Not the First to Say

    Harry sighed and pushed his bag back at Ron. “I mean it, Ron, I don’t think I can go to classes today.”

    “Harry, you have to, okay? You’re already pushing everyone’s good will, mate. We can’t just skip anymore.”

    “I’m not saying we skip it, I’m saying I skip it. If I have to see that smug face, if he says one snide thing to me, I’ll kill him. I really will,” Harry sighed again and leaned his head against the wall. Ron looked slightly sympathetic.

    “I know, but… Harry, you can’t just keep ignoring everything!”

    “And why not? I didn’t even want to come back to this damn school,” he swore, but both he and Ron knew he hardly meant it. Ron had to say, he had improved somewhat in the weeks since school had started.

    Hermione was already in the classroom, having lost her patience for Harry’s behavior weeks ago. Harry recalled reluctantly what she had shouted last week. “Everybody knows how you feel, Harry. Nobody says you should feel differently. But I’m not going to indulge you anymore. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, because you don’t tell me! You don’t tell any of us. How can we help you if you don’t talk to us?”         Even less reluctantly, Harry remembered his reply: “I don’t need your help, Hermione! For all your help, you certainly weren’t there the moment we all truly needed you!” Hermione’s face hadn‘t even changed, she had simply turned on her heel and walked away. Harry’s stomach burned with the terrible knowledge that he was losing his last allies.

    “Ron, I just… can’t. Tomorrow, okay?”

    Ron shrugged and tiredly walked away, his shoulders slumped. Harry watched him walk away, unable to feel anything. He knew everyone was going through their own version of hell, and here he was pretending he was the only one with pain. Harry turned away, disgusted with himself, and went back to his room.

~

    “I see Mr. Potter has chosen, once again, not to join us?” Snape asked as Ron shuffled in, late as usual. Snape’s voice held no malice, however. He didn’t sneer the words, he merely asked. Ron shook his head slightly and looked away. He knew he would see Snape’s face change, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed and steely. Ron had seen that enough over the past few weeks. Hermione was already at a workstation on the far wall, and Ron hurriedly jotted down the directions on the board and joined her.

    “Is that selfish cow ever going to come to class?” she said by way of greeting.

    “Take it easy, ’Mione, will you?”

    “No I won’t take it easy. I’m tired of his whining,” she said heatedly. “He’s here for an education, how can he get one if he never comes to class? He’s probably still going to pass everything!” she was practically hissing now, vigorously stirring the cauldron with none of her usual care. “Because everyone feels sorry for him. Well, I don’t!” she slopped some of the potion onto the counter, where it proceeded to crackle and turn about nine different colors. “Damn it!” she swore, trying to remove it before Snape saw. No such luck.

    “Miss Granger, you’ll stay after class to fix your silly mistake and attempt to provide a suitable explanation for your careless behavior,” he said, with none of his usual fervor. Ron chanced a look at Hermione, whose face was a mixture of anger and something Ron couldn’t quite identify--relief?

    “Can you finish this, Ron?” she asked vaguely before wandering away and sitting at a desk. Ron started to fix the mistakes she’d made, the whole time thinking how very much he missed the old Hermione--a thought he never expected to have. He’d rather have her squawking about his mistakes and driving him crazy. The rest of the classroom was business as usual, a few glances thrown at Hermione, but for the most part the other Gryffindors and Slytherins chattered away and did their potions. The only noticeable difference was Draco Malfoy, who sat at a desk on the opposite side of the room, scribbling furiously in his notebook and not looking at anyone. Another new development Ron didn’t like.

    Although it was good not to have Draco flapping his gums constantly, his new attitude was hardly better--when he did speak, the foulest and most evil things came out of his mouth. Ron had lost track of the amount of times he’d called Hermione “that ugly Mudblood” or “that miserable cow Mudblood” or any number of other insults. With his father still in Azkaban, his mother in St. Mungo’s suffering hysteria, and his entire world of privilege crumbled around his feet, Draco had decided to take his revenge on everyone - except for Harry. That was the strangest part of all, Ron thought. Of all the students in the school, Harry had done the most to deserve Draco’s hatred - yet he received none of it.

    As the period wrapped up, Ron approached Hermione. She sent him a glare that could have set his robes on fire, and he headed for the door sadly. He glanced back and saw her heading slowly to the front of the room, where Snape was leaning lifelessly against the blackboard.

~

    “Professor Snape, I’m very sorry about my accident,” Hermione began. He waved her off before she could finish.

    “Miss Granger, you know that’s not really why I wanted you to stay.”

    “Of course. Ron and I have both tried countless times to get Harry to come. He just won’t. He claims he’ll be too upset by you.”

    “I wouldn’t do anything to upset him! We‘ve been over this. We‘ve all been warned quite liberally by Dumbledore not to do anything to further Harry‘s distress…”

    “I know that. I know. But Harry doesn’t. And I doubt he’d take very kindly to the fact that Dumbledore’s been coaching you all to give him special treatment. It’s his special treatment that’s part of the problem.”

    “I wouldn’t hurt him anyway, Hermione. I’m not a monster.” Snape’s eyes were fixed on the floor, his arms across his chest. For a second, he looked like a lost little kid, Hermione thought. He probably didn’t, she further reflected. I just want him to look that way. Hermione’s synapses were firing faster than she could control, and she spoke before she could evaluate the consequences.

    “I know you’re not,” she said softly, taking a step closer.

    “You don’t have to lie to me, Miss Granger. I know how all you students feel about me.”

    “You don’t know how we feel. That’s definitely one thing I know is true. You have no idea how I feel.”

    “I’m sure you see me as Potter and Weasley do. I know I’m the evildoer around here.”

    “Maybe our perceptions have changed since we found out the truth about the Order, and your work.” Hermione tried to choose her next words carefully, but she ended up blurting, “Maybe I think you’re a pretty good guy.”

    At that, Snape looked up. His face registered complete disbelief and incredulity. “How could you think that?” There was no menace in his voice. Even his usual undertone of contempt had vanished. He just sounded shocked, maybe desperate.

    “Well… it’s pretty much true, Professor. You are a good person.” Hermione tried to rid her voice of its sudden emotion, its urgency. She took a small step back so she didn’t give in to the overwhelming urge to lay a hand upon his shoulder, his arm, his face.

    Snape‘s entire demeanor changed as if he suddenly remembered where--and who-- he was. His face hardened and he turned his back to wave the chalkboard clean. His back to her and his voice suddenly back to its old coldness, “You’d better go, Miss Granger.”

    She stood quite still for one moment, a feeling horrifying close to rage welling up inside of her. She blinked, turned on her heel suddenly, and fled the room, slamming the doors behind her, chanting under her breath. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”