A/N: Thank you all for the reviews—I read them all and am thankful you take the time to write them. Even if I don't respond to them, I still love all the feedback and want to huggle everyone for the kind words or the help you give, and especially for your readership.
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CHAPTER SEVEN—Scared
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Hermione stared at her Muggle clock on the bedside table. 7:26 a.m.
7:27 a.m.
She twitched when a tiny body pressed between her shoulder blades. Severus Snape, Potions Master, curled himself into a ball no larger than 'Mione's pillow. With steadying, deep breaths, she wondered if he slept like that as an adult.
Body already acutely aware that her wards had been removed, any movement from Severus roused her from sleep. He fell asleep facing the door but as far away from Hermione as he could be without falling out of the bed. He hugged the thick comforter like a doll. Hermione lay on her back. As the night wore on, Severus scooted closer to the center of the bed, likely seeking warmth. Near three in the morning Hermione cracked open an eye, muscles tensed, until she realized little Sev was the one clutching her arm.
At 5 a.m., the house-elves came in to tidy the room and bank the small fireplace. They didn't know Hermione watched them. Severus shuffled about and eventually tossed the covers away. Hermione figured it must be cold in the dungeons and the professor was unused to such a blaze. She flicked her fingers at the fire, knocking a log away from the hottest embers.
7:30 a.m.
Hermione sat up in bed, hair knotted around her face. The little boy uncurled his body—Hermione stiffened. Spies must be light sleepers, she thought as Severus snuggled back into the pillow.
She could just see the edge of his Dark Mark. Ron's Notice-Me-Not Charm was a brilliant idea—but the spell had to be recast each morning. Last night, 'Mione had lain awake to watch black ink and magic seep between Sevvie's skin cells, bloom a skull and snake.
As she magicked away the Dark Mark, Hermione felt a patch on her own left arm itch. She resisted the urge to scratch. The witch returned her wand to the bedside table and pulled her sleeves lower on her wrists. Professor Snape's ebony hair skewed over his nose and fluttered with each breath. His nose was just a little too big, even as a child. His too-big clothes sprawled over his scrawny form. Regardless, Hermione thought he was adorable.
Watching Professor Snape sleep was…liberating. The man who gave up everything had some respite—sort of. At this point in his life, Sevvie didn't know he needed respite—didn't know what he had given up.
"This is so odd," she murmured for the hundredth time. Hadn't she been wondering how his tongue would feel down her throat two days ago? And now she was teaching him how to play What's the Time, Mr Wolf? She shuffled out of bed, watching Sev for any sign of waking up until both her feet were on the frigid stone floor. She crept to the bureau to fetch a jumper and jeans, and crept to the washroom to dress. The jumper infused her bushy hair with static. She waged war with her hairbrush against the curls. The effort was futile, she decided, seeing more poof in the mirror.
She couldn't find a hair tie in the bathroom. When she reentered her bedroom, Severus was blindly reaching for the blanket and readjusting the pillow to cover as much of his body as he could.
His little hand grasped the sheet next to him. "'Mione?" He looked all around until he found her.
"Good morning, Sev." She smiled at him, as motherly as possible. She had always nagged mother-like, but didn't know if she had ever been motherly. "Sleep well?"
He nodded. The coverlet dwarfed him. Black hair flipped like wings over his ears and at the base of his neck. "How come you're no' wearing red an' yellow today?"
"I don't have to wear red and gold all the time." There hadn't been much thought put into the day's outfit. Old grey jumper, jeans, and the fluffiest socks Mrs Weasley had ever knitted fit for the first day of holiday.
"Red and gold aren' your fav'rite colours?" Dark beetle eyes followed Hermione as she gathered his frock coat and trousers.
"No; I rather like blue, actually."
"But blue is Luna's colour."
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "Our house colours don't have to be our favourite colours."
Severus didn't blink or even move at all—he sat still to listen.
"House isn't everything, you know."
"Then why have them in the firs' place?"
"Well…" Hermione was stumped. Those big, black eyes never strayed from her face—it felt like being in a pressure-cooker. In class, he never called on her to answer questions. Now, he asked them all the time. Why do babies cry, why does Luna wear vegetables, where do freckles come from, is that Lavender's baby, what is water made of?
She shrugged. "That's just how life is—people like to be part of groups."
He balled his fists under his chin like everything Hermione said fascinated him. She was flattered.
"So they can make frien's?"
"Yeah, I suppose you could say that."
Severus contemplated the comforter.
Hermione rubbed her arm. Severus—Professor Snape had been part of a very unfriendly group, as an adult. "Hey, guess what."
He peered up.
"We're all going to play outside today."
"Yeah?" The little boy sat up straighter.
"Mmhmn." She nodded and pushed the stack of clothes onto his lap. "After breakfast."
Sev jumped out of the bed, clothes flapping behind him. Hermione plaited her hair; before she was done, Severus bounded out of the washroom fully dressed.
"Where are your jim-jams?"
Severus wheeled around mid-stride, zipped back to the bathroom, and came back with his sleeping clothes in hand. He presented them to Hermione after hastily folding them. She took them and said, "Fetch the hairbrush."
Severus groaned but did as he was told, just as quickly as before. The professors had been trapped in this suite of rooms for two days—they were going stir-crazy. Similar noises of rushing and excitement filtered in from the sitting room. Hermione took the hair brush and Severus turned around. He bounced up and down as Hermione brushed out his knots.
As his hair parted, Hermione could see the root-like scar on his neck. She knew Nagini had bit the dip where neck joined shoulder, and she stared at the sharp point jutting out of his collar. The rumpled skin used to be red, but had faded to a coral colour. Hermione hoped he would never see that scar—as long as he wore his usual high-collared shirts and Hermione brushed his hair for him.
"Le's go ou'side," he urged.
"Go eat first." Hermione pointed towards the door with the brush.
LINE
Squeals rolled over snow banks as children tramped through them. Sunlight knifed from the powder hiding the grass. In the background, the Forbidden Forest was barren and dark. Hermione's lungs wanted to keep the frigid air out.
Hagrid dragged the twelfth Christmas tree towards the doors of the Entrance Hall. He paused to let Luna check it for Nargles. Hermione squinted at Luna's curly pony tails—they were nearly as blinding as the snow.
Pomona tugged on Hagrid's fluffy coat. "Mi'ss'er Hagrid, we get to decowate it, wight?"
"Of course we do!" Rolanda declared.
"Ask nicely," Neville chastised from the castle steps.
The girl with yellow eyes wilted. "Do we?" she pouted.
"O' course you do!" Hagrid boomed happily.
Fog kept filling Septima's glasses. She huffed every time she cleared them off. Hermione blew the snow away with her wand, so she and Neville could sit on the steps. They watched Luna try to convince Mona and 'Landa to help her examine the tree.
"What do Na'gles look like?" Pomona's eyes were wide.
"Nargles aren't real!"
"Yes, they are," Luna replied without getting mad at Rolanda's sassy tone. "They're very tricky and like to hide in mistletoe—shouldn't we check the Christmas trees too?"
"They'll sneak in?" Septima joined the group, concerned. Hagrid looked concerned too—especially since Nargles were a magical creature he had never heard of. Luna nodded, solemnly.
Neville chuckled while Hermione rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh.
"We should def'ni'ly check," Septima said to the other two.
Minerva and Severus frolicked through the snow, kicking up ice, giggling like villains. They could be siblings, with their black hair—except for their eyes. Minnie's eyes had a green more feline than human. Severus's eyes contained galaxies.
Luna decreed the tree could enter the castle. As Hagrid continued his slog, Septima plopped into the snow and spread her arms.
"Le's make an igloo!" Mona suggested.
"It will be our super-secret clubhouse," Rolanda said.
"Oh, Merlin," Neville grumbled. He looked up at the third-floor windows to meet Ron's eye. Lavender and all three of the Weasleys were warm inside, watching the infants. Neville shook his head. Ron made a show of slapping a hand to his brow.
Neville said to 'Mione, "Madam Hooch is going to be the death of me, I swear it."
"You're a brave Gryffindor," Luna said as she sat down. "I think you can persevere for a bit longer."
"We'll see."
The Quidditch referee coordinated the igloo-building. Mona packed snow into a base and Septima shoved snow closer. Hooch looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at Snape and McGonagall. Meanwhile, Minerva and Severus patted snow into a ball, making a snowman.
"I think they're having trouble," Hermione tittered. The bottom of the snowman kept getting wider instead of taller.
"Hmph!" Minerva kicked the base—her little boot sank into the powder. Severus laced his fingers in front of his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. Minerva tossed some snow in his face, giggling. "Don' laugh at me!"
"Too late!"
Severus sprinted away. Minerva's legs were longer, but she could never catch Severus. Her onyx braids whipped out behind her as she ran. The tails of Severus's frock coat were always just out of Minnie's grasp.
While they were struggling through the snow, Rolanda, Mona, and Septima finished their lopsided igloo. The three crawled inside to whisper plots while Severus and Minnie giggled and huffed. Their breaths condensed like meteor clouds.
A barrage of snowballs erupted from the igloo. Severus dodged all but the first one; Neville gaped at the reflexes that could only have been honed by an experienced wizard. Minerva stumbled, snow dripping off her green coat. Sevvie had already returned fire by the time Minerva crouched down behind him.
Rolanda yelled, "No bad guys allowed in the fort!"
"Sev is not a bad guy!" Minnie screeched over Severus's shoulder. The two wobbled, she clinging to his sleeve, Severus bending to scoop up more snow.
"All bad guys have tattoos!" Pomona added from the mouth of the igloo. She wilted when Severus turned his black eyes on her. "J-Just like his," she whispered.
"You're willfully ignorant!" Sevvie spat. All five of the children were shouting and throwing snowballs.
"You're a bloody wanker and a liar!"
Neville stood up, horrified and confused. "Hey now…"
"Tell the twuth!" Mona bravely yelled. The lisp disappeared as she howled, "It's your fault she's dead!"
"No matter what he says, you'll never believe him!" Minerva yelled as she knocked Septima's glasses askew.
Septima screamed, "Why do you always believe him, Minerva? His job is to lie!"
"Stop it!" Hermione yelled.
"You put that snowball down," Neville ordered, specifically at Rolanda.
Severus was shaking. His thin arm trembled with the ball of ice aloft. Rolanda met his glare with one of her own. Septima shoved her glasses back onto her face and disappeared into the igloo.
"Play nicely or you will go back inside," Luna said. She gave Hermione a concerned look. Minnie's angry eyes were filling with water; Mona's lips quaked and Rolanda shook her fist at Severus. The teachers were acting like kids again.
"Sevvie!" Minerva cried.
By the time Hermione turned around, Severus was halfway to the Black Lake.
"He scares me," Mona whispered to Rolanda.
"Severus!" Hermione thrashed through the ankle-high snow.
LINE
What have I done wrong? No matter how many times Severus wondered, he could never figure it out. 'Landa hated him, Septima didn't like him, Mona was scared of him—scared, as if he had hit her or screamed at her. He had never done any of those things to her. Right?
Severus clutched his head as he stumbled closer to the frozen lake. There was something, something he should remember. If he could remember it, everything would make sense.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid Sev'rus!" He stopped running to stomp in the snow. "Remember and stop being scared!" If he could remember how to make everyone afraid of him, instead of the other way around, everything would be better.
An ocean thrashed in Sevvie's head and it made him want to cry even more. Stupid 'Landa, making him and Minnie feel bad. It wasn't fair! Everyone was mean to be him—and then they started being mean to the only people who liked him. Mummy, Minnie, 'Mione—would 'Landa be mean to 'Mione, too?
"No way!" Severus said. The craggy tree he was shouting at remained still. Frost sprinkled over the cold beach, not a hippogriff's length away. "'Mione is bigger and smarter than stupid 'Landa. She never lets anyone be mean to her!" He kicked the tree—ice dust rained down on him. "Hmph!" He crossed his arms.
I wanna be big, too. No one would be mean to me—not 'Landa, not Da—nobody!
Unseen creatures cawed and cackled deeper in the woods. Severus shivered. No way was he going in there. There were werewolves in there. He backed up into a tree. Even in the daytime it was dark in the forest. He backed away, nauseated. He was scared of so many things—it embarrassed him. Boys weren't supposed to be scared, he was supposed to be brave. "Like 'Mione," he muttered.
"Severus!"
'Mione's voice echoed all around. She was looking for him. Severus became misty-eyed—another humiliation. Boys shouldn't cry. But 'Mione's kindness was overwhelming. She was nice and smart and pretty, and Severus was dumb and weak and scary.
"Severus, where are you?"
He stayed firmly behind his oak, and crouched down so 'Mione wouldn't see him. He didn't want 'Mione to look at him.
'Mione started muttering about foot prints. Sevvie looked down—he had left a trail right to his hiding place.
Dummy! Hot tears turned cold when they rolled onto his cheeks, mingled with the snow dust. Now she's gonna find you crying and laugh at you. Why can' you ever do anything right?
"Severus?" 'Mione put her hands on her knees. "There you are! You're much too fast for an old lady like me," she tried to joke while panting. "Severus?"
"Leave me alone!" he said, muffled, since his arms were wrapped around his head.
"Why?"
Without looking up, Severus could tell she was hurt. "Because!"
Snow crunched under 'Mione's feet. Severus swiveled away, keeping his face on his knees.
"Rolanda hurt your feelings, didn't she?"
"No!"
Hermione sat down next to him, even though the snow would melt under her bum. "People are mean to people they don't understand," she said quietly.
"People are jus' mean." He wouldn't look up. His head felt like it was swelling like a balloon, except it filling with steel nails instead of air. "What's wrong with me? Is there something wrong with Minnie? And the others?"
"No."
'Mione answered too quickly. He glared at her like his father would glare when someone was lying to him. She didn't flinch like she was supposed to. But Sevvie knew she was fibbing. He buried his face again. There's something wrong wit' me and she won' tell.
"Do you want to go back?" she asked.
"No."
"Aren't you cold?"
"No."
"You're shivering."
"I am not!" His little leather-clad hands gripped his elbows. Black hair fluttered over his crossed arms and he kept breathing the same air trapped between his knees. Snow was turning into water beneath him and he was quivering harder than the leaves in the cold.
He jumped when Hermione pressed the length of her arm against his body. The two were shivering side by side. Sev leaned into her and rubbed his itchy eyes against her woolly coat. She stroked his hair. Her hands were like ice.
"How come you're no' wearing gloves?" he mumbled against her elbow.
"I don't like the way they feel between my fingers."
"You'll ge' sick."
"I'll have you to take care of me."
Hotter, rounder tears peeked out of Severus's eyes. He held onto 'Mione. His throat tightened around, "Uh huh."
"Do you want to go back inside?"
"Nuh uh." He shook his head into her sleeve, probably leaving rug-burn on his forehead. "They're mean."
"Not all of us are mean." Her frigid fingers pushed some of his hair behind his ear.
He burrowed further into her sleeve. 'Landa was mean, making Septima and Mona mean too. Lavender gave him funny looks sometimes and so did Ron. Minnie and 'Mione and Luna were nice. And P'ofessor Weasley and Ginny. That mean Madam Pince made icky, wrinkly faces at everyone—and Mr Filch acted like he didn't know which foot went in front of the other whenever Sev was around.
Everyone was treating him either mean or weird.
When he brought his face up, cold air swept across his wet cheeks. "Are you my frien'?"
Hermione had very girly eyebrows—boys had bigger eyebrows. Hers were as thin as pencils and were now curving upwards. "As long as you want me to be," she said after thinking about it.
Thinkin' about it means she's telling the truth, or telling a really good lie, he thought.
"I wan' you to be," he whispered and nodded. He slumped against her, miserable, cold, and wet. He wouldn't be any of those things if 'Landa would just be nice to him.
As he watched the wind whip snow into grit across the Black Lake, he thought, Or if she was too scared of me to even think about bein' mean.
