Hermione bit her tongue to keep from lashing out all through the following day. She never had any patience for Madame Pomfrey's consistent bustling, but presently, the ache in her pelvic region was threatening to send her over the edge. Thankfully, she managed to keep her silence until Pomfrey finally bid her leave.

Hermione dressed quickly and trudged through the halls, but as soon as she was in the plain sight of the student body, she very nearly sprinted back to the hospital wing. It was evident that even this incident had spread like wildfire. Eyes landed on her and widened with every step she made. Most filled with pity. Some with undisguised intrigue. The worst was when she saw lust.

She quickened her pace.

She'd broken into something of a run, and was consequently panting, when she threw open the door to McGonagall's office and slammed it behind her. In her haste, she'd even forgone knocking. She'd never been so brazen.

McGonagall's shocked face shot up at the sound of her unannounced entrance. She was on her feet and by Hermione's side rather quickly for a witch who was getting on in years.

"Forgive me," Hermione breathed, putting a hand to her chest to calm the panting. "That was rude, I'm sorry."

McGonagall waved away her apology and ushered—or rather, pushed—Hermione into a chair. "Not at all," she murmured. "But if I might, why were you in such a hurry?"

She didn't know what it was but she couldn't muster the effort it would take to lie. "I hate being stared at."

McGonagall's brow furrowed, but not with confusion. Hermione elaborated anyway. "They're all either intrigued by me or they pity me. I don't like seeing either." Hermione shook her head and plastered a smile on her face, but it slipped into something of a grimace.

McGonagall spread her fingers flat across her desk and felt the oak. She heaved a sigh. "Miss Granger, there's something we need to talk about."

Hermione didn't at all like the way her voice strained. There wasn't much that got her Transfigurations professor nervous. "I'm listening."

"Your doctors insist you talk to a professional, and the other professors and I agree." She spoke with finality, and with strictness, but it waivered.

Hermione was out of her chair, her back pressed against the door, before McGonagall could blink. "Not you, too," she breathed, and closed her eyes.

McGonagall made to rise, but then thought better of it, and remained seated so as not to startle her. "Miss Granger, please sit." She continued even though Hermione ignored her request. "Look, this isn't a punishment. You have to admit that, while you've held up tremendously, these past few weeks have been trying. And Mr. Malfoy's actions in no way sped up your healing."

Hermione bit her lip and her body tensed. "I'm not a loon," she bit out, and immediately regretted her anger when her Head of House recoiled. She softened her tone. "Look, Professor, I'm doing fine. Visibly fine. I don't cry, I pay attention in class, I've kept my grades up. What else can I do to show you all that I'm okay?"

McGonagall shook her head, and really studied Hermione for a moment. "Even now, you're trying so hard to prove you've healed perfectly, that you remain unaffected by what happened to you." Now she rose, and walked forward slowly, her face pinched by a scrutiny that did not sit well with Hermione. "Since when are you forbidden to be hurt, to cry?"

Hermione wished she could back away further, but her back was quite literally against the wall. "I'm not weak."

McGonagall stood before her, and reached a hand out to Hermione's shoulder even though the girl flinched at the sudden movement. "Nobody said you were. Hermione, asking for help, or accepting in your case, isn't showing weakness. Some would argue that acknowledging you need help is a testament to your strength."

Hermione's chest tightened and she felt immensely constricted. McGonagall's narrowed, but warm, eyes were watching her every move and it was in that moment that Hermione questioned her own actions. Why was she trying so hard? Who was this act for? Not for her, certainly.

She felt a great, heaving sob bubbling in her chest and then in her throat in the same second that her knees hit the floor.

And for the first time since she'd been hurt, she allowed herself to cry.

-BREAK-

Snape rapped on McGonagall's office door, but burst in without permission at the sound of violent crying. It was a sight he'd predicted he'd never see.

McGonagall sat on the cold tile floor, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of a shivering, weeping Hermione Granger. The latter had her knees tucked up beneath her chin, straining unsuccessfully to reign in her escaped emotions. Her cheeks were bright red and stained with tears, and Snape's heart clenched with fear momentarily at the thought that something else might've hurt her.

McGonagall's expression told him otherwise. "Severus," she said quietly, as though not to alert the crumpled girl in her arms. "Something you needed?"

Snape hesitated, and then fumbled with a stack of papers which he set atop her desk. "Sorry to intrude," he murmured, and he sounded it, "but the Headmaster sent me with these, and he requests a word." His eyes flew apologetically towards Hermione. "He said it was urgent."

McGonagall bit her lip and rolled her eyes and Snape was quite sure she'd have liked to tell Dumbledore where to stick his urgency. Nevertheless, she directed her next words at Hermione. "Miss Granger, will you at least think about it?"

Hermione, who had cowered shamefully when Snape first arrived, now sat straight up and put herself to rights. "Yes, yes, I'll do it." Snape had an inkling as to what she was agreeing to and it was clear to both professors that her acquiesce was merely to shut them up. Neither cared.

McGonagall beamed and patted her leg. The two straightened, and the former headed straight for the Floo. "Severus, will you see Miss Granger back to her dorm?"

Before either could argue, she was swallowed by and emerald blaze. Snape turned awkwardly to the sniffling girl before him, who seemed rather keen on keeping her tear-streaked face hidden.

"It's all right, Professor," she said, seeming to sense his discomfort, "I don't need a babysitter."

Her tone was light, but he disliked it all the same. While it was true that he had very little experience with weepy teenage girls, he reasoned that he very likely contributed to the source of her tears and as such, it was his duty to see that she was all right.

"Please allow me to escort you, Miss Granger. I was headed back toward Gryffindor common room, anyway." It was a lie, but neither chose to comment.

"I was actually going to take a turn around the library," she muttered. She hadn't planned on that, actually, but sitting in an empty, silent common room seemed half as appealing at the moment.

Snape raised a brow. "Looking for anything in particular?"

Hermione thought she might've heard a hint of a challenge in his voice, and rose to it. "Yes, now that you ask. There's a book on the advantages of potting infantile mandrake plants that I've walked past for seven years and have yet to pick up. I think today is as good a day as any."

Snape suppressed the inappropriate bubble of giddiness he felt at the cessation of her tears, and became aware that they'd entered a sort of battle of wits. "Why, Miss Granger, if I'd known that potted mandrakes were so interesting a topic to you, I would've approached you earlier! It just so happens I've got several published papers on the subject in my office."

Hermione fought her lip's insistence to turn up in the corner. "Might I ask to read them, then, Professor?"

And together they walked to the dungeons, goading each other for the length of it.

-BREAK-

"The acrimonious properties in the love potion automatically refrain it from being tasteless."

"But the potion needn't be tasteless, must it, if it's passably hidden within a stronger substance!"

They'd been going at it for the better part of three hours now, debating topic after topic until Severus's growling stomach alerted them to dinner time. Instead of making a trip to the Great Hall, however, both opted to take their meals in the comfort of Snape's office.

Snape was discarding the remnants of a turkey sandwich when he finally glanced over at Hermione, who couldn't have taken more than a couple bites from the sandwich balanced on her lap. "Would you prefer something else?" he asked lightly.

Hermione glanced up, as though just remembering his presence, before shaking her head. "No thank you, it's fine." She took one last measly bite before sending her tray back to the kitchen with a flick of her wand.

Snape furrowed his brow. He'd been in her company for the better part of the afternoon, and she'd not eaten a thing. He studied her for a moment. She'd discarded her school robes and he saw the way her sweater hung loosely, the way her jeans were held up only by a belt, and wondered if she'd made eating scarcely a habit.

He cleared his throat, and wondered how to address her. "Something wrong with your appetite? I couldn't help but notice you didn't eat much."

Hermione shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Not hungry, I guess."

Snape nearly mentioned that by the looks of it, she was never hungry, but bit his tongue. She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

Instead, she wondered when she'd become so comfortable in the presence of her Potions professor. Hours had passed filled with amiable conversation, and she thought it likely that it was the most enjoyable few hours she'd had in a long while.

It was Snape who spoke next. "Might I inquire as to what you were discussing with Professor McGonagall?"

He posed the question so formally, Hermione nearly laughed. For a spy, he wasn't sneaky. "Yes, yes, you've all finally worn me down." Her light tone darkened momentarily. "I've agreed to talk to someone."

Snape leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Granger. I know you don't need it," he said, more for her benefit, "but it might help all the same." She'd smiled at his attempt to cheer her, but not quite heartily. "There's no shame in getting help."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's what I keep hearing. I just…" She hesitated. "I just don't see how continuing to talk about it, over and over again, could help. I would give anything in the world to forget about it, and I doubt that's what I'll learn."

Snape shrugged. "I don't have much experience in this department, either. All I can say is maybe you won't merely be talking about it. You'll be talking through it. And maybe, in the end, that's what will help you forget."

Hermione studied her hands, but Snape continued.

"And if that's not possible, you'll at least learn how to cope."

Author's Note: I love reviews so much, they're like Christmas presents in August.