Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.

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Dool Tree

Chapter 18

That evening, as Hermione lay in bed, she began to contemplate all the hullabaloo about Deborah Smith's birthday, in perhaps the worst of ways.

First of all, she'd forgotten her own birthday, what with the time-traveling and all.

When I left the 1990s, I'd just barely had my birthday a few weeks before, Hermione observed, so when September rolled around...well, I guess I didn't think about it.

Birthdays had never held much importance for her family; it always would be a normal day, with sometimes a special dinner if she asked for it, sometimes just a present or two. Never a cake or a big party or anything, what with their opposition to sugar that always accompanied said confectionery and events at which said confectionery would be mandatory.

Her parents provided for her well, and she never was lacking for anything at all over the course of the whole year. They just never gave her very much on her birthday. They did demonstrate that she was special on the day, of course, but it was always short-lived because they were such busy people. They'd wish her many returns of the day, then continue about their usual business.

That was the way it had been at school, as well. Ron...oh, dear, forgetful Ron...had always forgotten her birthday until two weeks after, unless Harry (who did have a mind for dates, given a temperament to melancholia and inbred sentimentality) reminded him much in advance.

Harry was one person in her life who did treat her well on her birthday, showering her with as many presents as he could afford. He thought a good deal of birthdays, especially given how the Dursleys had treated their son on his birthday and how jealous Harry had been to see Dudley get so much...when he didn't even get much more than a card.

Second, thinking about Harry and Ron made Hermione feel immensely depressed, particularly because of one reason: she hadn't even thought about their birthdays since she'd left her own time.

I'm such a miserable friend, she decided, her verdict painfully searing her soul. I'm so miserable that I didn't remember Harry's birthday at all, and it just passed me by without me even sparing it a thought. I'm such a terrible person. And now I've been alienated from half of the girls in my dorm, I'm getting tragically fat, and everyone here hates me, and my life really is just in the absolute pits.

So she cried, more than ever.

Terrible, absolutely terrible. I should have done something in Harry's honor on July 31st. Where was I on July 31st? Studying my arse off for no reason. I'm terrible, just terrible.

With these thoughts in mind, she felt so depressed that she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned all night, and when the morning came, she was grateful for the opportunity to have something to do besides weep on her soggy pillow.

Even though someone had stolen and hidden her shoes over the course of the night, and even though when she found them they had been maliciously covered in mud, and even though she had to spend half an hour cleaning them, an early breakfast was refreshing. None of the girls from her year were there, just a bunch of Gryffindor Quidditch nerds who were getting ready for practice.

"'Lo there, Granger," James Potter said, walking past and grinning as she contemplated eating more rashers. "Up with the sun, are we?"

"Shut your gob," replied Hermione in a highly un-amicable fashion, but Potter just clapped her upon the back and continued on his way.

Other than that, she was left undisturbed to as many helpings of doughnuts and fancies and other delicacies as she wanted.

Soon her stomach couldn't take any more, and she trudged upstairs to the library.

Tucked away in her own Snape-free corner, Hermione relaxed enough to let the tears spill once more.

How is it that I can do nothing right? she thought to herself angstily. I'm worthless. Such a good-for-nothing...

"Good grief, Granger," came the biting tone of Severus Snape as he sat down next to her.

"You're up early," Hermione replied, wiping away tears fruitlessly with her hands.

"What's the dilemma?" Snape asked, as coldly clinical as he might have asked a question about a potion that was going a little wrong.

"You wouldn't understand," she whimpered, drawing her scarf out of her bag and wrapping it around her face.

"But you also wouldn't mind telling me," he answered sardonically, opening his book. "So, out with it."

"I don't want to tell you," Hermione replied nastily. "You're..."

"...What?" Snape asked, when she couldn't find a word.

"Someone I just can't tell," she said sheepishly. "Nor can...nor can I really tell anyone, really," she went on, feeling the magnitude of her situation settling upon her with the weight of a thousand anvils. "It's...it's not good, not good at all. I can't do anything...can't tell anyone..."

Hermione didn't think she would ever see Severus Snape appearing concerned, but when she looked into his eyes, there seemed to be no alternative. He was worried...for her!

"Tell me," he whispered, "I see that you crave it."

His voice had gotten so low that Hermione felt a tingle seep down her spine.

"I simply can't," she whimpered, though if she'd had a shred of faith that she wouldn't have an instant tongue-tying curse upon her, she would.

He surveyed her for many minutes, trying to gauge...something. She couldn't tell what he was on about, but she also knew that he wouldn't take any sort of no for an answer.

"Well," she admitted, "maybe telling you part couldn't hurt."

"No, likely not," agreed Snape in a genuine fashion.

With a deep inhalation, Hermione closed her eyes and breathed, "There was an anniversary I missed, you see."

"...Of what sort?"

"Of the...yearly sort. It was a birthday, actually." She sniffed and unraveled the scarf a little bit, to better dab the tears that still slipped down her face.

"Whose?"

"A friend." Her voice cracked. "A dear friend."

With that, she bent her head with deep sobs.

The strangest thing happened before she had time to think; one moment she was falling onto the table, the next moment her face was hidden in the warm, human smellyness of Severus Snape's wool jumper. He seemed to try and wiggle away, but she embraced him tightly. After a few moments' resistance, he let the mantle of his impervious mien fall, and he also let his arms surround her.

He was touching her...he was touching her! When was the last time anyone had touched her, particularly with such kindness?

It felt, to Hermione, like it had been a very long time. She didn't think of the times when she'd been slapped on the back by James Potter (like she had that morning), or touched someone's hand when passing a platter of food at the table. She just thought of simple, genuine hugging, and realized how much she had missed it.

Snape didn't seem to not enjoy it, himself. However, as she cried, he patted her shoulders clumsily. He didn't tell her to shut it, or go and leave him alone. He let her find in him what she needed most, and accepted that what she needed most might be human touch.

Finally, he broke the silence. "It was...the birthday someone you cared for very much?" she heard his voice say above her, intense and compassionate.

"Rather. But I didn't love him...no...not like that..." she felt herself saying, still feeling all energy drain from her body.

"And now he's gone?"

She paused. "He's no longer with us," she said evasively, crying harder because her words were true but because the connotation that came with the words was so inept for the situation. "My best friend," she heard herself saying, "that's what he was, I suppose."

This seemed to resonate with Snape; of his own volition, his hold upon her became tighter for a moment as he squeezed her softly.

"But you didn't...love him?" he managed to question.

"No. Not Harry," she confessed, and at once she felt very strange, as if she were saying something that she knew would make Snape unhappy. It was a very peculiar feeling, as though she'd slapped her only benefactor, and she felt guilt and shame and consequently more tears.

If I were in my own time, I'd never, NEVER be in this position! she acknowledged with fascinated horror, but she also realized, But then again, this Snape has never heard of Harry. He doesn't hold the same hatred for Harry as the Snape of my own time held. But they are still the same person. I just felt guilty for saying something to THIS Snape that I know would have hurt the 'real' Snape.

"Who was Harry? And when was his birthday?" Snape asked, still holding her against him.

"His birthday was...last...July..." sobbed Hermione, feeling wretched, "...and I really didn't realize I'd missed it until now..."

"Hush," Snape said, but he was cajoling, not admonishing.

"He's such a poor boy," Hermione went on, "His terrible aunt and uncle have to raise him, because he's an orphan, but his life is like a fairy tale, like Cinderella, because he actually had a huge fortune in Gringotts."

"Mhm," Snape answered, also insisting for her to continue in the same monosyllable.

"And he's such the greatest friend, if only because he never had any friends before he came to the wizarding world...he knows what it's like to be alone...he saved me before from alienation and loneliness when I first came to the wizarding world, because I'm a Muggleborn..."

Snape nodded, saying nothing.

"But now he's gone, when I need him most...I mean..." She hesitated, because she didn't want to sound whiny, but she threw away her caution.

"All right...well, did you know that it was my birthday on September 12th?"

Snape said nothing, of course.

"Obviously not; nobody knew, save perhaps the teachers who read my applications. No one knew it was my birthday," Hermione went on, "but I know that he would have...but now I'm all alone...I'm all alone...oh Merlin! I miss him, and the littlest thing I could do for him, I failed him, and he deserves such a better friend than me...I'm just scum."

It took Snape more than a few minutes to muster up the courage to reply to all of that. When he did, he didn't sound as though he thought his words would be very effective.

"You care," he said, his voice as rough as gravel. "You care so much that you think you're scum. Granger, if you weren't such a ninny of a Gryffindor, you'd realize that it's usually people who think they are scum who aren't scum." He continued, though he sounded unsure, "And...it's usually only people who think they aren't scum who are scum." More resolute, he added, "Like Potter, for one brilliant example."

Hermione laughed, still tearful. "Why do you hate James Potter so much? I mean, he did save your life."

This caused Snape to stumble back from her, wide-eyed and outraged. It was terrifying to see him change so fiercely, one moment a placid day and the next moment a torrential downpour. "What do you know?" he hissed. "If you knew what really happened, instead of just listening to hearsay, you'd never have asked that question."

"I...I'm sorry," Hermione said, beginning to cry again. "I admit...promise...I don't know the first thing about what happened...I just knew that James Potter saved your life."

"For the sake of preserving his own skin, not out of some extraordinary benevolence on his part," sneered Snape, falling against the back of his chair vehemently. "Are you some posh barrister trying to incriminate me?"

"No!" Hermione insisted, her tears stopping out of the invigoration of aggravation.

"Well, it seems bloody likely!" Snape snarled.

They glared at each other for a few minutes, and then Snape yielded with a sigh.

"Fine. Tell Dumbledore that I'm abiding by his bloody rules," he said, putting his head on his hands. "I didn't say anything to anybody."

"Can't you believe me? I'm not...masquerading as anybody," Hermione pleaded, beginning to cry again. "Please!"

"It's self-evident, Granger...if that is your name..." Snape said with finality. He stood up, gathered his books, and stalked out of the library, leaving Hermione feeling even more alone than she had been before he had arrived.

For the next few days, Hermione spent almost all her time in the library, addicted to reading, leaving only for frequent naps and huge meals.

These latter came more and more often since her terrible interaction with Deborah Smith, who had started a ferocious movement to publicly ostracize Hermione.

She couldn't sleep with the creepy feeling that she was disliked so much by the girls in her own house. Sure, she'd been unpopular in her own time, but it had never felt as bad as this.

No one in the dorm would talk to her, it seemed. Then again, even if they had wanted to, Hermione didn't wait to find out. She stayed in the shower until everyone else had gone to bed at night so that no one would bother her while she slipped into bed.

She said nothing and reacted to nothing.

Thus, no one said anything to her. She was more alone than ever. The closest things to acknowledgement that she received were Severus' glares, but those only made her feel worse, as they served as reminders that the Slytherin boy refused to speak to her in class.

For a few moments then, she despaired.

But merely a day before the party that seemed a celebration of the things she lacked, an incident occured that made her smile for the first time in days.

As she sat in the library, nibbling on biscuits she'd nicked from dinner the night before, Hermione felt a bit tired, so she lay her head down to sleep. When she awoke, there was a small brown paper bag, in which she found a little package tied with string.

Hoping it wasn't a prank of some sort, she poked it with her wand, then, after a few hesitant moments, opened it.

Huh, she thought noncommittally as she opened the parcel that was included. It wasn't anything more than a bar of soap, but one whiff of the scent of freesias told her that it was home-made, and would be pricey if bought in a store.

Along with the package came a single piece of paper, upon which was scribbled this:

I'm sorry, Miss Granger. Happy birthday.

S.S.

Hermione smiled.

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If any of you are getting frustrated with the slow pace of the romance in this story, here's a little tidbit for you.

Hermione realized something. "Like, wowzorz, I want 2 make bebies wit mi Sevvikins, LOL!"