Friday evening Snape is waiting when Hermione let's herself into his office after supper.
"Sit!" he says, and she takes a seat in front of his desk. She studiously avoids making eye contact with him.
"Bag," He says, reaching his hand across the desk. When she just looks numbly at him he says, "Give me your book bag, Miss Granger."
She hands him her purple beaded bag, which has been transfigured into a trendy leather shoulder bag with a bohemian fringe. It looks big enough to hold her wallet, some makeup and maybe a small journal. Obviously, Snape isn't fooled. Her hand is trembling badly as she passes it across the desk to him. When his finger barely grazes hers as he takes it from her, she jerks her hand back violently.
Snape sighs. He lays the bag down carefully on his desk, as if it might contain dynamite, or an erumpet horn. He looks up at Hermione. She looks close to vomiting. "You're not in trouble, Miss Granger."
"Okay sir."
"Look at me," Snape says to her. She looks at the collar of his shirt. "Look at my eyes, Miss Granger." She looks up into his eyes and tries not to flinch. She feels better from her long night of sleep, but the close proximity to Snape is unnerving. Here, alone with him, close enough to see the mess of white scars at his throat from Nagini's attack, she desperately wants to ask him how he has been since he left St Mungo's. Is the nerve damage repairing itself?
Snape breaks her inner monologue. "I am recovering well, Miss Granger, thank you for your concern. Now tell me- did you sleep last night as instructed?"
"Yes, sir," Hermione says, both angry at his intrusion on her privacy and grateful for his response.
"For your information," Snape says conversationally as he opens her book bag, "I don't actually have to use Legillimency to hear your thoughts. They are very loud." A look of complete horror creeps over Hermione's face. He raises an eyebrow. He is tempted to chuckle, but restrains himself. She has already seen him smile once. If he's not careful with this girl, he will ruin ten years of a carefully constructed nasty reputation. "When you are caught up on your rest, your schoolwork, and my grading," he offers, "I'll give you a copy of my own writings on Occlumency. You should be able to learn, at the very least, how to stop broadcasting your annoying thoughts at me."
Hermione moves forward in her seat unconsciously at this. She has always been jealous of Harry's Occlumency lessons, even if they were from Snape. She had been trying to learn it by herself for over a year, but there didn't seem to be much written on the subject. Nothing worth a shit, anyway.
Snape gets her bag open and his eyebrows go up again. Hermione can't help but smirk a little. The bag is an impressive piece of magic, and she knows it. Snape has his wand in his hand now. He waves it over the bag. He looks at Hermione. "Is there anything you don't keep in here?"
"No, Sir."
He uses his wand to summon her classwork and subsequent notes and reference materials. When the books fill up his desk they begin to stack themselves up on the floor. He watches the spectacle, face blank. Finally, all of Hermione's study materials are out of the bag.
Snape looks at Hermione. "Which subject are you the most behind in?"
"We have a test in transfiguration tomorrow on the laws of conservation of magical energy," Hermione says, "I plan to start there tonight after detention."
Snape nods and waves his wand, banishing everything back to her bag but the transfiguration materials. It is still an extensive stack. He finds her notes and begins to flip through them furiously. "Recite for me Grampf's first law of elemental energy conservation," he says, his eyes still on her notes.
Hermione's eyes just about jump right out of her head. Snape is going to help her study? Before he can become irritated again she quickly recites it. She misses one word, and he corrects her. Makes her say it again.
Snape grills her relentlessly on the subject for half an hour. He not only makes sure she understands the laws and how to apply them to her spells, they also spend a good amount of time on the underlying mathematics of the governing principles. "You're taking arithmancy?" he asks, before they get into this. She gives a curt nod. "Good," he replies, "It really should be required at NEWT level. Otherwise the underlying theory can't be taught."
"I know," groans Hermione, "Think of all the witches and wizards out there running around using magic they have no theoretical grasp of. It's terrifying. Sir."
Snape finds it difficult to keep his face impassive at this, but manages. He dives into the arithmancy with her before he starts grinning like a fool.
"You shouldn't have any problems with your test tomorrow," he says to her when he is satisfied with her responses. "What's next?"
"We have a paper due on the effectiveness of shield charms on brute force hexes on Monday, as well as a practical exam."
"We will go over the theory, only. I do not want you performing complex spell work until you have fully recovered."
"Recovered, Sir?"
Snape's face descends into a deep scowl. Hermione sits back in her chair, visibly startled by the sudden change in his countenance. "You are under a great deal of mental strain, Miss Granger. Sleep deprivation only compounds the problem. Magic, specifically the casting of spells, draws energy from your inner core. Stress and sleep deprivation deplete your inner core. Have you even wondered why Defense Against the Dark Arts has always been your worst subject?"
Hermione nods.
"The casting of offensive and defensive spells pits your core against the core of your opponent. Of course you need the training and technical skill to cast the spells. You have never been lacking in the skill. It is your core that is weak, because you yourself are constantly draining it with stress, sleep deprivation, and an alarming lack of self care." His eyes are searing into hers, but her hunger for information, for his instruction, far outweighs her fear of him, and she does not break eye contact.
"But, sir, respectfully, my best defensive spell work has always happened when we were under pressure, threat of death, really."
Snape nods. "That kind of pressure grants you access to hidden reserves. The more determined you are, the more motivated you are, the more successful your spells. It is one of the reasons why your pet dunderheads are as successful as they are. Both Potter and his sidekick have powerful motivations.
"But- this kind of power won't help you with everyday magic, which explains your failures in your practical Defense exams. So- no spell work until I am satisfied that you are rested, fed, and thoroughly de-stressed."
"Yes, sir," she says, thoroughly deflated.
Snape begins drilling her on the shield charms, but after a few minutes, he stops. "You know all this Miss Granger. Why are you working yourself into such a lather? Your classes aren't particularly challenging for you."
Hermione shrugs. "Habit, I suppose."
Snape points his wand at Hermione's bag and summons a few of her personal notebooks before finding what he is looking for. "Ah," he says, opening her color-coded study schedule. "Here it is, Miss Granger, a self made monument to your own insecurity. " He runs his first long fingers across the rows of neat, color-coded notes. "When you adhere to this schedule, does it make you feel better?"
"Loads, sir," says Hermione, feeling slightly ill watching Snape run his fingers over something that is so personal to her A dirty little secret of sorts.
"Why?" he asks, flipping idly through the notebook.
"Um… it makes me feel like I have everything under control."
Snape snaps the notebook shut. "Exactly, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." Hermione's mouth pops open. She doesn't think she will ever get used to Snape giving her points, rather than taking them away. He smirks a bit. "My point here, Miss Granger, is that you are far from in control. When I found you in the great hall yesterday you were passed out at the dining table from sheer panic and utter exhaustion. Occlumency requires control, Miss Granger, as well as an organized mind. You have the organized mind, or, I should say, the aptitude to develop an organized mind. Control doesn't come from a color coded notebook filled with your fears. Incendio!"
The notebook bursts into flames. "No!" Hermione cries, and lunges for it, trying to grab it away from Snape. She immediately regrets it though as her right hand blisters in one big second degree burn.
Snape promptly vanishes the burning book and rounds on Hermione, "Sweet fucking circe, are you that fucking stupid?"
Hermione is breathing in and out trying not to faint, her burned hand held awkwardly in front of her. Snape steps around his desk and comes to stand in front of Hermione. He grasps the wrist of her burned hand in his left, ignoring her gasps of pain, and mutters a few incantations. Hermione watches in sick fascination as the blisters are replaced with healthy pink skin.
"That's going to be tender for a few days," Snape says. "Wait here." He disappears into his lab and comes back with a vial of creme. Hermione holds her hand out for it, thinking he will hand it to her, but he unscrews the lid and instead of placing the jar in her hand, grasps her hand in his. She startles visibly. Snape sighs and begins to gently run the creme into the new pink skin of her hand. As he does it, he speaks quietly to her. He is using his gentle voice again, she notices.
"You faced down the Dark Lord and dueled numerous Death Eaters, Miss Granger. How is it that you still shrink from me?"
Hermione finds it hard to put words together with Snape working the burn creme into her sensitive flesh. What he is doing feels absolutely divine, almost sensual, but it's Snape. She again finds herself feeling compelled and repulsed at the same time. "You are the most dangerous person I know, sir," she says after giving it some thought.
He gives her back her hand, then hands her the creme. "I am no danger to you, Miss Granger. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"Noted, sir," says Hermione.
"Now," he says, as he hands her bookbag back to her, "I have a few assignments for you. I want you to make up a new schedule. But this schedule should be the schedule you would make for yourself if you were in charge of your time and your curriculum. What classes would you take? What books would you read? How much leisure time would you allow yourself?" Hermione nods. "Also, you will attend Hogsmede with your friends this weekend, and you will not blow off the Dumbledore's Army meeting. You will also try to refrain from spellwork as much as possible. You will be in bed before midnight tonight and tomorrow, and in bed by eleven Sunday night. Have I made myself clear? Do you understand the reason for my instruction, and why you are being micro managed?"
"Yes, sir, you have been clear. The reason is to recover my core, and you're micro managing me because I've failed so spectacularly."
Snape nods, apparently satisfied. "Correct, Miss Granger. You are dismissed."