A/N: Warning for the chapter! There's a flashback from Hermione's schoolyears that can be a bit unsettling. If you don't want to read it, the passage is small and is marked inside the chapter with a line of hypens in the beginning and the end, so when you reach -trigger begins- you can scroll down until you find -trigger ends-. There's a summary of it in the endnote.

Sunday, 22nd of October

The alcove opposite Filch's Office, Hogwarts

Hermione has broken more school rules in the last six years of her life, than her pre-Hogwarts self could ever imagine– or would ever approve of.

She's pacing back and forth in the narrow alcove, her anxiety making her unable to stand still. Being caught isn't what she fears right now, as she remains hidden by the tapestry covering the entrance, as well as her own disillusionment spell. But she has been mentally counting all the -frankly- suicidal ventures of her school life and can't believe she's about to embark on another one. And this time, it's not to save someone, or avert a catastrophe. It's not proactive to some goal bigger than herself.

This time is only for the sake of Snape, that she is risking her prefect status and her good name among the school's teachers. How will she look McGonagall in the eye, if she's caught?

I have officially lost it. I am officially derailed, out of my mind and completely suicidal.

Getting expelled is, after all, a fate worse than death.

She checks her watch again, pacifying herself that she willnotget caught. She has experience in sneaking about after so many years.

She steals another glance through the moth holes of the tapestry, while inwardly blaming Harry and Ron for her moral degradation. They have been sneakily cultivating her disruptive tendencies, without her properly realising it. They have dragged her into such foolhardy - not to mention unlawful - expeditions that would have raised her parents' blood pressure, if Hermione ever dared to acquaint them with only half of their adventures. She has not and never will, not for as long as she can avoid it. What they don't know won't hurt them, after all.

Not to mention how Hermione has had very good reasons for venturing into each one of these disturbingly transgressive projects. The stakes were always high where Harry was concerned, and Hermione doesn't regret her past actions one bit.

Not as much as she knows she'll come to regret the one that has her lurking outside of Filch's office right now.

BANG!

On the classroom directly above her, the carefully constructed "bomb" explodes right on time; a rumble of breaking sounds -glass shattering, brass colliding on stone, wood smashing and splintering- reverberates through the castle's corridors, assisted by her sound-amplifying charms. Though she has spent the last five minutes constantly checking her watch in anticipation of it, Hermione jumps in surprise nevertheless.

"PEEVES!" Comes the caretaker's irate scream, powered by such wrath that it breaks through the barrier of his shut office door.

Hermione counts her breaths, forcing down the rush of intoxicating adrenaline, watching through the moth-holes that accommodatingly grant her view of the corridor outside. Filch has already stormed out of his office, locking the door hastily behind him, while muttering his filthy spiel about the poltergeist that wreaks its usual havoc. He's swiftly walking away, but Hermione doesn't come out yet; Mrs Norris is the real danger in this whole endeavour. Hermione observes with bated breath how the cat's tail raises vertically to the ground, like the infallible sensor of mischief it is.

This better be worth it, because I really shouldn't be doing this– but Hermioneisin fact doing this and has also taken the precaution of casting a scent-concealment charm on herself. She can pull this off with minimal damage -well, apart from the classroom on the floor above thathasbeen vandalised- but nevertheless, Hermione will emerge victorious.

Mrs Norris soon trods off behind her master's figure and finally, the corridor is empty.

The stakes aren't high. Her motives aren't pure and altruistic. Hermione takes this foolish risk because she's fed up with not getting answers. Curiosity might have killed the cat, and she knows she'll come to regret her ill-advised actions tonight, but she doesn't care, as long as Snape's latest outbreak is finally put into some comprehensive context.

It was two days ago, on their first Occlumency lesson, where Hermione was faced with yet another complication she didn't know what to think of.

Honestly, how much can a girl take before she finally finds refuge in transgressive behaviours?

~~~~~~~~~ …two days earlier… ~~~~~~~~

Friday evening, the 20th of October

Snape's Office

He blames the girl for all this. If the insufferable Know-It-All hadn't even been born in the first place, Severus would only have his typical levels of stress to work through. She is to blame, that insufferable chit.

Severus rises from behind his desk. He is a spy, he needlessly reminds himself.

He has betrayed the most dangerous Dark Lord the world has ever seen, he has been going behind the Dark Lord's back and he's still here to tell the tale; not that Severus would ever brag in such a careless, Gryffindor way. Of course he wouldn't, because Severus Snape is a man of subtlety.

He is a man of composure.

He is a spy, and a damn good one.

He can keep his calm in front of a seventeen year old schoolgirl.

Surely, he can.

He can and he will.

It's thirty seconds until the clock strikes 8 o'clock, when Severus cuts off his embarrassing pep talk to himself. According to the script he himself prepared for tonight, he goes to stand in front of his bookcases. He takes out one of his darkest and most malicious potion books; he needs a calming read as he pretends he's not being as nervous as a boy about to be deflowered.

After all, he's the one who is supposed to do the deflowering here.

The page he turns to is dedicated to a potion that slowly corrodes the intestines of the drinker, while masking its effect under a sensation of indigestion. The acid works silently and lethally, and most victims would never realise what is happening to their bodies until they're already frothing acid-greened blood from their mouths. Severus inhales a quiet but satisfying breath, imagining a certain pair of Marauders in that debasing and delightful state. James Potter and Sirius Black have never looked so enchantingly beautiful, as they do silently seizing at Severus' feet, quiet in their unparalleled suffering, because the acid of Severus' potion has already destroyed their vocal chords.

Right on schedule, the Princess knocks and is admitted to his office. Severus mentally counts fifteen seconds before giving her his attention; he intends this as a courtesy, to allow her to take in her environment.

He has procured two identical chairs from an unused classroom, which he has staged facing each other on the empty space in front of his desk. He has calculated the distance between them, in a way that allows minor movements without instigating accidental physical contact, but has made sure it's still close enough for him to have a clear view of Granger's facial expression.

He needs to study her closely, if this farce has any hope of progressing.

He has also made sure there's a fire burning in the fireplace. Admittedly, it hardly does anything to break the levels of humidity that usually permeates an office that lays under a lake in Scotland, but Severus has taken this decision considering emotional, not practical parameters.

The princess surveys these innovations with the anticipated levels of surprise. No matter how blind she usually is to the finer nuances of the world, she seems to realise how Snape is making an effort. Judging by her suspicious eyes and frowing brows, Ms Granger has been expecting that his desk would stand firmly between them, as it was done when her friend was failing to learn Occlumency. But his desk stands lonely in its place, while Severus himself has avoided it, electing to stand by his bookshelves.

Severus snaps his book shut and slides it back into its spot on the shelf. "Take a seat, Ms Granger."

"On which one, sir?"

"It hardly matters; the chairs are, after all, identical in every respect."

Respect is what the Princess feels, no matter how begrudgingly. She tries to conceal her shock but fails spectacularly, like every Gryffindor does when they think they're being subtle. There's no hiding how ridiculously hungry she is for praise and acceptance, especially by figures of authority.

Severus fully intends to exploit that weakness to the utmost degree.

She takes the chair that is closer to the fireplace, while her eyes steal speculative glances at his direction. He knows his face is completely emotionless, as he stands behind his own, empty chair and surveys her dispassionately.

"Seeing how co-operative you are forces me to conclude that your little visit to the Headmaster provided you with all the answers you were seeking."

Granger's mouth stiffens and she looks away; she stirs uncomfortably in her seat, but tries to force a misshapen semblance of a satisfied smile upon herself. "Indeed, the Headmaster has kindly explained the situation."

"Kind-ly…." Drawls he, wearing a smirk. "... just not overly….specifical-ly."

She only sends him a fleeting glare; Granger tips her jaw toward the ceiling. "I understand why the Headmaster isn't comfortable with sharing the full extent of his plan with someone completely unable to shield their thoughts and I would never be that immature as to grumble about it."

Snape has no qualms to smile at her, baring his crooked teeth. "How self-respecting of you, Ms Granger."

She squints at his gleeful malice for one hateful moment and then diverts the conversation; she is unable to come up with a retort, now that her grand declarations are proven null. "Before we begin, sir, I have two conditions I'd like to discuss with you."

The brow he ticks up is an omen of impending danger, but the Princess is arrogant enough to ignore it.

"Just like you asked for discretion, I don't want any of this getting out. My memories are private and I'd like them to remain so."

"I'll say that to the lines of your devout admirers, when they come to interrogate me about your innermost secrets."

It's quite evident how she bites the inside of her lip not to lash out at him. "My second condition is that you never use what you learn against me."

"I won't exploit your weaknesses, you mean, Ms Granger?"

"If you must call it that." She responds primly. "Sir."

"I can make no such guarantee." Severus sits down at last, crossing one leg over his knee and interlacing his fingers. "Now that these… procedural matters have been addressed, we can finally begin. Unless your majesty has other objections?"

"I don't." Her lips lift tightly, in a petulant mockery of a smile. "We can begin."

"In your own words– and I mean that, I will not stand for dry regurgitation of the books you've read… what are… the two… main directions an Occlumens can take to defend their memories?"

"Repulsion."

Severus is not amused.

"And misdirection." She adds innocently, obviously drawing satisfaction out of her immature wordplay. "Repulsion is when the Occlumens outright refuses to allow the intruder within his or her mind. Misdirection takes place after intrusion has happened –either by failure to resist or by willing admittance- and consists in redirecting the intruder down a different mnemonic path from the one the Occlumens wishes to keep private."

"Simplistic, but adequate for now." Severus magnanimously acknowledges. Instead of being content at his praise, her eyes narrow even more. Ungrateful Princess. "Both techniques have their advantages and disadvantages respectively. As to the level of difficulty, it is a subjective matter which depends on many factors. Generally, a rookie begins his training by focusing on the former – repulsion. Ironically, repulsion won't take you far if you're faced with a natural legilimens, like the Dark Lord."

The Princess opens her mouth, ready to utter the question that has burst into her mind. She looks like trying to contain a sizzling firework that is lodged in her throat.

Granger will be asking questions; Severus has prepared for this. Unfortunately, he cannot refuse to answer all of them and tell her to button it, because in that case, he will be dooming his own mission; he might as well give up trying altogether and surrender to the Dark Lord's wand.

"Is your question pertinent, Ms Granger?"

"Ah- I'm not sure, sir."

"How insightful."

"I mean, I can't be sure, because I don't know what the purpose of my… training…is."

Severus breathes steadily to keep his face emotionless; he will react to that word later, when Granger is safely out of his office.

What has Dumbledore told the girl?

"Why don't you ask anyway…" he drawls carefully, eying her slightly flustered face, "And I'll judge whether you should learn the answer or not."

She breathes silently for a moment, gazing at him unblinkingly; Severus' gut informs him that she's hiding something.

"Well…" She shallows and blinks herself back to the present, "... it concerns what you just said. About Voldemort."

An almost inaudible hiss comes out of Snape's mouth. The Princess frowns.

"You-Know-Who, I mean." She wisely amends and Severus decides to let it slide for now.

He will mold her behaviour to uphold the appropriate standards in due course.

"Why is it ironical?" She continues. "I mean, does… You-Know-Whoappreciate people showing their repulsion to his face in general?"

Severus' stomach is tied in the familiar knot He always induces; he should have anticipated that the chit wouldn't shy away from asking self-destructively idiotic questions.

"Do not make the mistake to think the Dark Lord isn't aware of His own form, Granger. He often uses it, in fact, as another way to inspire dread upon both His followers and victims."

Granger looks suitably subdued by the subject, at least. "The more repulsion he inspires, the more superior he feels, you mean, sir?"

"Perhaps."

Severus leaves his seat, strangely unable to stay in one position for long. He resolves to pace in a slow circle around her, if only for the sake of exorcising the utterance of the Dark Lord's name. The chit shifts in her chair, wisely unwilling to let him out of her sight.

"The Occlumency technique of repulsion won't take you far for two reasons. The Dark Lord is an unparalleled expert in Mind Arts; if he decides to enter your mind, you are not going to last long, no matter how accomplished an Occlumens you think you are. The second reason, to put it simply, is pain. Even if you manage to retain your mental barriers for more than a few seconds, it will equal immeasurable discomfort. Can you imagine what it would be like if this castle fell on your naked brain, Ms Granger? That is how a mental assault from the Dark Lord feels like. Therefore, in our lessons we will mostly focus on the technique of misdirection. We will proceed as follows."

He stands still at last, in front of his desk, where she doesn't need to crane her neck to see him. Severus joins the tips of his fingers in front of his body, angling himself in a non-threatening way.

"I will attempt to breach your mind, you will try to hold me back. You will soon fail. I will go down a pre-agreed mental path and you will try to divert me. The objective is to make the diversion feel smooth. If I'm holding onto a memory of you in your little excursion in the Department of Mysteries and you suddenly guide me to a memory of you smelling a pretty flower…"

"You'll realise I'm diverting you." Grager honours her cue, thankfully grasping the concept. "You will know I don't want you to see that memory."

"And I will persist until I see it all. Now, as to the mental path. I will go looking for memories concerning Potter."

"Why?" The witch flusters in alarm, and then flusters some more for failing to conceal it.

Severus can't help his budding disgust. "What do you think the Dark Lord will go looking for? You, preening over your excellent grades? There is nothing about you that would interest Him, Granger, apart from you being the Saviour's little friend. Your job is to show me safe, boring memories, is that clear?"

Granger is being mutinous again, nostrils flaring. "I'm not just the Saviour's little friend, sir. I'm Harry's little mudblood friend. It's an important distinct-"

"Do… not… ever… speak.. that… word… in. front. of… me… Granger."

It's Dumbledore's fault. Lily's memory is now an indissoluble part of this charade of a mission. The Princess is confused; she obviously wonders why the Slytherin ex Death Eater is bothered by a demeaning word for muggleborns. That's how short-sighted she really is.

"These… lessons…" Snape spits out the word, "might not be part of the curriculum, but I am still your teacher. You will watch your language when you address your betters."

She doesn't seem half as terrified as she's supposed to be. In fact she is squinting at him, obviously suspicious that Severus is pulling her leg. Even her apology is a blatantly mechanical response, a hollow reflex moulded out of years of her bootlicking authority.

"Forgive me, sir, I got carried away."

"Oh, of course, you were carried away. Should I let my emotions rule over my behaviour as well, then, Ms Granger? Would you say that would help either of us right now?"

She feels the need to utter some hateful retort, no doubt in reference to how he has already fallen down that rabbit hole himself. She wisely refrains, however and Severus comes to stand in front of her, with a flourish of his voluminous robes.

"I'm trying to make this work with minimum disturbance to us both, girl. You will acknowledge and respect that. You will not drag your inferiority issues into this procedure."

Granger is about to express herself again, but at least this time Severus' face is enough incentive to hold her tongue. He takes out his wand, he stands tall in front of her, and he's the powerful one in the room.

"Brace yourself. 3, 2, 1, legilimens."

He has hardly given her any time to prepare, though he doubts it would be any different if he had. Severus breaks into her mind with the force of a spring torrent. Images, smells and a hint of emotions take over both their minds' eye.

Granger doing this, younger Granger doing that…. Snape browses through her yawn-inducing normality with the ease these muggle magicians have when they shuffle cards. Not that Severus as a boy ever had the chance to frivolities such as going to a show, like Ms Granger undoubtedly enjoyed. He had only glimpsed the magician's tricks on his father's telly, when the old man was passed out on liquor and it was safe enough for Severus to come out of his room.

He picks up a fresher thread of memories, wafting a hint of parchment and the School Libraries' books. It is no trouble to locate her meeting with Dumbledore from yesterday night. Severus sits in front of Albus' desk, while memory-Granger inefficiently tries to draw more information from the unsurprisingly unyielding Headmaster. Severus loiters around the memory long enough to deduce that Albus never mentioned anything concerning training to her; he files that piece of information to process later.

Dinner in the Great Hall. Weasley stuffs his mouth with an indecent amount of food; a nest of black unruly hair that can only belong to a single person. Severus follows the trickle of unassuming warmth Granger's memory of her friend emits, the same feeling he once had about a girl in Cokeworth. A simple feeling of belonging, as Granger's memory focuses on emerald green eyes that look so much like Hers.

It had been warm and unassuming at first, when Sev approached Lils in the meadow outside of town. What he felt at first could not compare to the burning possessiveness that claimed him later, that eventually pushed Her away as much as his actions did.

Severus coldly shoves his weak thoughts down, while at the same breath ventures deeper into Granger's mind, following more about Potter the junior brat, as is the whole point of this exercise. As Granger's recent memories unfurl and Potter walks through the Burrow, through the train, through Hogwarts, Severus is starting to feel her pathetic attempts to fight him off.

He doesn't let the Princess breathe, doesn't allow her time to muster any concentration; he cuts through the whirlpool of her memories, seizing one that is thick and heady with worry and speculation.

"What happened to Merope in the end?" Granger's voice asks, as Potter Jr shrugs.

Severus sinks his mental claws into the memory, while whiff of Granger's growing panic fills his senses. She does not want him to see this, but the chit is no match for him, he cannot stand in Sev–

"Ah!" The world re-asserts itself. Severus' instincts wrench him out of her mind, his wand half-raised against the invisible intruder who dares attack him with a stinging hex.

Severus' attacker is sweating on her chair, panting and sending him looks of malicious victory.

"A stinging hex?" Scorns Snape, though he admits he had not seen that coming.

"You never said I'm not allowed, sir." Pants she innocently.

"Playing cheap tricks on me isn't the objective of this lesson, Granger."

The Princess huffs. "My cheap trick worked fine, I'd say."

"Do not turn this into a competition, you foolish girl. The goal isn't to repulse me, but to misdirect me, at which point you failed spectacularly."

Granger's face has started to fall. "Well, I might have on that, but surely–"

"I would advise you to focus on our task instead of taking everything so personally."

"I'm taking things personally?!"

"Brace yourself!" Barks Severus, always in the name of professional distance and scientific detachment. He sits down this time, and evenly raises his wand to her face, but if Granger expects a countdown, she's due for a disappointment. "Legilimens!"

It is too much to expect her to misdirect him on her first try. Severus knows this very well, as he's hazily suspicious of the fact - though in no way ready to admit it - that Ms Granger's counter-attack was worthy of honest praise. It was sneaky and unexpected, much more Slytherin than her prejudice would ever allow her to admit.

The Gryffindor Princess is angry now. Her emotions reign over her mnemonic paths, dragging him into more and more bitter recollections, taking them further away from Potter. Severus doesn't know how to feel when he sees his own sneering face in a number of different unpleasant occasions; he has barely acknowledged Granger's existence all these years, and yet he has already managed to establish himself as a hateful person beyond any excuse. Not that Severus cares, neither he is surprised; it just throws into sharper contrast, how difficult his mockery of a mission really is.

Forcing her mind back to Potter Jr isn't as easy as it was before. They've reached Granger's childhood years or something, where kids play on schoolyards and loudly chat in colourful classrooms. All these sunny and carefree moments are disgustingly sentimental, and Severus would normally steer them away into safer, more depressive settings. But he does not.

- trigger begins -

On the contrary, he keeps them down this revolting path of Granger's pre-Hogwarts' years, gripped by the heady feeling these seemingly innocent memories emit. They're blurred and fuzzy around the edges, a tell-tale sign of the Princess' unconscious efforts to repel them through the years. Severus is curious, because each path is sharpened by some phantom pain, each thread of memory weighed down by the smell of rotting food and sweaty armpits and stinking feet; an assembly of odours that make you feel like throwing up.

Severus has been in enough minds by now, to know how trauma smells like. He confesses himself intrigued, what kind of possible trauma can Ms Granger's childhood hide? It's not out of curiosity or any kind of interest about the chit, of course; it's merely for the aim of finding more and more ways to manipulate her. The Princess has started to fight him again, and Severus casts a non-verbal shield on his real body, that is still tensed up outside the mnemonic plane they're both engaged in. After making sure that the spells she might cast in her defense will not reach him, he musters his concentration and plunges like a sniffer hound, picking up the most rot-smelling memory of the thread.

Amidst cries of "mudblood", that leak from memories of later years, emerges the scene Severus has instinctually picked up: A gang of grammar-school kids, boys and girls, that burst inside the white-tiled premises of a school bathroom. Severus freezes while washing his hands on the washbasin that's too high for his undeveloped form. Dread grips his little body that has started to tremble, a sensation that clashes strangely with the bathroom walls that are too white to become the setting of such needless cruelty. The gang has him cornered, like Potter and his lackeys always did- not did. They will do, because Severus is still in grammar school–

No.

It's Granger's school and Granger's classmates that close in on them now, but for a few seconds Severus forgets. The boys and girls that are his classmates start jeering and calling him names: Snivellus– no, that's not right, that will come later; teacher's pet, that's what they're saying and rabbit-tooth and nerd and ugly and boring. The kids shove Severus around and he's craving to push back, raise his wand and teach the brats, but for some reason he cannot. He's trapped in one of these nightmares where some faceless evil is hunting you, but your feet are stuck on the ground and you cannot move, not even to run, not even to defend yourself.

One shove is too harsh and Severus loses the slippery ground beneath his feet.

Next thing he knows, his head is screaming in alarm of pain, the tiles he lies upon are wet, the smell of urine insults his senses. Somewhere in front of him, children's voices shout incoherent shouts and footsteps shuffle hastily out of the room.

Hermione lies on the floor of a toilet cubicle, where she has landed after falling through the unlatched door that sways open and sends her head crashing on the toilet's rim. The kids have seen how her head bleeds a bit – head wounds always bleed too much for no good reason. She's too dizzy to get up, so for a moment she lies there, on the piss-covered tiles that somebody should have cleaned.

- end of trigger -

Severus' grip on the memory has relaxed enough, so when Ms Granger's seething, panicking magic pushes him out, he's once again seated on his chair, in his office, while in his fireplace nothing remains anymore but embers.

With the arrogant guffaws of James Potter ringing inconveniently in his ears, Severus watches the girl heaving more sobs than breaths. She valiantly endeavours to regain her calm from the sudden onslaught of painful memories she had not expected to re-live so suddenly and without warning.

A good tutor would have warned how this procedure would dig up disturbing memories. They would have prepared their student for the real challenges, before assaulting their mind in a manner not too unlike that of the gang of kids that thought calling people names and shoving them around is fun.

But Granger must know by now, the world is far from an ideal place.

"Control yourself, Granger." He murmurs quietly enough, while considering if he will freak her out even more if he offers her a handkerchief. "One shoving incident gone wrong is hardly the worst kind of bullying out there."

"I'll take your word for it, sir." She replies in a broken voice that catches with every sob she tries to conceal. "After all, you'd know all about bullying, wouldn't you?"

A chill descends on the already humid room, as Severus surveys her dispassionately.

"Say that again." His emotionless voice reaches his ears in deathly flatness.

"I said," her voice strengthens, her tone gets all fangs and claws to protect the vulnerability of her state. "..you'd know all about bullying, wouldn't you, sir?"

Severus squints at her, analyzing every feature of her tear-stained, angry face. "The brat told you."

She heaves another uneven sob, as she doubles back to look at him. She's putting on a rather convincing charade about pretending to be unaware and Severus feels powerless once more, theweakone in a situation that requires strength.

"You know, Granger." He raises slowly from his seat, to near her like a patient vulture; emphasis on the patient part, because Severus has already far too easily accepted his role as a predator. But now is not the time for his pathetic self-hatred, because Granger knows.She jumps out of her chair as well, backing away toward the door, but Severus doesn't plan to let her go far. "That brat pretended he pitied me and then he ran back to his precious friends to snitch. How many an evening has he spent mocking me with Weasley?"

"Wh–brat? What–Harry!? You mean, Harry?"

"Don't you dare lie to me, Granger." He hovers above her, just as her back hits his office door. "You know, I can see it in your eyes. How many more have heard of my ridicule?"

She is laying her palms flat on his chest, fingers digging in, half-ready to push him away, half keeping him close, in an effort to solve the riddle of what's going on. In the haze of his paranoia, Severus grips her tightly by the elbows, trapping her against him even more; Granger will not leave this room, until Severus has made sure his shameful past will not reach the ears of even more people.

"Professor Snape! I have literally no idea of what you're talking about!"

Severus' fingers dig deeper into her skin, he gathers her more firmly close to him. He searches her widened eyes to find the truth. The whites are reddened still, even though her tears have run dry. Her pupils are dilated, almost consuming the whiskey-coloured irises. But amidst her shock and her adrenaline, there is bemusement and there is resolve.

Granger doesn't know.

The brat has told her nothing, just as he promised last year.

Severus' relief is short-lived, but it is enough incentive to set her free at last. He cannot stand her flabbergasted, curious eyes on him. He backs off.

"Forgive…" Severus forces the demeaning word out of his mouth, but if there's a chance that he can still mislead her–

"What was Harry not supposed to tell me?"

"My patience is hanging by a thread, Granger." Severus could try going feral, but Granger has already proven it won't work on her. "Do NOT think this is the right time to needlessly provoke me. Utilise the brain cells you possess, make your exit now and if you dare to speak about this to a living soul or a dead one, I will–"

"You were bullied."

"I said–"

"You were, weren't you." She is tormenting her lower lip between her teeth, as her whole body emits the signs of a scintillation piecing a greater image together. "You were bullied, but how does Harry know? How can he know something like that? Nobody else in Hogwarts must know, or it would have reached our ears- But purebloods don't go to grammar school– You can't have been in Hogwarts when it happened, you just can't! The teachers here would never allow such things to happen, and also you'd have been old enough to fight back–"

BANG!

The wood of his office door slams open by the raw force of Severus' wandless magic, crashing against the stone wall, hinges screeching. He has already picked up her bag; all that remains is picking up the girl as well, gripping her by the nape of her neck, like a bitch carrying a puppy.

"Sir–!"

"Fighting back is pointless when one is outnumbered, Granger, as you already know."

He throws her out with trembling hands, the force of faltering Occlumency keeping him in line, only just. What happens inside the office when his door closes, when his silencing wards engage and when his mental barriers fall, is another thing altogether.

All in all, there goes Severus' efforts for scientific detachment.

A/N: Summary of trigger passage:

Hermione's grammar school classmates find her alone in the school bathroom. Making fun of her, they shove her a bit, Hermione slips and hits her head. Severus watches all that from her perspective, so for a moment he loses himself in the memory and feels like it's all happening to him instead of her, naturally remembering his own experiences.

A million thanks to me beta-reader, the Author KyloRen.93. Be sure to check out his work!