A Time for Understanding

Hermione silently groused as she descended the twisting stairs that led to the Gryffindor common room, her arms straining as she attempted to balance a precarious looking stack of textbooks and fly away papers. The shared space was teeming with the interminable hum and hyperactivity of a rather large group of exuberant third years; it seemed one of the more popular ones was celebrating a birthday. As soon as dinner had ended, a great mass of them had scurried their way to the tower, and the room had soon been swathed in all the trimmings for a red and gold celebratory event. Hermione was ever so grateful that she would not have to spend her evening amongst them. She frowned as she had a bit of difficulty with a particular step. None of the children made any move to assist her. She looked at them only to roll her eyes a moment later. It seemed they had followed Dumbledore's example and were now suffering from acute sugar induced glee. Making her way across the landing, Hermione navigated the cluttered floors, narrowly missing a cake carrying slip of a boy who at least had the decency to give her an apologetic glance before joining his friends.

She made her way to an empty table and tried to straighten her literary tower before making her exit. Distracted by the commotion and weight of her burden, she nearly overlooked the lone figure who seemed to be enjoying the party in his own singular manner. She peeked at him over the top of her books. He was slumped into his seat, his brows furrowing when a plump child let out the most raucous stream of curses as his drink settled into an unhappy puddle in the center of the well worn carpet.

Amused, Hermione let out a small laugh. "Harry? What are you doing? Please tell me you have something better to do than to sit around in this...din." She looked at the room and the occupants therein rather skeptically.

Harry gave her a wan smile. "No, right now this is fine. I actually don't mind the noise. I'm glad they're having fun..." His voice trailed off, and for a moment he seemed to get lost in the smoldering embers of the fire.

Suddenly he perked up and gave her an appraising look, taking notice of her many manuscripts. "And where would we be going with all those books, Ms. Granger?" He gave her a wink. "On the hunt for more first years who are shirking their studies? Oh, the duties of being Head Girl..." He grinned at her, his eyes warm and kind.

Teasingly, Hermione stuck her tongue at him. Then she composed her face, her voice a mixture of caution and apology. "Actually, I'm on my way to the dungeons."

Harry raised his brows in surprise. "I thought you had finished with that."

She paused, trying to find a way to explain herself. She hadn't yet told Harry the extenuating circumstances surrounding that day or the fact that Snape had been discovered; she thought he might like her to keep that bit of information to herself.

"I talked to him, Harry. It was a misunderstanding. And yes, an overreaction on his part. But it's ok now, I promise." She looked at him earnestly. "He won't hurt me."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his already unruly hair. "As long as you're sure, Hermione. Just make sure there isn't a repeat performance, alright?"

Hermione looked at him gratefully. "Thanks for accepting this. Your support means a lot to me."

Harry shrugged. "You'll do what you think is best. I'm not going to try to change that. And I trust you to take care of yourself. Doesn't mean I won't worry though, does it?"

Hermione smiled. "And your worrying is much appreciated." She shifted, barely managing to keep her books afloat. "And on that note, I think I'd better get a move on before my arms start to give out."

Harry sank back into his seat, his spine conforming to the sinuous slant of the leather chair. "Watch yourself, Hermione. We all have to be careful now."

Hermione looked at him oddly for a moment. But her books, growing heavier by the minute, dissuaded her from asking what he meant. A parting smile accompanied a nod, and she started her way towards the dungeons.

******************************************

A substantial spot of ink fell upon the parchment Severus was grading, blemishing an essay he thought could be made no worse. He cursed, crumpling the paper into a wrinkled sphere and tossing it next to its fellows, which were currently inhabiting a dark corner of the room and were sadly in much the same condition. Severus looked at the ever increasing pile, a twitch of his lips belying his amusement at the thought of returning the essays in their current state. Perhaps he would even let the demons locate their own papers amidst that mess.

He stretched his spine, leaning into his chair and then scowling when the back dug into his bones rather than offering him any relief. It was strange; he thought after years of secrecy, deceit, and stress, his body would be more than accepting of a bit of rest and repose. However, that was not the case, and he found the inertia now thrust upon him was only enhancing his usual amount of frustration.

But worse than the frustration was the distraction. And his current distraction had a name. Granger. He shook his head, willing his mind not to run through their last meeting, as it had already quite numerously done throughout the day. And the entirety of last night.

He hadn't expected her to come back after that frightful encounter they'd had after class. At the time, he had felt quite upset about it. She'd been kind to him on more than one occasion, and cruel though he may be, he knew she had not deserved such harsh treatment. He had gone to Dumbledore, hoping that he'd be disciplined for the wrong he'd committed against her. Instead he'd been sent back to his rooms with a kind order to calm down, the usual platitudes meant as a reassurance still ringing in his ears. Later, Severus had comforted himself by coming to the conclusion that it was for the best. He knew Ms. Granger certainly wouldn't be able to overlook his violent tendencies anymore; he thought she'd very much hate him. She would finish the rest of her year free from his unwarranted abuse and upon graduation hardly give him a second thought. The idea didn't comfort him as much as he'd have liked.

But Ms. Granger was ever the surprise. She'd done away with all of his expectations when she had walked through the door of his office. And he had hated himself for wanting her to stay. But she had been quiet, unassuming, and her brown eyes held none of the traces of judgment that he knew he would have seen in anyone else's. And most importantly, she had seen his mark; she had touched him and been unafraid. And that meant more to him than he cared to admit.

The dungeons doors groaned in protest, and Severus' uncharacteristic scrutiny of his feelings was interrupted by the girl who had provoked them.

She was holding a considerable amount of books in her slight arms, still smiling although he noticed her fingers had turned white from their exertions.

"Good evening, Professor. I thought I'd work from some of the older potions books tonight. I thought it'd be rather interesting to see how they compare to what we've prepared in class, don't you think?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but turned to her work station, let her books down with a thud that echoed throughout the room, and went to the student cabinet to retrieve her ingredients.

This was most perplexing. While he had not expected her to return last night, even less had he expected her to return today. He frowned, staring at her small figure that so dedicatedly accomplished its tasks.

Yesterday, she told him she had come to him in order to forgive his acts of the previous day. That had made sense, and he'd accepted it. He understood that she had wanted to provide him with some kind of support. And hearing that he had been discovered had probably upset the girl. Severus looked at her appraisingly. She was rather...sensitive.

Furrowing his brow, he racked his mind, trying to come up with a reason as to why she should be here now with her armful of books and friendly smile. He was no longer a spy, and had no need of being cosseted by her. She required no practice in potions, and he needn't any protecting. No one had ever been successful in that department, he thought archly. Not even himself. Still, the only other option was that she wanted to be here. With him. And that was an idea that was so absurd that it too must be dismissed. He tried sneering at the back of her head; instead he just managed a confused expression, which he promptly did away with, instead finding refuge among his papers once more.

Severus' mind began to drift, not even allowing him the comfort of first adding a red stain to the parchment in front of him. Throughout his life he made sure to cultivate qualities that would repel the warm sentiments of compassion that any might have dared to develop. Hadn't she noticed this? He thought his looks were more than enough a deterrent for most. And while Ms. Granger might be above judging a person from their exterior, his personality should have finished the job. For an intelligent girl, Ms. Granger was behaving rather densely.

Of course, her most dense behavior had been displayed when she had kissed him. He absentmindedly touched his cheek, bringing his fingers to the spot where her lips had made their passing appearance. Then remembering himself, he whipped his hand away from his face, trying to hide the symptoms of his bewilderment. He looked to see if she had noticed. She hadn't. She was currently chopping ginger root with uncommon gusto, her cheeks red from the activity, her curls bounding with her effort.

Granted, the kiss had been on the cheek and was probably more a gesture of good will than anything else. But she had kissed him. Severus frowned. That was most inappropriate of her to do. And even more inappropriate that he had allowed it. Of course, his excuse was that he had been paralyzed from shock. She had no such excuse.

Severus sighed, once again picking up his quill but not bothering to touch it to paper. There was a reason that he had a solitary life. When your very existence was in jeopardy on an almost daily basis, it was best not to make any attachments that might abruptly find their end. There had never been the occasion or the desire for friendship, excluding Dumbledore, of course. Neither had there been time for the chaste rapture of kisses upon his cheek.

In Severus' eyes, this train of thought was swiftly becoming a waste of his mental faculties. He was beginning to resent himself for allowing such thoughts to intrude upon what he thought was a finely honed mind. Even so, he could not begin treating Granger with causeless severity. He'd seen how well that had turned out. He was undecided really. Preoccupation with her odd attachment towards him was perhaps better than stewing in dismal disappointment over the loss of his utility in the war. His black eyes watched her intently as she brought her cauldron to a boil.

Yes, she could stay. She was not unpleasant. And truth be told, now that he no longer had the revels to engross him, he had remembered something that he'd long ago forgotten; he was lonely. So he would distract himself by helping her with potions. He was just a teacher now, after all. He might as well teach. With a sigh, Severus placed his quill back in its inkwell. There was no better time than the present.

******************************************

Shuffling through the door to the tower, Hermione had a bright smile on her face despite the mess of books she once again carried with her. Snape had taken his usual spot at her side, and they had shared quite an agreeable evening together; she would almost describe it as fun. They had prepared those rather antiquated potions and had a most enjoyable time comparing them to their more contemporary counterparts. After her appalling lack of decorum the previous night, Hermione had not been sure of the welcome she would receive. But she supposed he had taken her consolation for what it was, and she had been quite happy not to face the rejection that she knew had been a real possibility. There was also the thought that maybe he had grown use to her company. Maybe he even liked her-- as much as he could like anyone. He was professional as ever, but they'd still been able to work in relative comfort side by side.

The common room had cleared of all the rowdy persons that had been in attendance at tonight's soiree. Hermione felt sorry for the poor house elves who would have to clean the mess the children had left in the wake of their celebration. She looked around at the sticky mess that covered the floor and various tables. It was disgraceful, really. She stifled a yawn. Enough thought about house elves. She just wanted to climb into bed and go to sleep.

She was halfway to the staircase when she sensed a small movement out of the corner of her eye. Hermione smiled and approached the silent shadow.

"Harry? Why aren't you sleeping? It's really late."

He was still in his chair, slumped shoulders more pronounced, skin pale even in the healthy glow of the fire. He turned his face in her direction, and she suddenly noticed the dark circles under the eyes that stared back at hers.

"I just...can't", he whispered.

Hermione set her books down on one of the few unoccupied end tables, and then rested her body on the arm of Harry's chair. She put a cool hand to his forehead.

"You don't have a fever. Do you want me to get you some tea? It might help you to sleep."

"No!" he responded vehemently. He shoved her hand away, backing away from her visible concern.

With a few deep breaths he calmed, gathering enough strength to look at her wretchedly. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I just can't sleep right now. I'm...I'm going to go to my room." He rose from his seat and hurriedly returned to his rooms, leaving his friend to sit alone in a room filled with dirty dishes, shadows, and worries. And in that one moment, a small bit of the concern Hermione had felt for one man was aptly transferred to another.