Beneath the Surface

Beneath the Surface

Chapter the Seventhe: The Flame of Suspicion Extinguished

And so Hermione\'s First Year and Severus\' fifteenth at Hogwarts passed by fairly quickly for the two. Every month or so, Severus would summon Hermione to assist him in the making of this or that rather elementary potion, and she would happily comply, even look forward to the time that would be spent in the icy dungeons with her even colder Professor.

As they grew accustomed to being in each other\'s company and their relationship more comfortable–if still somewhat strained due to their polar personalities–Hermione slowly began to speak more candidly with her aloof Professor. The fact that he often left her incessant questions unanswered and offered her no personal information whatsoever did little to deter her from attempting to familiarize herself with the man.

True, she still had an unusually strong desire to impress her Potions Master, but she now attributed the day-long infatuation she\'d once harbored for him to a strange fluke due to lack of physical sustenance and her inborn willingness to please anyone whom she admired intellectually.

Being able to call herself ‘Snape\'s Junior Assistant\' (if only to herself, for her station was hardly recognized; a professor could call on any of their more intelligent students to aid them after class, regularly or not) made her very proud, but she fervently wished that he would allow her to help with the more complex potions.

As their acquaintanceship grew and she became more emboldened, Hermione got up the courage to ask her Professor if she could assist him with his more advanced potions. Snape had fixed her with a calculating frown, looming over her with his arms crossed guardedly for a seemingly infinite amount of time. Truly, time stopped for a person under the critical consideratio thi this man.

Hermione lowered her head dejectedly, certain that he had thought her silly for asking this of him and was just waiting for her morale to be at its lowest before vocally refusing her earnest request.

But, as she soon came to comprehend, Severus Snape did exactly the opposite of what he\'d led her to believe he would.

\"Very well,\" he finally proclaimed, his low voice reverberating off of the stone walls. She was utterly shocked, and looked back at his face searchingly in an attempt to read his expression. It was as hooded and stern as ever. \"But I will initiate you slowly, and at a pace I deem you worthy of.\"

Hermione only smiled brightly at him, now knowing that he did not appreciate effusive gratitude. But she could not quell the slight shudder that ran up her spine at his choice of words.

Though she was convinced she no longer felt anything of a romantic nature for her Professor, she still found herself attracted on occasion to his dark demeanor and provocative turn of phrase, and the painful pangs that pulled at her heart during such times would remind her of the state she\'d been in only months ago.

After all, recovery *was* a slow and arduous process....

Snape had promptly squelched such fervid feelings by scolding her mercilessly for forgetting to add the diced toadstools at the appropriate time (she\'d been seven seconds late). Though she thought him overly harsh and eager to criticize, she wuiteuite thankful he possessed such a disagreeable temperament; it was that part of him that kept her ardor for the rest of him at bay.

Severus, for his part, had become almost fond of the child as he got to know her over the months. He almost took comfort in the sound of her high little voice as she went on and on about inconsequential antes tes and childish chatter, much in the way he found solace in the subtle commotion that accompanied his potion making.

He had almost come to associate certain potions with the girl, and when he realized this he was more than a little perturbed by it. It was far too late (not to mention too *odd*) for him to begin feeling fatherly towards someone. Much less a student. Even *more* less a Gryffindor!

But he simply hadn\'t the energy nor the heart to relinquish Granger from her duties of assisting him (which she took apparent joy in, for some baffling reason). And he *did* benefit from her help; he\'d only two hands, after all.

The girl\'s incessant prattle may be irritating, but she was a hard worker and more than mildly intelligent. Despite her faults, most likely the best assistant he would find for whose time he didn\'t have to pay.

And so time went on, and so their tentative attachment to one another flourished.

~*~

While Hermione became more and more affixed to her surly Potions Master, Harry and Ron grew likewise distrustful of him. This created a burgeoning rift between them, one of which only Hermione was aware. She went reluctantly along with their suspicions because, in truth, she wasn\'t certain herself what Snape\'s intentions were.

Although she had given him a small wealth of information about herself and her life in the hope that he might do likewise, he told her nothing of himself, and only scowled at her when she deigned to ask him anything even remotely personal.

But, despite his rather unreasonably guarded manner, she continued to cling to the small yet fervent belief that her Professor was innately a good man with a bad attitude.

She knew from experience that Harry and Ron would hear none of that kind of talk, and so completely omitted her dealings with Snape and her thoughts about him from r cor conversations. Hermione was most definitely not adept at hiding things from people, but, either because they did not notice or thought nothing of it, the two boys did not question her loyalty to them or seeming contempt for Snape.

Little did she know that she would soon be forced to decide which side of the fence she chose to hedge.

It was a brisk, wintry day when the majority of the school took to the Quidditch stands, preparing to watch young Harry Potter compete in his first ever Quidditch tournament in the unheard of position of Seeker for Gryffindor.

Hermione and Ron sat as close to the front of the Gryffindor section as they could, both excited and frightened for their friend, but eager to cheer him on and show their support. It was to be the Gryffindors against the Slytherins, and gods knew Harry would need all the support he could get.

Hermione quickly scanned the Slytherin section, and was surprised to see that Professor Snape had chosen to attend as well, and was sitting rather uncomfortably in the middle of his section. Though he was seated far from her, Hermione noticed that he seemed quite agitated, and was constantly darting his sharp black eyes this way and that, as if he were desperately searching for someone. Hermione frowned in confusion and followed his gaze, unconsciously aiding him in his mysterious search before Ron spoke and returned her attention to him and the competition at hand by jabbing her in the ribs with his elbow.

\"Isn\'t this exciting, Hermione?\" His face was flushed from the chill atmosphere, but his smile was bright and his eyes sparkled in merriment. She could not help but to share in his infectious good cheer, and returned his smile with one of her own.

\"Oh, very. This is a real honor for Harry.\" Then her brow furrowed in concern. \"But I can\'t help worrying about him. I mean, this is his first ever competition in a wizarding sport and he\'s the *seeker* at that!\"

\"Yeah, I know what you mean,\" Ron\'s expression faltered for a moment, but then the carefree grin was quickly reinstated. \"But don\'t fret about it. I\'ve seen Harry practice, and he\'s really spectacular! I would know. Plus, he\'s the Boy Who Lived! Nothing\'s gonna happen to him.\"

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully at his naive confidence, but in her heart she knew that Harry would be just fine. She would just try to sit back and enjoy the tournament (even though sports, wizarding or not, were not her cup of tea) like everyone else. Except for Snape, of course.

With a start, Hermione remembered the urgency with which he\'d surveyed the bleachers moments ago and swung her head around to find him again. But her line of vision was obstructed by the people in front of her who had stood up and begun to cheer. The tournament had begun.

Hermione and Ron whooped extra loudly when they caught sight of Harry, and Snape and his unknown plight were forgotten to Hermione as she followed the match intensely, her eyes locked on her friend the entire way.

She was lost in the thrill of the game (something she had entirely not expected to happen to her during any sport; perhaps it was just because the players in this sport could fly on broomsticks), and did not ne ase as a half an hour and more sped by, so concentrated was her attention on Harry, who was doing quite well for his first ever competition despite the strong efforts of the Slytherins.

But suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Hermione\'s breath caught in her throat and she stifled a scream as Harry\'s broom went out of control and appeared to be trying to buck him off of it. The entire school watched with baited breath as The Boy Who Lived struggled to resettle himself on the broomstick but was shaken off once again, this time with such a force that he was nearly flung off completely, and just managed to clutch onto it with his two hands before falling to the ground far below him.

Ron clutched Hermione\'s hand in fear as he sat rigidly far forward in his seat, not daring to say anything lest the breath used to speak it should disturb Harry\'s wavering sense of equilibrium. Though he was nearly cracking her bones, Hermione did not notice the pain as she desperately scanned her abundant mental files of what seemed to many to be extraneous knowledge in the hopes of uncovering some spell that could save Harry\'s life.

‘Wingardium Leviosa won\'t do a thing for him! Neither will Mobilicorpus...Oh, what should I do?\' Hermione felt absolutely helpless in this most dire situation, and the raw, terrified sensation the feeling shook into her body was profoundly disturbing to her.

Then, in a burst of recognition, she recalled the way Snape had been scanning the stands desperately, the look on his face telling of the agonizing uncertainty she was now experiencing. Her eyes shot over to his direction, raking the stands frantically until they landed on him.

And she immediately froze, growing cold as the grave as the blood drained from her body. Her mind grew eerily calm as she zeroed in on Snape\'s person, then his face, focusing in closer until she saw only his mouth. His lips were barely moving, but Hermione could tell that he was muttering something very quickly, over and over. He did not blink as he stared unwaveringly at Ha she she could practically see the raw, dangerous power emanating from his body. And then she knew.

Snape was casting a spell. On Harry.

‘How could he?...I thought he wasn\'t....\'

Ron felt her hand become lifeless in his and slowly turned toe hee her, almost afraid to take his eyes off of Harry but needing to know if Hermione was alright as well, because he knew something had just gone wrong with her. Her profile was ghostly white, her eyes were somehow vacant yet focused at the same time on something across from them, something in the Slytherin stands.

\"Hermione, what is it?...,\" he asked softly, trailing off as he followed her gaze. He instantly spotted Snape, so starkly did he stand out from all the others surrounding him. He seemed very tense and was sitting perfectly still, not moving a muscle nor blinking an eye.

He barely seemed to be breathing, and if Ron hadn\'t known better, he might\'ve taken him for a stone statue, a gargoyle. There was something very odd in the way he sat so still, Ron thought as he squinted at him; it seemed like he was...saying something. But none of the stand\'s other occupants was turned towards him as if they were conversing.

‘Why is Hermione so...disturbed by this? Why isn\'t she looking at Harry? Wait....Why is *Snape* looking at Harry? And in such a way that....,\' Then, realization dawned within Ron\'s head like a fire, blazing red as the hair that covered it. His eyes were determined as he turned them on Hermione and shook her, forcing her to become alert to the situation.

\"Hermione! I see Snape too. You *have* tosomesomething to help Harry!\" he commanded her, his harsh tone failing to conceal the note of desperation that had crept into it during his last sentence. His russet eyes pleaded with her as they began to shine with tears. \"Please, Hermione. If I could, I would, but you\'re the only one who can do it and you know it.\"

Hermione fully understood that Ron\'s stilted speech was uttered in a form of desperate supplication to her; the only help he could offer to Harry, and Hermione knew it was the last thing he\'d ever ask of her if she succeeded in saving him, so afraid was he for his dear friend.

Hermione\'s mind was frozen in the proverbial winter of her discontent, so torn was she between the love of her Professor and the life of her best friend. But as Ron begged her with his eyes and Harry struggled to live, Hermione knew what her decision would have to be.

She would rather die without ever having known romantic love than to turn her back on the blinding light that that boy had imbued in his young body. She would now and always choose the world over herself.

Her body jolted once violently, as if she had been forcefully struck, and her limbs tingled as the blood rushed back to her veins in a sudden spurt of adrenaline. Her eyes were stony as she looked Ron in the eye and nodded once, firm and confident in the choice she had made.

His face broke into a tearful smile as he pulled her to him for a tight hug, whispering his thanks in her ear before she swiftly withdrew and sprinted past the bleachers, jumping the short stairway that led to the bridge-like pathway between the House stands. The Slytherin stands were one section away from those of Gryffindor (she would have to go through Ravenclaw to get to it), and she sped through it and the ensuing pathway faster than she had ever run in her life. Such was her urgency that her feet seemed to barely touch the ground as she ran.

As she came to the brief stairway that would lead her up to Slytherin, she immediately halted and did her best to keep her breaths even and soft (which was very difficult, as her heart felt about to burst from the exercise of a lifetime–*her* lifetime, at any rate– she\'d just undertaken) and her footsteps silent as she crept up the stairs.

Snape was seated exactly in the center row of the center set of bleachers (th shh she refused to look directly at him, she knew exactly where he was), and she knew that if she lunged at him or tried a spell then and there that he would immediately detect her, as would all oth others seated around him, and know that she *knew* what he was up to (as painful as it was for her to face, herself).

She sharpened her resolve by stealing one last glance at Harry, who was still miraculously holding tight to his broomstick, but now only with one hand. She stood her ground as a wave of nausea washed over her, gulped down her fear, and tried her best to take this one step at a time.

To avoid being seen by him and the inevitable danger such an encounter would bring, she decided to drop down and crouch along the wooden row beneath the bleachers as silently as she could and sneak directly behind Snape\'s seat. Once she had gotten into position, it was only a matter of figuring out just *how* to stop him without him knowing anyone had done it.

‘....An accident!\' Her mind exclaimed triumphantly. ‘I\'ll make it seem like an accident....But how?\'

She peeked through the slats in the bleachers nervously, searching for Ron in the section across from her. Maybe he would signal something to her, for at the moment her mind was horribly blank. Though it was unlikely to expect this of Ron, her heart sunk as she caught sight of him sitting perfectly still, eyes fixed on Harry. She could just make him out by that shock of red hair that sparkled under the noonday sun like fire.

‘Like fire!!\'

When this was all over, Hermione resolved to tell Ron that he had, however inadvertently, came up with the plan that could–that *would*–save the life of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!

Unfortunately, the poor girl was so overwrought with conflicting, nameless emotions that she tripped over her own feet and fell backwards, bumping and displacing the balance of her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell. Hermione froze in fear and looked to Professor Snape, terrified that he\'d heard something and turn around to discover her.

She almost laughed out loud when she saw the right corner of his mouth quirk upwards snidely (part of his profile was visible to her from where she cowered) at the sound of disgruntled stuttering and the rustling of clothing behind him. Of course, he made not a move to assist Quirrell, but it was obvious that he\'d figured out the man had fallen—nevermind *how*. Even when plotting against him, Hermione could still count on Snape to be a heartless dastard.

Remembering Harry\'s precarious situation, she steeled her nerves and did her best to keep her body from shaking as she knelt as close to the feet of her Professor as was possible without being seen by him. She got her wand out from an inner pocket of her robe, and held it out before her.

She willed herself to be strong and squeezed her eyelids shut as she whispered very faintly yet with conviction the words ‘enflamore\'. Tiny flames instantly sprung from the tip of her glowing wand and affixed themselves to the hem of Snape\'s robes, crackling as they danced there.

Hermione sank back on her haunches for a moment as relief enveloped her body in waves of perspiration. It took nearly half a minute for Snape to feel the flames licking at his left foot, and when he did he let out a short, indignant shriek, which, to Hermione, sounded very unusual coming from such a low vocal register.

She smiled in exultation before putting out the flames with a whispered spell and a wand flick, and quickly rushed to exit the Slytherin stands and make her way back to those of Gryffindor. As she hastened across the pathway between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, she allowed herself a moment to finally look back at Harry and reassure herself of his safety.

She nearly wept with joy at seeing him safely settled on his broom and lowering himself gracefully to the ground. And if that wasn\'t enough of a victory, the crowd discovered a moment later that Harry had caught the Golden Snitch in his *mouth*, believe it or not, on his way down from the air, thus winning his first Qui Quidditch Tournament as well as continuing to be the Boy Who LIVED.

Hermione, Ron and Harry clasped each other in a group hug after the whole ordeal, the former two positively exhausted but elated at being reunited with their friend, while the latter bubbled on about Quidditch statistics and his disbelief that he had now created a new record of excellence in the sport at Hogwarts.

The three friends walked back to the main building arm in arm, Harry in the middle and Hermione and Ron on either side of him, as they laughed and joked about their close call, as people are wont to do after they\'ve just come through a bad experience unscathed.

But as they entered the school and made their way across the Entrance Hall, a dark shadow was cast over their conviviality; Professor Snape had loomed seemingly out of nowhere to block their way, his robes billowing behind his tall, forbidding frame though there was no wind blowing within the building.

The children stopped dead in their tracks and looked up at him in trepidation; Harry out of his normal distrust of Snape, Ron and Hermione out of the newly acquired knowledge that this man had just tried to hurt or kill their best friend. What if he knew what they\'d done to stop him? What would he do to them?

But the dark Professor only fixed them with a penetrating scowl, his eyes lingering on each frightened face for an excruciatingly long moment before turning to scrutinize the next pair. He looked at Hermione last, and his eyes bored into hers for marginally longer than they had the others, narrowing inscrutably and with an intense gleam that seemed to sear her pupils. Then he abruptly turned away from the children and swept down the hallway that extended before them, his black robes rolling behind him as he receded into the darkness that the evening had brought to the castle.

He said nothing. He hadn\'t the need; Hermione heard him speak of her betrayal louder and more eloquently than he ever could have expressed in a multitude of meaningless words. His eyes screamed of her treachery as she\'d stared into them. Though she would have made the same decision a thousand times over, her heart ached mournfully for him, for what she\'d done to him. For how she\'d hurt him, just like she knew everyone else had.

But she continued to walk with Harry and Ron through the castle to Gryffindor Tower, and she listened as Ron explained to Harry what Snape had attempted to do to him, and he in turn grew even more vengeful and angry towards the man. She heard every word, though she was not really *with* them, despite her physical presence.

No, Hermione\'s spirit was lost in the chill darkness of the dank dungeons below them, completely devoted to the hopeless salvation of that forsaken specter, the lone human being that inhabited that desolate place. She was with him there as sure as if her body had taken her into the bowels of the ancient castle to join him.

~*~

Severus Snape paced his dungeon chambers throughout the night, in search of this or that rare ingredient to prepare and throw into one of several bubbling cauldrons that he had set out. Tonight he toiled with a ferocity he hadn\'t displayed in years.

He was unable to sleep and unwilling to feign the action. The circle of light over his bed that had oft been such a comfort to him during times of woe and frustration failed to distract him from his troubles tonight.

That girl, that *girl*! He knew it had been she who\'d thwarted him at the competition today as surely as if he\'d seen her do it with his own eyes. No other First Year he\'d ever taught had been able to execute such an advanced spell correctly and with such confidence. But he knew that this girl had that ability; he saw it in her eyes, sensed it in her movements. Yes, he knew it had been she withoutoubtoubt.

But what really clinched it was the glimpse he\'d caught of the little prat\'s singularly bushy mane as she\'d skittered out of sight down the staircase of the Slytherin stands. One of those rare mice that had outsmarted the cat.

It shouldn\'t trouble him so; he knew that his very personality made a fugitive out of him in their eyes, and he admittedly did nothing to downplay it. But why *her*? Why did *she* have to be the one to take action on the suspicion? He had thought that all the time they\'d been spending together would have changed the way—

‘What do you think she is, your little Gryffindor comrade?! Get ahold of yourself, Snape!\' he chastened himself acidly. ‘Let the *child* think what she wants, but if she still wants to work with *me*, she\'ll have another thing coming!\'

Snape\'s lips curled into a vicious smile, his eyes narrowing as if he could see the girl cowering before him now. With the smoke from the cauldron swirling about his face, he truly did look like the demon many thought him to be and had, in truth, once been for a time.


~*~

Hermione was experiencing a similar sense of imbroglio as she sat up in her bed in the girls\' dorms of Gryffindor tower. She just *knew* that Snape was furious at her, that he felt totally betrayed; it was as if he were sending some sort of guilt-inducing spell up from the dungeons to torment her.

‘What did he expect me to do? How could I *not* do what I did!?\' She debated with herself furiously. ‘Doesn\'t he think I felt awful about it? I had to....I just *had* to....\'

She sighed and sank back into her pillows, forgotten textbooks and papers lying strewn about her on the bed. It was now clear that Morpheus would not be visiting her tonight, and she could pine for him no longer. No, she would have no respite from this torture until she threw on her robe, dragged her weary bones down to the dungeons and confronted her Professor (who would no doubt be quite ornery at this time of night, were he even awake) in person.

And that is just what she did. Silently did she sneak from her dorm; stealthily did she slink from Gryffindor Tower; carefully did she creep through the myriad hall, st, staircases, corridors and passageways that wound their way down and down into the dungeons, the very foundation on which the castle in its immense entirety rested.

But as her tiresome journey came to a close and she found herself standing before the teacher\'s entrance to Snape\'s classroom and his chambers beyond, her body froze completely and prickled all over with icy goose bumps. Though she knew what she wanted—what she *needed*—to say to her Professor, she discovered she had no idea how she would be able to get it all out once faced with his inevitable fury at finding her here in his domain, let alone how late the hour was.

She closed her eyes tightly, a painful lump rising in her throat making her realize that she\'d stand here all night before knocking on his door. The frustration of indecision ripped at her emotions, now rendered completely incoherent in her state of futility and fatigue. But before she completely gave out and collapsed on the floor in tears, the faint sounds of an even tapping of boots on stone and gurgling of water reached her ears and rejuvenated her senses.

The tears swiftly abated and her heart soared as this sweet music told her that Snape was indeed awake. Her impromptu visit would be considerably less disastrous because of this fact, and, her decision unequivocally made, she rose her fist quickly to rap three times on the great, wooden door before her.

Snape nearly sliced through his finger instead of the bloodroot on the table, so shaken was he by the unanticipated knocking at his door; a racket that bespoke of a very unwelcome human intrusion into his inanimate world.

His pale lips tightened into a thin line as he automatically stiffened his posture. Trying desperately to control his temper, he forced his mouth open and allowed the word \"Enter\" to slip icily through them.

Hermione rushed to open the door and enter it, wishing to get this exchange over with as quickly as possible. Truly, she dreaded its outcome. Snape was standing tautly ten or so feet away from where she stood, his back facing her as he had stubbornly chosen not to face whoever had infiltrated his territory. She knew not how to begin and allowed a long moment of silence to stretch between them before he finally spoke, his sonorous voice even and cold.

\"Tell me what you want so I can give it to you and you can get out of here.\"

The bleakness of his words struck her, causing her of of him to diminish somewhat. Her large eyes grew soft as they rested on his back. But he felt only her refusal to answer him and his muscles tensed, his composure weakening.

\"You are only prolonging your departure and provoking my anger with your silence,\" he ground out, then whirled to face her furiously. \"Now tell me what you w—\"

Recognition sparked in his eyes, paralyzing his body for an instant as his robes settled about his frame and his hair swept across his face. An expression of imploring vulnerabililashlashed in his eyes before his features hardened into a scowl.

\"What are *you* doing here?\" he breathed as if repulsed by the girl. Hermione winced painfully, not bothering to hide her contrition from him.

\"Sir, I...,\" she attempted to explain her presence, her eyes searching his. \"I came to, to talk with you about what happened today. At the tournament.\"

He shot her a withering sneer, folding his arms tightly across his gaunt frame. \"Ah, yes. The tournament.\" He mocked her cruelly with his tone. \"I\'d almost forgotten. I suppose you\'ve come to apprehend me, then. Such a moral child, such an upstanding citizen of the wizarding world.\"

His well-chosen words had wounded her skillfully, and her eyes fell to the floor. \"No, I haven\'t—I wasn\'t...I just wanted to talk---\"

\"To talk with me?\" he spat vehemently at her. \"To *talk* with me? About what I tried to do to? About what I could have done? About WHAT I *am*?!\"

Hermione cringed; his stinging words had caused tears to bead around her eyes. She struggled to stop herself from running away when he suddenly strode towards her furiously, leaving only a foot of space between them as he continued to rage.

\"Yes, I know it was you today, Granger! You\'re not so clever as those fools have allowed you to believe. But then I suppose I\'m not either, for if I were I wouldn\'t have kept you so close for so long and even grow to trust you with my work without once suspecting that *you* suspected *me* the entire time! YOU WRETCHED GIRL, YOU SET ME ON *FIRE*!\"

Hermione\'s shoulders hunched at his painful onslaught and she sank to her knees, cowering on the floor beneath him. She\'d never felt such pure revulsion before, and that she knew it was directed at himself made her crumble hopelessly before him.

\"Professor, I...,\" she entreated him, a pained tear sliding down her cheek. Snape only scoffed at it contemptuously and turned away from her. He walked slowly behind his desk and braced his hands wearily upon it, his head bowed low. He released a long breath of air that seemed to drain him of his fury, leaving his body limp in its sudden absence. It was as if that purifying action had exorcized his anger towards Hermione, and he now only regretted the rift it had created between himself and the promising young student.

\"Why did you come here, girl? Do you pity me? Had you thought you could redeem my soul with your righteous words and your honorable intentions?\" his voice was dull and empty, colored with only a trace of derision and ringing with an unexplained misery. \"Don\'t waste your precious time on me, Miss Granger.\"
An almost tender note had come into his voice then, a genuine sincerity. He raised his face just so his eyes could focus on her once again. His now relaxed features were marred only by the subtle crease between his brows, his expression honest and empty.
\"I did not, nor have I ever desired to hurt your friend. But though I tried to save him, there is no way to save my soul, for I damned myself to this life long ago and for a long time. So, please, child, do not devote any of yourself to my salvation; it would be in vain. I have earned my place in these dungeons and you deserve to shine in the light above, unhindered by such darkness.\"

Hermione lifted her head to look at him, her eyes shining though her tears had finished falling. Her thoughts were jumbling about in her head as she tried to take in the many things he had said, but one glaring fact took precedence in her mind over all the others. She took in a ragged breath before opening her mouth to speak.

\"So you...you weren\'t trying to kill Harry?\" Her small, earnest voice shook with emotion and exhaustion, but her body drew up slowly in renewed strength. Snape gave her a small, enigmatic smile; he knew that the simple knowledge of his goodwill towards her friend had the amazing power to redeem her shattered trust in him.

\"No, child. I was not.\"

The relief that broke in Hermione\'s troubled features like the sun coming from behind the clouds was painfully obvious to Snape. He had to make a valiant effort not to recoil from the girl when she rose to her feet and went to stand shyly beside him at his desk.

\"I\'m glad to know that, Professor,\" she told him in a soft, timid voice. \"I don\'t know how to...say this, but I really wanted you to be on our side. I\'m glad that I had been right in hoping everyone was wrong about you.\"

Snape didn\'t know what to say to her, so overwhelmed was he by this admission. He didn\'t know why, but he felt insistently drawn to this child, and knew she felt the same to him. They were red,red, the same in some mysterious yet integral way. This realization only made her youth more apparent to him, and he unconsciously stood up straight as he regarded her.

Her hair was quite disheveled and he could see her white, cotton nightdress poking out from underneath her robe. She put him in mind of a child up early on Christmas morning, and the association made him rather uncomfortable. That foreign, fatherly feeling for the girl that he never knew what to make of was coming over him again. His face became stern once again and he cleared his throat.

\"Yes, well, it\'s been a trying night, Miss Granger, and you should get to sleep before it catches up with you.\" Though this was the most concern by far that Snape had ever shown for her well-being, Hermione felt only hurt at his unwillingness to acknowledge her faith in him. She allowed her feet to drag along the floor as she went to the door, preparing to leave him alone behind her in these dank chambers.
Snape did not want the girl to develop any kind of connection with him, he knew such a thing would be detrimental to both of their lives for many reasons; but the inmost part of him that was tied to her couldn\'t let the girl leave in such a sullen manner after what had transpired.

Giving her the speck of encouragement needed to form such a dangerous attachment was not an intelligent thing to do, but intelligence was lost among the hills and valleys of emotion, a mere anthill in comparison.

\"Miss Granger,\" Snape called her softly. She turned to face him, her eyes growing bright. \"Thank you.\"

A wave of happiness washed over Hermione, and she beamed a grateful smile at him before leaving the classroom. She felt as if this encounter had been the culmination of weeks, if not months, of anguish and thought; as if all the confusion she\'d felt towards her Professor could now be resolved.
Now that she knew for certain where his loyalties lay, her mind would no longer be plagued by him.

...But if that were the case, and everything was, indeed, resolved, then why was his face as he thanked her being replayed over and over again in her mind?

\'‘Thank you....Thank you, Miss Granger....Thank you so much, Hermione....\'\'

‘Oh, no, not again....\'