Not the First to Say

    Professor Snape sat in shock. “She actually said this to you?” he pressed, yet again. Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes.

    “I knew I should not have told you,” she muttered.

    “Of course you shouldn’t have, Minerva. You’ve broken Hermione’s confidence,” Dumbledore reproached.

    “It doesn’t come as a complete surprise,” Snape admitted. “She’s been acting quite odd the last few days.”

    “I believe we should all pretend we do not know about this,” Dumbledore suggested.

    “Maybe I’ll talk to ‘Ermione,” Hagrid piped up. “She’s got no reason ter lie ter me.”

    “That’s a splendid idea, Hagrid!” Snape burst. “Let’s tell her that I know, and make everyone just that much more uncomfortable!” Hagrid’s face fell and Dumbledore sent a warning look Snape’s way.

    “Do whatever you feel is best, Hagrid,” he said gently. “I think we should take this a bit more lightly, all. This is hardly the first ‘crush’ a student has had.” Everyone nodded, but it was apparent no one’s minds were eased. Particularly Professor Snape’s. He stood and irritably slammed his way out of the lounge.

    ‘Why me?’ he thought miserably as he headed down to his dungeons.

    “Severus, may I speak to you?” Dumbledore stepped in front of Snape, stopping his stomping tirade of self pity.

    “Of course,” he said, in an entirely lackluster manner so as to indicate that Dumbledore, in fact, could not speak to him.

    “Your reaction to this situation is entirely unusual.”

    “Keen observation, sir,” he muttered.

    Dumbledore did not react, in that infuriatingly calm manner of his, he continued. “Severus, you know I respect and trust you. I’m mildly concerned, however, about you and Hermione.”

    “Your worry could not be more misplaced, Headmaster. Please leave me be,” Snape full-out snarled this last part, leaving Dumbledore standing dazed and covered in a fine layer of spittle.

----

    “I can’t go to Potions today,” Hermione moaned. She was clasping an ice bag to her head, wrapped in blankets, with a Muggle thermometer in her mouth.

    “Are you sick?”

    “No, Ron, I’m dressed this way for fun.”

    “Don’t get persnickety.”

    “Persnickety? Is that a Luna word?”

    “…Yeah. Hermione, I don’t care if you go to Potions. Get some rest, try to feel better.”

    Hermione nodded, unable to believe she was behaving this way. She wasn’t the type to fake illness - especially not to get out of class. But now that she’d confessed to McGonagall, who no doubt had told Dumbledore, who no doubt had told Snape - no way could she face him. At least, not today.

    As Ron trudged off to Potions with a reluctant Harry in tow, Hermione returned to her room. She intended to read the day’s assignments twice - she couldn’t afford to lose any steam just because she missed class.

----

    “Mr. Weasley, where is Miss Granger?” Professor Snape asked, trying to keep his voice level. Also trying to ignore the sense of - was it disappointment? - growing within him as he noticed her absence. He was curious to see if she gave any outward sign of her feelings. He certainly hadn’t picked up on it before - although he had to admit he was not the most adept at guessing feelings. She had also become, quite simply, a part of his life. As all his students were--whether he liked them or not, they were the only people he really had. Although he preferred solitude, he wasn’t entirely antisocial--he wanted to educate, and you can’t very well educate if you have no pupils.

    And although he really didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, he’d grown slightly fond of her absolute perfection--a bright student is always a pleasure, he reasoned. A pretty young lady is always a pleasure, too… ‘Oh, stop it!’ he warned himself. She was a student, after all. But it was hard to remember she was a student when she nearly outsmarted him on many occasions. She did display quite an emotional maturity - of course, next to Potter and Weasley, anyone could look mature.

    With these various rationalizations swirling in his head, he tried to bring his thoughts to focus on the lecture.

-----

    “At least he didn’t annoy you today,” Ron pointed out as they sat at supper in the Hall.

    “Yeah, he just wandered around not saying anything,” Neville offered when Hermione looked up, puzzled.     

    “I like the new Snape,” Harry cracked.

    “Maybe something‘s gotten into all the Slytherins. Malfoy won’t stop staring over here,” Seamus pointed out. At this, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all burst into laughter. Seamus turned red. “Gee, I didn’t realize I was so funny…”

    “Oh, no, Seamus we’re not laughing at you,” Hermione insisted. “There’s just a bit of a …. funny story.” Suddenly angry for no good reason, she snapped, “Why don’t you tell him, Harry?” She stood up and left the hall. ‘Why did I just do that?’ she wondered.

    “Why did she just do that?” Harry squeaked as Seamus looked at him expectantly. “Seamus… Draco and I have been trying to patch things up,” Harry said carefully. Ron started laughing even harder, choking on his pumpkin juice.

    “You can’t laugh, Ron! You’re the one getting friendly with Loony!”

    “Don’t call her that!” Ron snapped as Seamus’ puzzled expression grew.

----

    Hermione wandered the corridors as everyone else finished eating. She had to go see Professor Snape. Why, she couldn’t quite explain. But she needed to. She hoped he was still in his classroom. He hadn’t been at the staff table. Maybe he was having the same horrible day she was. ‘Damn my constant curiosity,’ she thought.

    She stood outside of the dungeons, her heart thumping in her chest. She could hear his quill scraping over parchment. She could almost picture him, head bent over the papers, black hair swinging in his face. She pictured him looking down on her, her brushing his hair back from his face and meeting his lips. ‘Be realistic,’ she reminded herself.

    “Miss Granger, might I inquire as to what you are doing here?”

    Hermione gave a shriek and jumped. “Where did you come from?” she demanded. “You scared me!”

    He gave a small smile. “Miss Granger, I am supposed to be here. You, on the other hand, are not.”

    “I wanted to--ask what I missed in class today,” she ad-libbed quickly.

    “I sent a note with Mr. Weasley.”

    “Oh, did you? He, uh, didn’t give it to me.” She bit her lip. Of course he’d given it to her - Ron wasn’t that incompetent.

    “Then why is it in your pocket?”

    Hermione looked down with a sad heart. There was a piece of parchment peeking from beneath her robes.

    “How do you know this is your note?” she countered, feebly, as she knew damn well it was his note.

    “Don’t fight with me… more to the point, do not lie to me, Miss Granger. I will ask you again, what are you doing here?”

    Hermione opened her mouth, closed it. Open, close. Open… close.

    “If you’ve quite finished your impersonation of a goldfish, I have work to do.”

    He turned to go inside, and Hermione found where she’d misplaced her courage.

    “Professor Snape?”

    His shoulders slumped slightly as he turned back to her. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

    “Do you know --do you know?” her voice faltered. By the sudden tensing of his jaw, she knew he understood the question.

    He stood silent for a few moments. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but he knew. He wanted to lie to her, but he couldn’t. She was standing there, so plainly innocent, her eyes fixed upon him. No, he couldn’t lie. And he couldn’t hurt her, either. Which put him in quite a spot.

    Hermione stood, staring at him, trying not to cry. She could tell he knew, he would have answered her if he didn’t. All she could think was, ‘now comes the rejection.’ And she didn’t know if she could handle it. Draco Malfoy being mean to her was one thing--she could dismiss it fairly quickly. She knew she was smarter than him, more fair than him, a better person. But standing before the one of the smartest, strongest people she knew, she couldn’t imagine how bad it would hurt if he sneered at her, if he thought her less than deserving of his attention.

    “Yes, I know,” he said, in what he hoped was a gentle voice.

    She let out a half-sigh, half-scream. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she angrily wiped them away. “Go ahead, make fun of me,” she sobbed.

    He thrust a handkerchief at her, which she took wordlessly. “I’m not going to make fun of you,” he admitted begrudgingly. She turned her damp eyes on him, running his handkerchief across her nose. He tried not to smile, she was so pretty and needing. He could almost remember that vulnerability--what it was to just need someone to say, ‘You’re okay, you know that?’

    “I have to admit, I’m a little… uncomfortable… with the situation. I suppose, however, that you can not control your feelings. I shouldn’t, then, be upset or angry.”

    “Or disappointed?”

    “Why would I be…” He began, then thought better of it. “Don’t worry yourself with my reactions, Miss Granger. Feel what you feel. But never again allow it to interfere with your performance in my class,” he warned, a bit of his usual rigidity coming to him.

    “Yes, Professor,” she whispered, staring down into her hands, which clasped his handkerchief with white knuckles.

    “Now, I do have papers to grade. Get back to your dormitory.” He finished coldly, turning and slamming the doors shut in her face.

    “Thank you,” she managed, but he had already gone.