A Time for Understanding

Hermione grinned as she relaxed her arms, allowing her bed to take the full weight of the various books and sweets she had acquired while at Hogsmeade. It had been a wonderful afternoon; full of laughter and the bawdy but welcome companionship of her two favorite boys. She realized that as she had been making quite the habit of worrying and brooding, she'd forgotten the satisfaction that could be gleaned from spending a carefree day amongst friends. They'd had a good deal of fun, which had been rather surprising. She had not been in great spirits to begin with, and Harry had been a bit peaked and pale, claiming headache and lack of sleep for his initial lethargy. But Ron had been jovial enough for the three of them, and she and Harry had been happy enough to partake in his laughter's sweet contagion. Ron seemed to be of the same opinion as Dumbledore; candy cures all ills. He had plied his friends with sugar aplenty, and even now she was aware of the aftertaste of some unknown treat upon her lips. The massive amounts of sugar, light hearted conversation, butter beer, and reminiscing had gone a long way towards distraction, just as Harry had promised.

Sinking onto her bed, Hermione let out a sigh, relishing the relief it gave her to rest her aching feet, which were weary from the day's exertions. She stretched across the bed, wishing she could remain in this state of tranquil seclusion, rather than disrupt it for what she knew might become a very discouraging encounter. While she'd had a fine time with the boys, they'd not fully been able to divert Hermione from her thoughts about their potions professor; she believed it to be a testament to her one-tracked mind more than anything else. She had known as soon as she returned home she would venture to the dungeons to speak with him.

She felt so much better than she had the previous night. Understanding went a long way towards forgiveness. She scowled briefly, thinking how pleased Dumbledore would be were he to hear her say that. Still, she wouldn't fool herself; her anger for Snape hadn't completely dissipated. He'd had no right to treat her in such a brutal manner. She rather thought all her hours of worrying for him shouldn't have been repaid with a resounding knock to the head. But she also knew how much his job as a spy had meant to him, and she understood at least on some level the loss he was experiencing. She could forgive him. And she thought that was something he should know, whether he would care to hear such a revelation or not.

Hermione rose from her bed although both body and mind were in a state of protestation. She walked to her mirror and began running a nearby brush through her tangled hair, both in an effort to tame it and also in order to indulge in a few minutes of uncharacteristic procrastination. She truly wanted to speak with Snape; there were things that needed to be said. But she was afraid-- although not that he would hurt her. Rubbing the back of her head ruefully, she knew that this bruise was as far as he would take it. Her real worries stemmed from the fact that Snape was a passionate man; indeed, that was something he proved daily. The problem was, that passion had a way of working its magic on her as well. Hermione was usually one to premeditate her actions, but with Snape there was no thinking; she relied entirely upon gut instinct. It was a bit disconcerting.

She finished brushing her hair and then looked to the corner of her room, where Snape's cloak still lay; lonely, but not forgotten. At the moment, she was exceptionally pleased that she'd kept it. Now she had a reason to seek him out; she would just tell him she was returning his cloak. Of course, such a return was rather belated, and a shoddy excuse at that. But as she could think of nothing better, she would just have to make do. There was no doubt he wouldn't want to hear the true reason for her visit, and she had no illusions to the contrary. She would not be welcome. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to go anywhere until she'd had her say. Yesterday, Snape had taken her by surprise. It was time the tables were turned.

Soon Hermione found herself traveling down the steps she'd grown to know so well in the past week. The light grew dimmer, the air a bit damper-- it was comforting, which she thought was perhaps a bit disturbing. But it was also enticingly dark and mysterious, preying upon her natural curiosity. Snape's cloak swung from her arm with every step; it was sad, really. She felt as if it belonged to her now, and she was sorry to see it go.

It took only a few more minutes to reach the classroom. She paused only for a small moment before delivering with her knuckles two sharp, succinct raps onto the heavy door before her. It remained impassive as ever, and she received no answer. Even so, she knew he was there. It was a depressing thought, but she realized he had nowhere else to be.

Well, Hermione thought, seeing as how she was unlikely to receive an invitation, she would just have to let herself in. The fact that he wouldn't want visitors was a given, and ultimately not enough to deter her from her mission.

Pushing her way through the door, she crossed the barrier in one smooth motion. The classroom was eerily empty. The room was not only devoid of its many students, but it was devoid of its professor as well. She surveyed her surroundings, unbidden memories of her last time here flooding back to memory. She remembered the cold wall, his deep glare, and his warm breath upon her face. Hermione shivered, drawing Snape's cloak closer to her chest.

She could think of only two other places where he might be; his office, or his quarters. Hermione had no idea where his room was. Besides, even she would not have the gall to intrude upon him there. She strode over to the door of his private office, her small hand readying to knock when she stopped mid-motion. The door was ajar. That was so unlike him. Snape the spy would never leave a door unlocked, much less half open. Then again, she supposed he was no longer a spy. Her heart gave a little jolt of sorrow at that thought. Bracing herself, she slid the door all of the way open and stepped inside.

The room was dark. There was the flickering of only one modest candle to light it, and Hermione's eyes needed to adjust to the gloom. She took a further step inside, and her gaze immediately came to rest upon the man she'd been searching for. He was there-- sitting on the floor, propped up against an barren, gray wall. His left arm was bare and outstretched, precariously positioned on one knee. Eyes firmly glued to the mark that was still visible in this low level of light, he didn't take any notice of her. His dark figure so blended into the shadows that were it not for his pale skin she might have missed seeing him entirely.

Hermione was torn-- he looked so lost; even more so than on New Years Eve. She had helped him once. Could she do so again? Did she even want to? She stared at him, trying to come to terms with the disorderly, conflicting emotions that were running through her.

"Professor?" Her voice had wanted to come out in a trembling whisper. Instead she forced it into a steady inquiry. It was greeted with only silence.

"Professor Snape?" Still no answer, and this time her voice had been considerably raised. She frowned, taking a deep breath in order to brace herself for what would be her most courageous act of the day.

"Severus?" His name had come out as a mere murmur, spoken with barely enough force to pass her lips. But it had been enough.

Those black, brooding eyes, which had moments before seemed so far away, instantly snapped up to her now frightened face, his lips curling in a sneer. He quickly covered his forearm with his sleeve. Then springing to his feet, he came within inches of her face.

"Ms. Granger, if I'm not mistaken, I made myself perfectly clear when I said you were not to burden me with your...irksome...presence any longer." He drew closer, trying to intimidate her with his stronger, greater mass.

Hermione felt herself backing away. It seemed her body had not forgotten the abuse given to it by the man opposite her, although her mind was nearing forgiveness. She willed herself to stand her ground.

"Yes, Professsor, and you did quite a good job of it. But I--"

"No!" he raged, fire in his eyes. "I'm in no mood for your company. I have no need to fraternize with a self-important, Know It All Gryffindor. He drew back from her suddenly, his voice still rising in volume, and Hermione thought she could make out a vein jumping on his forehead. "The only reason I'm ever sought out is if I can provide a service for someone. Let me assure you, Ms. Granger, I can you give nothing. Do you understand? Nothing!" He was shouting at her now, worse than he ever had at Harry or Neville. He turned his back to her, trying to calm himself down, shoulders heaving with the great effort. He spun around to face her. "Why are you still here?" he hissed.

She looked at him with sad, knowing eyes. "I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for yesterday. And I...I spoke with Dumbledore." She blurted out the last sentence, fighting the urge to cover her mouth with her hands.

Severus stared at her, instantly deflating upon hearing her words. He didn't respond, but once again took his place against the wall, sinking to a sitting position.

Hermione sighed, and then took a seat next to him. He looked at her, and then took note of his cloak, which had draped itself across her legs. He cocked an eyebrow, and she admitted sheepishly. "I came to return your cloak." That got a smirk out of him. Good.

For a few minutes they sat in what was not an uncomfortable silence. In fact, she found she quite liked being silent with Snape; it made things much simpler. Hermione would happily have continued in this vein, but there were things that needed to be said.

"Can I tell you something?" Her voice cut through the silence, an intruder upon their tenuously attained peace.

"I hardly think I could stop you." There was no longer any venom to his tone. He seemed to be resigned to whatever this conversation might bring, which brought Hermione some semblance of comfort.

She nodded. He was looking straight ahead of him, so she addressed his profile as she spoke. "I'm glad you were discovered."

He turned to face her, his expression angry and hateful. "Get out", he ordered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and then realized that had perhaps not been the most tactful way to begin the conversation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Let me explain?" She grabbed a hold of his hand. Severus continued to stare at her but remained still, and she took that as her chance to speak.

"What I meant was, I'm glad that you aren't at the forefront of this war anymore. I'm sure you know why I wanted to come to the dungeons in the evenings." She gave him a meaningful look before quietly continuing. "I've worried about you for some time now. So last night, when Dumbledore told me you'd been exposed, I was unhappy for you, because I know it's not what you would have wanted. But I was mostly glad, because now I know you'll be safe."

Severus shook his head tiredly. "Ms. Granger, there is more to life than being safe. I should be doing what I can to end this war. Instead I'm sitting in these dungeons, an utterly useless wretch. It's my duty, to be out there. It's the only way I can make amends for certain....wrongs... that have been committed." He paused, realizing that perhaps he was revealing too much. Bitterly, he whispered, "You should not worry for someone like me."

Hermione became angry at that statement. "Why do you want to think so poorly of yourself? Don't you understand how much I respect you? And not just because you are my teacher or because you've managed to fool Voldemort for years." She lowered her voice. "I've never faced the moral struggles that you have. I've never had to learn the difference between right and wrong. I respect you so much, because you struggled, and you've overcome it. Just like you will overcome this." She finished with authority in her voice.

Snape glared at her with total disdain. "Overcome? Ms. Granger, I was discovered. I failed. Pray tell, how have I overcome anything?"

Hermione sighed. "How many years have you played the spy? Four? Five? Longer? When you lasted the first week, I'm sure everyone was pleased; their little plan was working. The first month, they were relieved you'd lasted that long. The first year? Ecstatic. You managed to prevent that axe from falling for a very long time, Professor. You have to have known that you would be discovered eventually. But you lasted longer than anyone else ever could have. You should be so proud." Almost inaudibly, she added, "I am."

He gave her a strange look then and turned away, his attention returning to the spot on his turned down sleeve where the dark mark lay dormant underneath.

"May I see it?" She didn't think she'd ever spoken so timidly, and had every expectation of being turned down in a most malicious manner.

He looked at her face, examining her eyes. Whatever it was he was searching for he seemed to find. Severus slowly rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm towards her. His eyes never left her face, waiting for the cringe and intake of breath that was sure to follow.

The mark was black, and indeed covered a great expanse of his flesh. But she somehow wasn't repulsed as she knew she ought to be. With careful trepidation she reached out her hand, lightly brushing the darkened skin. Severus hissed, withdrew his arm, and covered it once more.

"It's just skin you know." She spoke the words softly, knowing she'd just been given a very special privilege.

"It's much more than that."

They were both right in their own way, and Hermione had no wish to argue with him. Instead they just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the sound of their breath and whatever other odd noise the dungeon had in its mind to produce.

"It's late. I'd better go now."

Hermione rose, her back slightly stiff from sitting against stone for such a lengthy period of time. Snape made no move to get up and see her to the door. He still appeared to be sad, but she didn't think he'd allow her to comfort him any more than she already had.

She took a step towards the door, and then realized she still had his cloak gripped in her hands. She was very sorry to part with it, and was almost tempted to bring it back to her rooms. She rubbed her thumbs across the material one last time, memorizing its rough, abrasive texture.

She bent down next to Severus, her knees lightly touching the cool floor. Taking the cloak, she spread it across his legs, tucking in the corners so that the damp air wouldn't get to him. He didn't say anything, but watched her with a look of disbelief in his eyes. A feeling of warmth welled up inside of her, and she leaned over, brushing her lips gently across his cheek. She drew back then, startled at her boldness.

He was still staring at her rather unnervingly.

"Goodnight, Sir" she stammered.

Then with crimson cheeks and the faintest fluttering of robes, she was gone.