Not the First to Say

Professor Snape sat in the dungeons, methodically going over his lesson plans for the next day. He needed to get himself together. The students had examinations in a few short months, and he had done precious little to advance their Potions knowledge. Severus took his duties as an educator very seriously. What else were the students to do to protect themselves, except learn everything they could? 'If only I was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,' he thought for what must have been the millionth time. If not more than that. And although he knew Dumbledore had his reasons, he couldn't help being a little disappointed that yet another year had come with a new DADA professor.

     Snape felt a sudden twinge in his arm and panicked, pulling up his sleeve. The Dark Mark was not inflamed, however. It twinged every now and then, sending Snape into a panic. He knew he could no longer go before the Dark Lord. He knew it was only a matter of time before Voldemort did away with him for good. But for some reason, that thought was no longer as terrifying as it had once been. He knew he had quite a lot to do to help prepare the wizarding world for the attack that would surely come soon. He had to teach the students, to arm them - especially those in the most danger.

     Hermione Granger.

     The name popped into his head, as it had been wont to do lately. Snape tried to force his thoughts back to the lessons, but to no avail. Hermione's words came back to him. 'I think you're a pretty good guy.' Surely she didn't, couldn't really think so. Surely she had realized that last year's tragedy at the Ministry of Magic had been his fault.

     Before Snape could continue any further down that well-tread road, a gentle knock came at the doors. "Come in," Snape said sharply, hoping it was only Professor Dumbledore.

     "Good evening, Severus."

     "Headmaster. Good to see you," Snape mumbled half-heartedly. Although he was always elated to be reminded that no matter what, he had Dumbledore, Snape had a feeling a lecture was forthcoming.

     "I missed you at supper, Severus."

     "Yes, well, I've been very busy with lessons -"

     "Save it, Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice biting and quick. "You are avoiding us all. You have been for months. Would you care to tell me why?" It was a question Professor Dumbledore had posed before, but not one Snape was prepared to answer.

     "Professor Dumbledore, it's quite late. I'll be going to my rooms now." Snape rose and strode quickly out of the dungeons.

     "Severus."

     He stopped and turned, only slightly.

     "I'm not going to wait forever. You're an excellent professor, but we need strength within these walls. You'll join us again, or we may have to lose you." Dumbledore spoke slowly and softly, and Snape knew he was lying.

     "I take your point, sir."

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     Hermione lay in her bed in the prefect dorm of Gryffindor Tower, cursing her tongue. She couldn't even imagine facing Professor Snape tomorrow. "You dummy," she whispered to herself. 'Let's think about this, Hermione,' she said to herself. 'Maybe I should be glad that I told him, at least in some small part, how I feel. I've felt this way since first year, after all,' She allowed herself a moment of reminiscing. Her heart had soared at Snape's depiction of the beauty of potions making. She expected a challenge, and her expectations were met. She had been displeased that he had denied her the chance to show her skills, but later she realized she had enjoyed being put in her place. And maybe it was because she was always so good at everything--no need to be humble when you are talking to yourself--or maybe it was just puberty. But the way he refused to acknowledge her as any better than anybody else… that just made her all the more attracted to him. She'd only given these feelings a name recently. Only last year, when the world began to fall apart. She had seen a strength within him that attracted her.

She tried to remember what her mother had said…'These feelings are perfectly normal for a girl your age. Lots of girls get crushes on their teachers. … It especially makes sense for you, being so far from your father and I… If you have respect for this man, and I'm sure you do, you'll realize that feelings like these must remain secret. I encourage you to discuss your feelings with your friends, but never with Professor Snape.'

     'My mother is so cold,' Hermione thought suddenly. 'Why shouldn't I have told him?' She felt her whole body tense up with sudden anger and her thoughts barreled on. 'He deserves to be complimented, doesn't he? Is it so irrational that I be nice to the poor man, when he's been acting the way he has? He hasn't even been angry' … she reflected on his words earlier. "I'm not a monster," as if everybody thought that. 'Why shouldn't I try to make him feel better, given the way he won't meet anyone's eye, the way he rather listlessly runs classes, the absence of his usual anger, his passion. I just want to know what is behind the behavior!'

     Right?

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     Harry was having a nervous breakdown of his own in his bedroom. He was, once again, crying. His face buried in his pillow for the umpteenth time, sobs wracking his entire body. He cried himself weak every night, screaming into his pillow. He didn't sleep; sleep brought dreams of Sirius, of Voldemort's eyes and high cackle.

     Ron lay, listening to Harry's muffled sobs. He had thought sharing his prefect dorm with Harry would be a good idea; Harry wouldn't have to deal with Dean or Seamus. But the feeling in Ron's gut when he heard Harry cry was evidence to the contrary--he felt like weeping himself. "Harry, mate, you're going to make yourself sick," he whispered. There was no response. 'Just as well, it was a stupid thing to say' he thought. Restless and unable to listen to any more of his best friend's sobbing, Ron got up and wandered down to the common room. He was happy to find it empty. He settled into his favorite chair, pulling a blanket over his head. He sat there for close to an hour, but he didn't feel any better and sleep didn't come any closer. He heard feet on the girl's stairs and turned to see Hermione walking down. Her hair was ruffled but it was clear she hadn't slept.

     "What are you doing awake?" they both asked at the same time.

     "Can't sleep," Hermione answered. "Thinking about… well, thinking."

     "Harry's crying again. I just can't stand listening to it," Ron admitted. Hermione looked at him sharply.

     "That's not very nice, Ron. I mean, he annoys me sometimes too, but -"

     "That's not what I mean, Hermione. I just feel so… helpless, you know?"

     "Yeah, I know." Silence fell between them for a beat, and Hermione sighed, "Look, I'm going to read for a little while. You should go for a walk or something."

     "Yeah, good idea. Maybe I'll go get Harry's cloak. I really don't want to talk to anyone."

     Hermione nodded. "I understand that."

     Ron got up and awkwardly patted Hermione on the shoulder. "We just have to hope for things to turn around, 'Mione."

     "Thanks, Ron."

     Ron crept quietly back into his room, relieved to find that Harry had drifted off to sleep. He quietly took the cloak from his trunk and shut the door gently. It was rare that Harry slept these days, he didn't need to be woken up. Ron slipped the cloak on and quietly walked past Hermione, now nose-in-book, and out the door.