Dinner was an awkward affair, Hermione decided, when your only dining companion was your teacher, and a dastardly one at that.

Although, she had to admit, the food was fantastic; in fact, it tasted just like Hogwarts' food.

"Your elf is a great cook," she said between bites.

He only briefly looked up from the parchment he was reading, and nodded, before going back to whatever was capturing his interest on the parchment.

How long could you read a single sheaf anyway? Hermione poked a little too viciously at the peas, and to her embarrassment, a few rolled off.

"I see your manners have taken a toll living with the Weasley," he sneered, putting down the parchment and picking up his fork.

"Sorry," she mentally stuck her tongue out at him, and stared into her plate.

A minute later, she heard a vague curse and muttering before a heavy sigh left Snape's lips.

"Alright, don't sulk for Merlin's sake!"

"I am Not sulking," Hermione muttered to her plate, and stabbed a potato.

"Yes you are, Ms. Granger."

"Am not!"

"Oh very mature of you."

"You started it!"

Snape dragged a hand over his face, the other gripping his knife tightly; Hermione could tell he was annoyed. Why did they always end up arguing?

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "I'm not used to eating alone from a long time."

"I'm here, am I not?"

"Well it's as good as you aren't! I think the plate is more talkative than you."

"You have the audacity, Ms. Granger, to come into my home, and insult me at my dinner table?" His free hand was gripping the table cloth, white around the knuckles.

Hermione was a little scared.

"I didn't mean to insult you! I just meant to say you are not very conversational."

The grip loosened, and Hermione breathed a little sigh of relief. She had to get used to the fact that she couldn't talk to Snape like she did with Harry or Ron or even some of the other teachers.

"I'm sorry Professor Snape, I think this was a mistake, I'll try to finish before dinner in future. Clearly you don't enjoy company. It was kind of you to offer me dinner tonight." She felt quite grown up, but strangely bereft. She had been looking forward to this, but it seemed that he was clearly not.

It was not her intention to make him suffer her presence any more than he desired it, which was quite less, by the way.

She felt defeated. Hermione was looking forward to trying to get to know Professor Snape better, after all, they all knew him as a hero, and that he was a deeply romantic man, for all that he did for Lily.

Even Harry had agreed that he was a respectable and honourable man, even if he was a slimy Git to them most of the time they knew him. Once Harry understood the kind of life and pressure Snape must have lived under in his life, he sympathised with him. Harry knew what it was to be the pawn someone else was playing.

They all did.

Invariably she understood that after all these years of blessed anonymity; this man had to put up with more of Dumbledore's machinations. She felt thoroughly guilty for having such a nosy nature, which brought them here, at this table, in stony silence.

It struck her that it must be utterly difficult to have another person invading his space, his peace as he put it, and he was putting up with it just to help her. No doubt that they was some exchange of service, but his sacrifice was suddenly so much more greater.

But it was not surprising; this man here had sacrificed his entire former existence to repentance and had paid his debt ten times over. He was still being played by Dumbledore.

She knew that it was definitely Dumbledore's "coaxing" that had him agree, in whatever great reluctance. Dumbledore knew that she would find out eventually, then why did he push her that extra step?

For what reason did Dumbledore want her to invade this man's life? And she!

Hermione felt an utter idiot for letting Dumbledore play her weakness for knowledge. Her eyes blurred with tears; how could she be such a pawn all over again?

All Snape asked was for peace and freedom, then couldn't she swallow her selfish desires to allow him that? How could she take away that which was not hers to take?

Hermione abruptly pushed back from the table, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Professor!" she choked, "It was wrong, so very wrong! I should never have come here! I'll have Winky come by for my things."

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. Why was her heart breaking to say goodbye?

"Goodbye professor. Thank you for the time you spared. I learned a great deal, but now I'll leave you to your peace."

She stole a glance at the Professor to find him openly surprised at her sudden outburst. She took advantage of his stupefied look (which was definitely a first for him) to leave without having to hear anything more.

She hurried out of the room and turned back to retrace her steps to the living room where she could go home and cry in peace. Hermione didn't understand why she there was such a heaviness in her heart at the prospect that she might never see him again, but she didn't stop to consider it.

She was forced to stop when she felt a hand on her arm, gripping tightly, and pulling her to a stop.

"Please Professor, I can't do this anymore."

"I will not have you storming out on me," he snapped, "without first informing me of your reason to do so."

Hermione said nothing, but didn't turn to face him either. How could she let him see her this way? So weak?

"You are no coward, Ms. Granger," he continued when she refused to turn around, "face your fear like the Gryffindor you truly are!"

"It was my Gryffindor foolishness that made me come here in the first place! Please, let me go!"

"Not until you tell me why," he punctuated each word with a tug, not wholly gentle, to turn her toward him.

"I don't want to take away your hard earned peace, Professor. It was not right of me to so selfishly take some of it away." She straightened and he let go.

She still refused to look up at him, so she concentrated on looking at the light shining off his black boots in the dimly lit hallway.

"Look at me, Ms. Granger," he commanded.

She refused and shook her head, "I don't deserve your time, you're right. Please, let me leave, and you will not see me again."

She was entirely too startled when she felt his finger push under her chin, to raise her head. But she didn't flinch, nor did she step away. But irrational fear took hold of her. What would she see when she looked up? His customary sneer? Loathing for her useless tears? Disgust?

She closed her eyes and felt as if his one finger had rooted her to the ground. She would have been expected to feel angry that he held her back, that he was now staring at her tear stained face.

"Look at me Ms. Granger," he repeated, but these words were said in a gentle tone that was so unlike the person saying it. She opened her eyes out of surprise, to find him looking down at her with neither sneer nor disgust.

She was not sure what was within those shining onyx orbs. She felt like she was drowning, and the only spot his finger rested was her hold on life. She swallowed nervously.

The movement must have been felt by him, for he seemed to snap back to the present, and he drew his hand back. Hermione swallowed the small protest that formed in her throat, and didn't move.

"If I found your company that intolerable, you would have no way of stopping me from blocking your passage here." He took a step back.

"Spare your apologies and prove yourself worthy." He turned to leave but stopped a few steps ahead.

"Leave now. I'll expect you here at 9 am tomorrow morning."

Hermione, to surprised to speak, only nodded, belatedly realising that he wouldn't be able to see the small movement.

But she supposed that he didn't expect her to respond with anything but a "yes", judging by the way he walked away crisply, not waiting to see what she said.

Hermione grazed the spot under her chin where he had touched. She could still feel it. She turned around, strangely light, and fingered her arm through the sleeve. The skin there tingled, as if with magic, and Hermione didn't know what to think of that.

She held her arm all the way to the Floo, and returned in a daze to her quarters. It had been a very strange evening.

Meanwhile, the man on her mind went straight to his study, where he proceeded to unceremoniously down two shots of scotch before settling in his favourite armchair with a third.

He wasn't sure what had come over him, to make him behave as he just had with the girl. He could have let her walk away, but the strange thing was, he didn't really mind her company.

That thought made him down the third scotch, and he summoned the bottle to him.

Such thoughts required that he was completely and utterly sponged out his mind.

But all he could think of was the girl, nay woman's face, tear stained and fear stricken, in the flickering torch light of the hallway. How the tears had glistened like tiny crystals in the wavering yellow flames.

He remembered how her eyes were filled with remorse and surprise, when she looked upon him in the gloom.

He wasn't sure what she had seen in his own.

He wasn't sure what he had shown in his own.