, exactly? What is it you think I have done?" he purred evenly, as he folded his arms and began circling Hermione slowly.

She did not try to contain her frustration, for she was very agitated and had no desire to play his games. "You know precisely what I mean, sir!" she cried, tossing her hands in the air and rolling her eyes heavenward. "You're always lurking in the shadows or slinking around behind me. You must be doing it on purpose! I would have heard your approach if you weren't deliberately skulking about …"

"Skulking? Lurking? And, slinking?" Snape said pretending to be offended, though the mirthful snapping of his eyes continued to belie his manner. "The very idea!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt she was caught in an insidious trap and, her instincts told her she needed to key herself down, almost as if to placate a predator. "Are we finished here, sir?" Hermione said in a small, weary voice, and trying to look as mild as possible. "Only, I am quite tired and would like to retire."

Snape eyed her, as if trying to make a decision. Hermione inwardly cringed at his wordless appraisal. "First, you artlessly avoid answering my question, and then you hurl unsavory accusations at me. This is not very good form, Miss Granger. I am surprised at you." Snape's eyes were positively alight with glee.

He is really enjoying seeing me on the hot seat, Hermione thought grimly, as she swallowed down another wave of near panic.

She tried again, "I'm sorry, sir," she gritted out. "I did not mean to insult you."

"Well, then," he said in a silky, wheedling baritone, "perhaps you can make it up to me by at least telling me of whom you were thinking." His eyes were laughing at her now, his smile triumphant.

He thinks he's won! She thought incredulously. He thinks he can make me tell him!

But, Hermione had had enough of playing timid mouse to his big, bad cat. "That is none of your business, sir!" she insisted. And, it was obvious to Snape that she would brook no further argument. "Why do you wish to know, anyway?" She had her hands on her hips now, and her eyes could have burnt holes through him.

"I don't," he said quickly, his black gaze turning icy. "I merely enjoy watching you scramble."

"That's what I thought," she spat disdainfully. "Goodnight, sir!" And, in an instant, Hermione had given her password and dashed through the portrait hole to the safety of her rooms. Her breath was coming in ragged pulls and her hands were shaking.

"That was entirely too close for comfort," she gasped, as she pulled at the buttons of her robes and let them fall to the floor without another thought. Her only goal for now was a hot bath and her soft bed.

As for Snape, he had watched with a mixture of continued delight and a strange, sharp displeasure as Hermione scurried through her portrait hole and proceeded to slam its frame behind her, without so much as backward glance.

He was at a loss as to what to think of this most recent development between him and his assistant. Once again, he found he was not so much puzzled by Hermione's behaviour as by his own. He could admit, if only to himself that he really had been more interested in the answer to his question than was reasonable. The rational side of him knew she was absolutely right. He had no earthly right to meddle in her private life. But, there was also no denying her refusal to give him an answer had annoyed him just the same.

But, why? Why did he care about the silly romantic inclinations of Hermione Granger? After all, didn't most young people think of romance at one time or another? As far as he knew, she had not succumbed to the usual hormonally charged entanglements during her years as a student at Hogwarts. But, did it not seem perfectly reasonable that now the war was over her mind and heart might turn to thoughts of love and even marriage? Of course it did. So, why on earth did Snape feel so unreasonably discomfited by the very idea of her having developed an attraction to someone?

As these thoughts tumbled through his mind, Snape became abruptly aware that he was still standing before Hermione's portrait hole staring at it like a moonstruck adolescent. "This is utter nonsense!" he growled. And, he spun in a whirl of whispering black robes and strode smoothly off in the direction of his own rooms.

Hermione, meanwhile, had had her hot bath and was feeling at least a little more relaxed. Much of her anger and panic had left her, but there was no doubt that her latest confrontation with Snape had still been very unsettling. So unsettling, in fact, that, tired as she was, she could not imagine closing her eyes in sleep until she'd at least attempted to sort it all out in her mind.

So, after donning her warmest flannel nightgown and a pair of woolen socks, Hermione magically doused all the lights in her room except for the pillar candle at her bedside. Then, with an audible sigh of relief, she climbed into her four poster, set her much abused and re-repaired alarm clock, and reached into her side table drawer for her journal.

She smiled as she let the cool, soft leather-bound book rest comfortably in her hands for a moment. She loved her journal. It was like her friend, her closest confidante. It contained all her dearest dreams, deepest sorrows, and most hidden secrets.

The truth was Hermione was a very self-contained and private person, as a general rule. She had friends, and held them very dear. But, she did not confide very often in them. In fact, she was the one who usually played the roll of confidant and counselor in her relationships. Even Ginny, with whom Hermione considered herself to be quite close, knew very little of her innermost thoughts.

And that was how Hermione preferred it. It just felt safer to write about her deeper feelings, rather than speaking them allowed. Friends, good intentioned though they were, might accidentally reveal her confidences. But, she knew her journal would never slip up, and as she kept it heavily warded in locking charms, she did not fear anyone would ever view her thoughts without her permission.

Time for a little soul-bearing, she thought, as she opened the book to a blank page, took up her favorite quill and began writing.

It has been a most extraordinary day! she wrote, her hand smoothly moving over the page. Then, she went on to describe Ron's disturbing behaviour, Zacharias Smith's pestering, and Ginny's sudden insistence that she think about her feelings concerning Snape.

Of course, he is the last person I wish to be thinking of, generally. But, I find that now Ginny has introduced the subject I cannot help but to think about him. As a result, the most embarrassing thing just happened!

As Hermione went on to describe her disconcerting meeting out in the corridor with Snape, she felt anew the utter panic and mortification of being caught making such a personal confession.

The thing that puzzled me the most, however, was Snape's seeming interest in the identity of the person for whom I might entertain such thoughts. Of course, he didn't admit to his curiosity, implying he only enjoyed tormenting me. But, I have an idea that there is slightly more to it than that.

He is, as always, difficult to read, but something in his manner makes me think he really wanted to know.

Hermione's quill paused, and her eyes clouded over as she pictured the scene in her mind once more.

This is purely speculation—but perhaps I might consider that Ginny might not be totally off base. Perhaps there might be more between us than just the work we do together …

At this, Hermione blushed and dropped her quill, as if it had burnt her.

"Am I going crazy?" she questioned softly, biting at her lip in consternation.

After a few moments and a few deep breaths, she took up her quill again. But she could think of nothing further to add. "Oh, I'll never figure all of this out in one night!" she said, frowning at her tidy scrawl. "I suppose I'll just have to wait and see."

She snapped her journal shut, secured it, and shoved it and her quill into her bedside table drawer for safe keeping.

With her mind still in a whirl, it was another hour before Hermione could comfortably settle into sleep.

Snape, who was ensconced in his own comfortable bed, also found sleep eluding him. To his infinite annoyance and very great surprise, he found he could not, try as he might, force Hermione Granger and the mystery man of their earlier conversation from his thoughts. He was not used to falling prey to such concerns. He felt befuddled, almost disoriented. And, he did not like the feeling one bit.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered to the enveloping darkness.

The next morning dawned far too early for both Snape and Hermione. Neither of them had slept well, each having been wakened several times in the night by anxious and disturbing thoughts and dreams.