A Time for Understanding

Severus spouted forth a violent string of epithets as a particularly expensive set of vials unceremoniously clattered to the ground, splintering into pointed shards and covering the dungeon floor with the remnants of a now drossy deflating draught. His outburst wasn't born from the fact that the vials could not be restored with a simple repairing spell. It was more that his once reliable hands were now playing the traitor that brought him to such levels of irritation. If anything, he thought he could at least rely upon himself. He stormily collapsed into his chair, regretting it a moment later when he remembered his tendency towards Spartanism did not make for the most comfortable of furniture. He clutched his head in his hands, letting his elbows hold him up as he sat in silence, wondering for not the first time what was wrong with him. Why had he agreed to Ms. Granger's request?

With a sigh he straightened up, dipped his quill into a pool of scarlet ink, and began taking his frustration out on a pile of innocent first year compositions. The abrasive and rasping rhythm of the quill calmed him somewhat, and he was able to think more rationally. Ms. Granger indeed.

He resented that she thought him enough of a simpleton to not see through her poorly conceived of scheme. Did she consider him so foolish as to actually believe she required potions practice? His unhappiness threatening to erupt again, Severus didn't realize he had bestowed upon the girl a rather indirect compliment.

He had to admire her courage though. Not many...in fact, no one had bothered to intrude upon his personal space in some time, particularly not with the excuse of looking out for him. However, he knew he should not let such a revelation affect his judgment. He honestly had not wanted to grant her his consent, but some latent sense of principle had compelled him to do so. Severus always returned a favor, and whether Granger knew it or not, she had done him a great service. And he didn't care to be in arrears with anyone. Whether said person was aware of the debt or not.

Gripping his pen in frustration, he exclaimed as it splintered beneath his too hard hold. To be honest, it was not Ms. Granger's actual presence that was the cause of his distress. Although his antagonizing of her had not abated over the years, he had learned to accept her surplus of academic zeal, and almost come to appreciate the vast stores of knowledge she was able to contain in that abundantly covered head of hers. But old habits die hard. She would ever be the Know It All in his eyes.

At least he knew she tended towards discretion. Else those bumbling dunderheads she called friends would certainly have boasted of greater troubles than they had already experienced in their young lives. Or at the very least there would be rumors circulating that the Greasy Git of a Potions Master was actually a pathetic, pitiable creature; not someone to be feared. But the imps still moved away from him in the corridors with undeniable fervor. He knew Ms. Granger had kept silent about the hours they had shared together in the darkness.

That night. It had been almost a month ago and still the thought of it was able to bring him some ease-- which is why he had done his best to dismiss the memory from his mind. It was his weakness that put him in this current situation. He had accepted that he was a lonely man; at times he'd even reveled in his solitude. He reasoned that perhaps that was the reason the touch of this other human being had so thrown him. In fact, it had unsettled him to that point that even the Dark Lord had taken notice of the intangible change that had crept into his person that evening. Voldemort had been displeased when not able to identify the difference, and Severus received a bout of Crucio for his troubles. Upon returning to Hogwarts, he had promised himself never again to indulge in such selfish acceptance of human comfort.

This afternoon had been the first time that he had conversed with Granger outside of their usual exchange of inquiries and insults. And what had he done? He'd given in to temptation, letting the chit into his dungeons, practically inviting her to spend time with him! And for that Severus was truly angry; most of it directed squarely at himself, but he found he would gladly provide proof of his aggravation to anyone who'd volunteer for the job-- willingly or otherwise.

Tonight he had sat at the head table, glaring at the rich food sitting atop his plate with unequivocal ferocity. When Dumbledore had inquired as to what was wrong, he managed to spit out a particularly hateful harangue that even had Hooch looking uncomfortable. He hadn't thought such a thing possible, but it had pleased him enough so that he was able to finish his dinner in marginally better spirits. But that had not been long to last, and he soon retired to his office, where he tried to summon sufficient energy in order to meet with his quick witted impediment in the laboratory. He wished he had not just thought of her in the possessive.

He groaned and rose to his feet, halting within a few paces of the door that separated his office from the classroom. Stalling for a moment, he placed a reluctant hand on the surface of the aged iron doorknob. He'd better get to it then. Hinges creaking in indignation, he passed through the entryway and advanced into the laboratory.

She was already there, waves of hair obscuring a face studiously bent over a cauldron. He watched her small frame as she stirred the concoction counter clockwise. He didn't realize he had made any noise upon entering the room, so it was rather unexpected when she turned around to face him. The corners of her mouth were turned up in friendly way, her eyes greeting him hopefully. Severus couldn't think of anything that displeased him more. With a frown, he turned his back to her, lengthy strides bringing him to his desk, where a plentiful amount of essays patiently waited for him.

She was still looking at him, but one glance sent in her direction took care of that nicely. Severus thought that just maybe he'd be able to live through this, dignity intact. He picked up the first paper on the stack that loomed upon his desk. Longbottom's. Severus supposed there would be no respite for him tonight. He understood that for some, the practical element of potion making posed a difficulty. But for the life of him, he could not comprehend how even the mere composition of a simple potions essay was so beyond the boy's reach. However, the fact that the script was shaky and denoted obvious fear almost made up for its appalling lack of insight.

Severus had to admit to himself that this wasn't as dreadful as he had anticipated. An hour into the session and he found it almost agreeable, having a quiet companion who expected nothing of him. He fixed his eyes on Ms. Granger as she added daisy root and distilled water in perfect synchronization. He remembered her first year, when he had thought a perpetual silencing charm was the only way to make her half tolerable. He thought she'd come a fairly long way since then. Not that he would let her know that, mind you.

They continued working in contented silence, Severus almost forgetting his guest was there, although there was an air of relaxation about his shoulders that would have seemed odd to anyone who studied upon it for longer than was necessary. So engrossed in his marking, he failed to notice Hermione standing beside him until her shadow had successfully blocked all light from the sheet of parchment he had so aptly been studying. She stood looking down at him, the glow from the candles filtering through her hair, creating an amber halo about her face, the locks looking very like they had the morning he'd left her bundled up in his cape, asleep in the Astronomy Tower.

"Professor, I'm sorry. I must have left dried hellebore leaves off the list that I gave you."

The words had been spoken softly so as not to startle him or disturb the precise process of inscribing devastating comments onto student essays. A particularly vivid memory of touching those strands of hair ran through Severus' mind. He couldn't very well raise his voice to her now.

Instead, with strong, purposeful steps he made his way to the cabinet, methodically removing the objects she desired from within and placing them in her outreached palms.

"There you are, Ms. Granger." His voice held none of its usual sarcasm or bite as he gave her his offering, fingertips inadvertently grazing the sides of her hands as he did so.

She examined him then, perhaps surprised she had received no rebuke for her noticeable carelessness. She gave the impression she wished to say something, the first formation of a word making its appearance on her lips. But whatever she might have said would remain unspoken.

Without warning, Severus bent over, clutching an offending arm to his body, as if protecting it from some visible foe.

Worriedly, Hermione took a step forward, closing the distance between them as she placed a supportive hand upon his shoulder, her grasp probably a bit firmer than intended.

Meeting her frightened gaze for an instant, he whispered, "I must go." Her hand was wrenched from him as he hastily made his way to the exit. Turning around, he instructed her in what he hoped would pass for an authoritative tone. "You should return to your room now."

Shaking her head in disagreement, Hermione murmured, "I'll wait for you."

He stared at her for a moment and opened his mouth as if to argue, only to grip his arm once more as another pang went through him. With a parting look, he gave her a curt nod before emptying the room of half its occupancy.

Hermione remained standing in the center of the laboratory, listening to the gurgle and pop of her cauldron, dried leaves still clutched between her fingers.