Beneath the Surface

Beneath the Surface

Chapter the Twelfthe: Impossible to Have Known

‘...And don\'t ask too many questions, don\'t speak unless you\'re spoken to... Oh! And *don\'t* talk too much if you are...\' And so Hermione\'s inner monologue painstakingly prepared her for destination to the dungeons and her meeting with the unsociable man she would find therein, if she were lucky. As she had earlier told herself, he might not even be in the dungeons—or even in the school at all—and so she would be saved of what would undoubtably be a harrowing and humiliating experience.

‘I hope he\'s there, though,\' yearned a desperate little voice in her mind. She sighed. True, the chances that Snape would be happy to see her were *very* slim, but her need to connect with him was of such strength that his inevitable rejection would be worth seeing and speaking to him. ‘Gods, but I am hopelessly pathetic...\'

It was almost unconsciously that she found herselkingking the teachers\' route that Snape had shown her rather than the students\' to the dungeons, and by the time she\'d realized it she was nearly there and in no mood for a twenty minute trek back and around the castle. With shaking knees, Hermione descended down the pitch dark, winding staircase, clutching at the wall with her icy cold hands as sade ade her slow progress. Navigating her way down the impossibly steep steps in the dark was no easier the second time, but she managed to make it to the dungeons intact. She let out a relieved breath as she stepped out of the stairwell and into the chilly hallway.

Of course, the real danger lay beyond the steps.

And as she ventured closer to his lair, the faint glow of candlelight peeking out warmly from beneath the imposing oaken doors like an invitation (or, knowing her Professor as she did, like a cleverly laid trap) to enter them told her that the Professor was indeed in.

~*~

‘Oh, what foul nuisance is to assail me now?!\' Snape wondered, grimacing in irritation as the short, sharp raps on the door disturbed him from his reading. He swiftly secreted the book away in one of his desk drawers, not wishing its contents to be seen by another (not because they were dark or dangerous, but because the humiliation he would endure if everyone in the castle knew he occasionally read works such as ‘The Last Unicorn\', despite their complex symbolism, would be excruciating). What kind of a lost, errant soul would dare venture into this cold place uninvited?

‘Probably Dumbledore, come to lecture me again,\' he grumbled inwardly, then sighed, resting his head—which had suddenly become rather heavy—on his hand. ‘I knew it was a bad idea to stay in the classroom, but once I found this book again I couldn\'t put the damned thing down! es mes me right, I suppose. The old man\'s attracted to candlelight...\'

\"Enter,\" he called to the door, allowing the tiredness to line his low voice for the only man who was permitted to hear it. But as the door creaked open (something that should have told him it immediately that the visitor was not Dumbledore, as the Headmaster had a tendency to burst into rooms cheerfully), the large, cautious brown eyes that peered past it belonged to one of the last people Snape had been expecting to be in the dungeons, let alone in *his* classroom, at such a late hour. The large eyes blinked sharply when they caught his narrowed ones and the rest of her small body followed them into the room; narrow face with eyes too large; skinny legs with bony knees; absolutely uncontrollable tufts of hair.

Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, the one and only.

To be quite honest, he was shocked at seeing the girl. Though they were on much better termsce tce their initial meeting at the start of the year (the first after the...unfortunate argument which had marked their last) and Miss Granger regularly worked as his assistant, an air of tension continually pervaded their shared atmosphere. Their exchanges, while polite (on her part, at any rate), were few and far between. Even when toiling together over a more difficult potion, the two remained silent and only conversed when the quiet became too awkward; excepting, of course, Hermione\'s constant and continuous questions.

Yes, this surprise visit had caught Snape quite off guard, indeed. What could she possibly want from him? Was she going to stop assisting him after hours? *Why* is she *here*?

In an attempt to excuse his weakened greeting and to disguise his bafflement, Snape turned disdainful eyes on the already apprehensive child who remained standing just before the closed door. When she made no move to speak, he raised an impatient eyebrow.

\"...Well?\" he demanded, sharp voice cutting through the stillness of the room. The girl jumped. Her once deathly still stance had dissolved into nervy fidgeting and impulsive twitches. Her thin voice burst from her lips in a nearly unintelligible jumble of words.

\"S-sir—G-good evening, sir. I-I wanted to...I c-came here to...I w-would like to—\"

\"Take. A. Breath, Miss Granger,\" Snape commanded her calmly. What was the meaning of all *this*? Despite her professor\'s stern voice, Hermione did as she was told. She found his dispassionate demeanor relaxing.

\"Sorry, Professor. Um..Peeves frightened me on the way down here.\" Her voice was softer in tone yet much clearer in meaning. Snape had leant forward just slightly on his desk in order to hear her better, but the action was made in earnest rather than to mock her shyness.

However, when she failed to continue speaking his eyebrow resuits its upward ascent. Her eyes began to dart around in her search for the right words to use. What does one say to their foul-tempered Professor when they want to make friends with them? A considerable quandary indeed. Stupidly, she let out an airy giggle at the thought. Snape reclined back into his chair, his arms moving with him to cross gracefully over his chest, each finger settling into the crooks of his arms one by one. Hermione found herself entranced by them. They were so long, so pale, so elegant, like he himselfhis his entirety...

\"Miss Granger,\" Snape addressed her irritably, his expression dry and humorless. Her eyes snapped back to his immediately. When he leaned back over his desk, it was to glare at her warningly. \"I will urge you to state your purpose with me as soon as I finish speaking, for it is after teaching hours and I am in no mood to tolerate the presence of adolescents if I\'m not obligated to.\"

Hermione\'s eyebrows rose as if to question the validity of his just barely unspoken challenge. He assured her of it with a harsh sneer and a scathing tone.

\"SPEAK!\" He lowered his head so his black eyes could glower ominously up at her from beneath lowered brows. \"Now.\"

Again, she did as she was told. But her stubborn pride refused to be cowed by his callousness, refused to acknowledge defeat by the one she so desired to befriend. She would not leave here tonight without having at least tried to do just that.

\"Professor, must you do that?\" The words came out before she had thought them through—something she almost always did before speaking (or anything at all, for that matter). Though her composure wavered for a second, she raised her chin and forced her expression to appear determined and unmoving. Snape couldn\'t decide whether he was more puzzled as to its meaning or that of her question. So he covered up his confusion with exasperation.

\"Pardon me, Miss Granger, but what in Hades are tal talking about!?\" He drew up in his seat and laid his slender hands securely on the arms of the chair. He sneered and looked down his nose at her derisively. \"Do you even know, girl?\"

Hermione opened her mouth, but quickly bit back the insult she had been about to deliver (it would have included the words ‘mean\' and ‘git\'). She stepped closer to Snape and crossed her arms in unconscious imitation of his famed stance when staring down students, and leaned her slight body on one leg. She was feeling very brave all of a sudden. After all, her Professor may be a powerful wizard with a short fuse, but he was just a man when it came down to it. She could deal with him. She looked him directly in the eyes when she spoke, her voice coming out more strongly and without a tremble.

\"Of course I do. What I meant to ask you, *sir*, was why you behave so rudely to a guest in your classroom.\"

\"...What?\" Snape knew what she was insinuating, but he was shocked that *she* had been the one to actually say it to him; so shocked that he completely forgot to bark at her and throw her out of the dungeons. ‘Drat! Now she has an opening.\' Lucky for him, though, the girl seemed to have lost her ammunition, and was now staring at her feet in contemplation.

\"I just wanted to talk to you, was all,\" she said softly. She seemed to really mean it. Now Snape was completely in the dark. Why would she abandon her beloved friends and studies in favor of traversing half the castle to see him in the forbidding bowels of the castle? There was no plausible reason that he could think of. Unless...

Unless she was hurt in some way, and needed a potion whose brewing was beyond Poppy\'s skill.

\"About what, Miss Granger?\" he asked her in a low voice, allowing a modicum concern to be heard through the austere tone that he reserved for his students. A crease appeared between his brows. \"Are you... quite alright?\"

Hermione looked up at him as if in surprise, her eyes taking in his face to see if the worry in his voice was evident there as well. Her cheeks reddened when it appeared that it was. \"N-no, Professor, I\'m just fine.\"

Snape tilted his head as he continued to scrutinize her closely, his eyebrows drawing further together, as they tended to do when he was working to solve a problem. Hermione had only seen this expression take hold of his features when he was concentrating on a potion or mentally dissecting papers; during those times, his full attention was focused on the object before him. Hermione felt both flattered and overwhelmed that she warranted such intense study. She almost wished that something *were* amiss with her, that she might prolong his consideration.

\"Then why are you here, child?\" he said, no trace of aggravation in his voice. He really wanted to know. Now was her chance! She cleared her throat and struggled to keep her eyes on his; it wouldn\'t do to falter now that she\'d come this far.

\"I came here to...to see you, sir,\" she said timidly, her cheeks still aflame.
Apparently, Snape did not make the connection with them and her reason for being in his dungeons. Though confused, he said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate. \"I know we see each other in classes and I help you with your potions, but we never get to...just...talk. You know?\"

\"I\'m afraid I don\'t, Miss Granger.\" The mystification on his face was so genuine, Hermione was just able to stop herself from laughing aloud at it. She knew he would not take it kindly if she did, and their discussion would end abruptly thereafter.

\"Do explain yourself,\" he said in a slightly commanding tone. Hermione sobered at once and thought carefully about how to answer him.

\"Well...\" she began, her expression pensive as she stared down at her mary janes again. \"This is very...difficult for me to say to you, but...I really r-respect your intelligence. You\'re a v-very good professor.\" She raised her face to his and caught his gaze before she went on. He could tell that what she was saying was of great importance and meaning to her. \"You\'re my favorite Professor.\"

In his long years of teaching, made longer still by those he was forced to instruct, not one of his students had ever said this—these four simple words that he was told made a teacher\'s life worthe—toe—to him in his entire career. Shell-shocked, Snape merely stared blankly into the adoring eyes of his young pupil, not knowing at all what he could possibly say to her admission. Realizing that he probably looked imbecilic, practically *gaping* at the child (this student among many of whom he never wanted to see him appear at all uncertain or ignorant of what to do in any situation), he resettled himself in his chair and feigned composure.

Of course, the girl needed *some* response to what she\'d told him. She deserved that.
Of course, Severus Snape had never received a compliment of this magnitude, not from *anyone*, ever in his life.

So the only reply he was able to give the girl, in his very limited experience of gratitude, was a tiny, close-lipped smile which was uncomfortable and creaky from disuse and quickly vanished from his lips as quickly as it had come. If Hermione had blinked, she would have missed it. But she hadn\'t, and her heart swelled with pride and thankfulness that she had received it.

For, in the year and more that she had known him, Hermione Granger had not once seen Severus Snape offer anyone an honest, genuine smile, and here he had given it to her—her!—of his own free will. She beamed back at him, her face feeling as if it were about to break from the spreading of her smile.

As for Snape, this encounter would be forever recorded in his memory as one of the strangest and most unanticipated of his life. And the girl wasn\'t finished yet! She began to tread closer to him, so he had to turn in his seat to look at her (he wouldn\'t dare take his eyes off of the unpredictable child!). Her slow acemecement took him aback, and he withdrew as far into his chair as was comfortable so as to retain the distance between them. Hermione took note of this, but instead of discouraging her from getting closer to him—both physically and emotionally—his withdrawal from her only served to strengthen her resolve to break through his barriers and speak to the man within the professor.

The further he backed away from her, the closer she desired to come to him.

Mercifully for Snape, Hermione halted approximately a foot or so before him. He had been afraid the child was going to try and crawl into his lap! The demure yet bold look on her face was making him suspicious; of what, he dared not say to himself even in his own mind, but he knew its name full well.

He felt the need to make light of this situation, to diminish its significance for he himself, if not the the girl, but all that came to mind was a sarcastic, rather snarky remark.

\"Now, Miss Granger, you can\'t possibly mean that,\" he said seriously. \"What about Professor Mcgonagall? It just wouldn\'t do to favor the Head of your House\'s rival over the Head of your own.\"

After looking blankly at him for a long moment, her eyes lit up and she laughed loudly at his teasing. He had never heard her really laugh before; the sound of it was high-toned and tinkling, sort of like a bell. Though a bit abrasive to his sensitive ears, it was not an unpleasant sound. One side of his mouth quirked upwards in the snide smile that he was accustomed to giving (this one didn\'t hurt his face at all).

\"Well, Professor, I suppose you are human after all, aren\'t you?\" Hermione said as her laughter died down. Though the statement seemed impertinent, given their positions, her wry expression told him that it had been said all in good fun.

\"Hmm,\" he sniffed, raising a noncommittal brow. They remained silent for a long time, Snape lounging stiffly in his chair and Hermione calmly standing opposite him, just observing each other. The quietude was not uncomfortable; rather, it was allowed to go on interminably, as the two were content to simply look at the other as a whole person, sizing up what they knew of them now against what they had previously thought about their respective characters.

Snape, a glint in his eyes that suggested he had come to an important decision about the girl before him, was the first to speak.

\"Well, Miss Granger.\" His features were as sharp as always, but a mischievous quality shone through in them that Hermione had never before seen. It made him appear more relaxed with her, as he likely would be when speaking with one he deemed an l (‘l (‘equal\' to him being, of course, ‘adequate\'). \"You have my full attention. *What* would you like to talk with me about?\"

Ecstatic that he had actually consented to speak with her on a casual basis (for, knowing him as she now did, that was what he had imparted to her, however ambiguous his words sounded), Hermiopenepened her grinning mouth in preparation to speak. ...When she realized that she had no idea what she wanted to say to him.

‘I *knew* I\'d forgotten to go over something!\'

Her face instantly fell, expression bespeaking utter defeat, and she fully expected him to dismiss her as a ‘silly girl\' and go about his business, never to speak to her again even in class. He must have been feeling extraordinarily charitable this evening, for, instead of leaping to his feet and angrily throwing her out of his classroom, Snape merely released a breathy, if brief, chuckle. It seemed that even *he* hadn\'t expected himself to do so, for he immediately raised a hand to cover his mouth and cleared his throat in an effort to disguise the laughter (if the low scoffing sound could be called laughter).

\"Now that mummy finally bought you the pony, you don\'t know what to do with the reins, do you?\" He instantly regretted his use of the insipid proverb, both because of its significance to him and for the muddled expression on his student\'s face.

\"I\'ve never heard that one before,\" was all she said.

\"You wouldn\'t have. My...father made it up.\" ‘To torment me with throughout my, shall we say, *lacking* childhood, the sadistic bastard,\' his inner monologue added.
Though the last few words had been muttered under his breath, the tone that Snape had used to speak them made it clear that he and his father had shared a tense relationship, at best. Snape ducked his head reflexively, averting his eyes from Hermione\'s now engrossed ones.

He had NOT wanted to go there. Ever. With ANYONE.

Afraid that the child would press him further on the subject, or, far worse, attempt to draw him out and sympathize with him, Snape waited uncomfortably for her response, his body feeling like a tightly coiled spring. But, as seemed to be the tone of the evening, Hermione did something he would have never expected of her: the child, her face plastered with an overjoyed beam that could light up a pitch dark room without the use of magic, drew closer to him in her excitement, the cause of which he had no idea. He rose out of his seat instinctively, back arching away from her in his guarded state.

\"You see, Professor?!\" she all but shouted at him, throwing out her arms to illustrate her point (of which he still had no idea). \"*Now* we\'re talking!\"
He blinked at her. She giggled at him.

\"No, I mean, we\'re communicating, just like I\'d wanted us to!\" Her words bubbled forth with the animation and certainty of an experienced Master who\'d just discovered a miracle and was attempting to explain it in layman\'s terms to a curious bystander. \"You see, in the several minutes after you told me to pick a subject, and I couldn\'t pick a subject, you did so yourself without even thinking about it, and have already told me that you *hate* your father!...\"

‘So she *did* catch that...\'
Snape drew up defensively. \"Now, see here, Miss—\" But Hermione prattled on, heedless of his interruption.

\"...Now, that\'s the sort of thing that even Harry hasn\'t told me, and you know what happened to *him* at the Dursleys\'! Why, everyone does, poor thing. Anyway, my point is...\"

\"Assuming that you have one,\" Snape muttered petulantly.

\"...That though I\'ve been friends with Harry and Ron for over a year, *you* just toldsomesomething far more personal than they *ever* have!\"

\"But I haven\'t...\" Snape trailed off, realizing that resistance was futile. *Gods*, but the girl could *talk*!

\"And no one\'s ever...\" Here Hermione faltered, bowing her head thoughtfully. When she rose it again, Snape\'s indignation was forgotten as he took in her somber features and large, pitiably empty eyes. Such desolation was not lost on him. His brows slowly unknitted to settle over his serious eyes in what would have been a concerned expression had they not been so firmly set. She was encouraged by it, and continued on after taking a steadying breath.

\"No one\'s ever gotten that close to me.\" She smiled as if tck hck herself, but her eyes were still so sad. \"Like I have a contagious disease or something. Probably do, for all I know about it.\"

Snape\'s heart went out to the child, and he knew without a doubt that he wouldn\'t have been able to empathize so with any other of his students, including the Slytherins. Impulsively, he moved closer to her, his footsteps silent. While staring solemnly at some point directly before her eyes, Hermione was fairly startled when the stone and wood surroundings of the dungeon suddenly turned into a dense wall of billowing black wool. Slowly, her eyes climbed the sable tower until they connected with her Professor\'s own black eyes. They wereque,que, and yet still they glittered with a light that was buried under layers and layers of darkness, a fire that was kindled deep beneath the surface.

He reached out a hand to her, the trimmed nails of which appeared invisible against his pallid skin. The artful fingers of his elegant hand hovered inches from her own hand, then navigated their way fluidly up her arm, skimmed over her shoulder, and traced the curve of her cheek before floating up to finally rest atop her tousled mane. Hermione felt every inch of the invisible trail his hand had taken from the tips of her fingers to the top of her head as if he had caressed her skin with it, and so the gentle contact of his hand on her hair impacted her senses like a bolt of lightning. Her eyelids fluttered and then came together in a moment of blissful gratitude to him.

\"You don\'t have a disease, child,\" he all but murmured to her softly. \"I know what it\'s like to be...avoided like the plague.\" The last words were said with a touch of dry resentment, and it seemed that he had vacated his body for an instant afterwards as his eyes grew cloudy and distant. His hand became completely still on Hermione\'s head, feeling cold and hard as the marble it appeared to be fashioned of. When she shuffled underneath it, however, he came back to himself at once and his touch felt alive and tingly again, his eyes becoming hard as they refocused on her.

He seemed to just become aware of his hand\'s position on her head, and it stiffened self-consciously while his expression returned to that of the stern amusement he had favored her with moments before. Patting her coarse head a couple of times in an almost fatherly gesture, he removed his hand from her to join the other in crossing over his chest. Another silence pervaded between them as they observed one another once again, Hermione gazing up at Snape in wonder, he looking down on her with grudging acceptance. Once again, Snape decided to take the lead and speak first.

\"Well, Miss Granger,\" he began, his tone strictly that of a Professor to his student. \"I believe we\'ve discussed enough for one day.\" She opened her mouth to protest, but a challenging raise of his eyebrow snapped it shut. \"I have an insufferable amount of work left to do, and I\'m sure you\'re not without an agenda yourself.\" Though the words had been suffused with subtle meaning, Hermione did not comprehend it.

\"Yes, sir,\" she conceded regretfully, turning to go. Their first dramatic conversation as one person to another seemed to be ending anticlimactically. Before her lower lip began to tremble, however, Snape decided that he had one more thing to say to her.

\"Oh, and Miss Granger?\"

\"Yes?\" She whipped around eagerly, making Snape have to fight to conceal another chuckle.

\"If you ever feel the need to, er, chat again, don\'t hesitate to return.\"

\"Oh, Professor, do you mean—\"

\"*But*,\" he cautioned her, holding up one long, straight finger. \"If you come down here with the intent to talk and it so happens that I do not wish to converse with you, I will tell you so and you will return to your room without argument. Are we understood?\"

\"O-oh, of course, Professor! Whatever you say!\" Hermione nodded emphatically. She wouldn\'t have cared if he\'d demanded her mouth be magically sewn closed during their exchan jus just so long as he allowed her to see him.

It was to Severus Snape\'s immense horror that Hermione Granger\'s eyes began to swim with tears (which thankfully did not fall) and her lips to twitch with emotion. It was to his even further chagrin that, in a moment which was played out in slow motion, as a disturbing trauma is experienced, the girl rushed to his motionless form, wrapped her bony arms around his waist (her fingertips barely met at the small of his back), and squeezed him so tightly it felt as if his ribs would crack (who knew the little whelp had such strength in her!). Though this ‘hug\', as Snape deduced it to be, only lasted for an instant, as the girl turned and raced out of the classroom fast as a Seeker after a Snitch immediately afterwards, its impact was not lost on him.

Yes, he would continue to see her, but he would be sure to keep a keen and cautious eye on her at all times. Though he knew not how he would accomplish it, or even how he would manage to dredge up the proper heartlessness to do so (something that had at all other times of necessity come so easily to him), he would have to squelch her burgeoning attachment to him before it developed into a feeling of something deeper, something which would be far more difficult to stifle or to even control. He must do this for both of their sakes.

If only he knew that such a feat was by now impossible.