A Time for Understanding

Chapter 4: A Bruise

A hasty turn of the head succeeded in reminding Hermione of the dull ache she had been nursing there since the close of breakfast. Shutting her eyes for a moment, she willed the pain to make its way towards someone a bit more deserving. A meaningful look was sent in the direction of Draco Malfoy, who had taken the time from his busy schedule to thrice insult her before it had even reached midday. Ice blue eyes met determined brown, a superior smirk gracing his features before he returned his attention to the cauldron facing him. Hermione glared at the back of his head before focusing again on the intermittent throbbing in her skull. However sadly, Hermione's headache made no note of its hostess' desire, and it comfortably settled behind her eyes for a seemingly lengthy visit.

The pain had been tolerable up until a minute ago. The dusky gloom of the dungeons had been surprisingly soothing on her strained nerves, and its scent was both welcome and familiar. She glanced around her surroundings. Heads were aptly bent over cauldrons, hands kept busy by rapid dicing and stirring. The only sound was the faintest clink of a knife, the gurgling of cauldrons and the grumble of grinding pestles. Hermione had never before been so grateful for the heavy silence that suffused the dungeons whenever class was in session.

She frowned, bringing her fingers to her temples in an attempt to alleviate the growing tension. The room was filled with the usual sense of anxiety; typically it failed to affect her. But her headache, coupled with last night's events, had weakened her resistance to the pull of that nervous energy. She sighed, trying to dislodge the hurt by applying greater pressure to the sides of her head. Still, the pain refused to diminish.

It certainly was no help that she couldn't remove her eyes from Snape's rather bleak form. Her gaze followed his rapid and erratic traverse around students and desks alike, his cloak sweeping about his legs with an ominous sway. Hermione wondered how he ever kept from tripping. A moment later he sharply turned his head in her direction. It seems her eyes had lingered too long as she pondered his aptitude for balance. He gave her a dark look, and Hermione hastened to tend to her cauldron.

He'd been pacing endlessly since the start of class, not stopping long enough to dole out the usual threats, but choosing to give them in between steps instead. His scowl was more pronounced, and even she found those hateful looks he was supplying to be genuine. She honestly didn't know what had provoked him into such a mood. He had been fairly tolerable as of late. In fact, the last week had been almost...pleasant. She had thought after her rash embrace of him that first evening he would cancel their nightly scheduled tête-à-têtes, but that had not been the case. Instead both made a tacit agreement not to discuss it. Snape never acknowledged what had passed between them, and they had been able to settle into a comfortable ritual of potion making and intellectual exchange.

The second night had started off in the manner of its predecessor. Snape sat at his desk grading papers, flourishing the hand that dealt disapproving strokes on many a page. It had been a bit unsettling for Hermione when he vacated his desk for a place at her side, helping to combine ingredients and answering whatever little queries she might have had. It had surprised her, but she expected it was his way of apologizing for his quick dismissal of her the previous night. The evening after that, he hadn't even bothered with his papers. When she arrived at the dungeons he was waiting for her and had already begun the time consuming process of ingredient preparation.

A heated voice broke Hermione out of her reverie. "Mr. Longbottom, you have now succeeded in rendering those tubeworms almost as worthless as you are. Move aside!"

Neville didn't have to be told twice. Face still green from his revulsion of this particular sort of activity, he scurried to another region of the desk and watched his professor expertly dice his worms into a rather viscous mass which still displayed the occasional twitch.

"You will get over your squeamishness, Mr. Longbottom. I don't care by what process you learn to control your qualms. But you will. If I am compelled to do this again, you will pay the penalty." The voice had become deep and menacing with those last few words; no one in the class held any doubts as to whether such a threat would be carried out. With one last look of disgust, Snape left the boy to deal with the remnants of escarpial carnage.

Hermione gave Neville a small smile, hoping to give the poor boy some encouragement. It seemed her smile wasn't enough for that though; Neville kept his head downcast, and he shook even as he tried to complete his task. It seemed that seven years of abuse from Snape had still not been enough to desensitize the boy to any overt declarations of dislike that might be directed towards him, no matter how consistently. Hermione thought that perhaps that was a good thing in the long run. It certainly said a great deal about Neville's character.

She fixed an angry stare at Snape over her cauldron. He was hovering by Harry now; he seemed to be waiting for the slightest excuse to vent his fury-- particularly on his "favorites". Hermione shook her head. To think she had been worried about him last night. She added a pinch of powdered angelica root to her potion, watching as it began to take on the appropriate texture.

The last few nights Snape had been giving Hermione informal lessons on the intricacies of the Wolfsbane Potion. It certainly wouldn't be covered on the NEWTs. But it had come up in discussion, and the following night he had all the ingredients smartly lined up on the desk for her use. When Hermione had demonstrated confused but delighted surprise, he dismissed it with a graceful wave of the hand, claiming it was best if someone other than he was able to prepare it. He left its preparation entirely up to her, choosing to sit next to her and observe, giving advice where needed and showing her the best way to go about her tasks. Hermione had gotten lost in the job and good conversation; she liked to think they both had. But it was because of this enjoyment that she had forgotten the looming threat of the man whose face she had never seen, but who plagued her nightmares nevertheless.

There had been no need for words when a visible flinch ripped across Snape's face, a quiet hiss getting past his teeth. She'd rested her hand on his back for a second, and then he had gone. She thought she had better steeled herself against the worries, but she'd been wrong. She waited for hours, in the end infinitely longer than she had that first night. Hermione had become frantic at one point, promising to fetch Dumbledore should Snape not return within the hour. At the end of that hour, Hermione stood up from her desk, preparing to sprint all the way to the Headmaster's office. She was interrupted by the somber head of Professor McGonagall which had appeared in the fireplace. She had grimly informed Hermione that Professor Snape had been detained and was currently meeting with the headmaster. Hermione was instructed to return to her rooms for the night; under no circumstances was she to leave. Before McGonagall disappeared Hermione had asked if Snape was truly alright.

"He's home, Ms. Granger. Now to bed with you."

And so Hermione left the dungeons for her more comfortable quarters, somewhat less reassured than she'd like to be. But from what she could see now, Snape was fine, if not a bit more agitated than the norm. She had the sneaking suspicion that last night he'd been complaining to the headmaster about her intrusion into his life. Maybe she should lessen her visits. The thought was rather a reluctant one.

She began studying him again, taking in even the smallest of details. His complexion was pale, even for Snape. And he looked tired; dark circles surrounded even darker eyes, making his appearance sickly and somewhat menacing. It was actually quite odd, because he'd looked no worse than usual last night. Feeling those inquisitive eyes upon him, Snape turned around once more, and Hermione thought she saw him wince when doing so. He met her gaze, and she gave him a worried, questioning look. She furrowed her brow when his hand began to shake. He was looking at her with a warning in his eyes, his eyes glittering dangerously. Refusing to acknowledge it, Hermione stood to go to him.

*CRASH*

Hermione glanced down to an area near her foot, where she found a sad, little beaker had met its untimely end. Frozen above it was Neville, hands outstretched in what had been an attempt to circumvent the effects of gravity. He was cringing before he had even fully straightened to an upright position.

Snape made it halfway to Neville, and then stopped; his face was livid. "Get. Out." His voice was slow and threatening, and though the address was meant for Neville, his eyes were boring into Hermione as he spoke.

"Get out! All of you! Leave at once!" Snape's voice was booming now, anger contorting his face. He took another beaker off a nearby desk, hurling it across the room, dangerously close to the heads of a few unfortunate students. It hit a solid, stone wall and shattered as if to punctuate his command.

The students needn't any further urging. Papers and books were gathered in haste, all fleeing the dungeons with great conviction. All, that is, except Hermione.

Snape was still trembling; from rage or something more Hermione couldn't tell. She warily approached him, and when he said nothing she tried to hold his hand, in the end only managing to reach a corner of his sleeve. She grasped it anyway and tried to look into his face, now cold and impassive.

"What's wrong?" Her tone was soft and full of genuine concern.

It was that concern that drove Severus over the edge. His strong hands came up to Hermione's arms and gripped her forcefully, his fingers digging deeply into her flesh. Then he lunged forward, driving her up against the wall, her head cracking against the hard stone with the force of his movement. He held her, suspended, both of them breathing heavily. Ebony hair framed his face in darkness as it hovered a mere few inches from hers.

"What are you doing here? You think you can help me? You know nothing" he whispered venomously, his breath brushing across her face in an almost lewd caress. "It's over. All of it. There'll be no more concern for your greasy potions professor. No more ludicrous pity." His voice was strained at the end of the last sentence. He shoved her against the wall again, and Hermione flinched, tears trailing down her cheeks. "Your services are no longer necessary, Ms. Granger." He spit out her name, utter loathing in his eyes. And then, still holding her by the arms, he dragged her towards the exit, brutally shoving her from his presence, the door slamming a moment later. She heard the sound of an incantation being muttered, effectively warding the room against all intruders. Against her.

Hermione remained sprawled in the middle of the hall, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. She was not alone. Harry, who had thoughtfully waited for his friend, now stared at her with a mixture of alarm and confusion. His muddled state only lasted for a minute though, and he started towards her, concern written in his eyes. But a quivering hand held in the air stayed his steps.

Hermione rose, wiping the tears from her eyes. With a pain filled look she stretched out an arm, fingers running down the wood of the now closed door. Then with a flinch she grabbed the back of her head, which was already manifesting the first formation of a bruise. Harry looked at her questioningly, but Hermione just shook her head, not yet able to speak. She bent down and grasped her wand, which had fallen to the floor from the force of her ejection. She gripped it tightly, fingers becoming numb in the process.

She gazed down at her clenched hand and its claw-like appearance. And then she realized...she was angry. How dare he. Righteous indignation marring her face, she gathered herself together, her head raised high as she strode out of the dungeons, desperate to escape its confines and the miserable git that dwelt there. And after a suspicious glare directed towards an absent Snape, Harry followed.