Interrogation

Over the next few days, Hermione alternated between throwing herself into her studies of psychological disorders, as well as updated Potions techniques, and losing herself in carefree conversations with her oldest friends. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and even Lavender provided more than adequate company in the dreary infirmary room, keeping her mind from dwelling on The Incident, as she had begun to refer to it in the safety of her own thoughts.

Though she had been technically released from the hospital wing and the generous care of its matron, she found that she was reluctant to leave.

Alright, more than reluctant, if she were to be honest with herself. Whether it was from guilt, compassion, fear, selfishness, or a mixture of all of those emotions and more, she could not terminate the nightly vigils she held at the bedside of the man who was quickly consuming her every thought. She delved into the psychiatric manuals with an unbridled, burning curiosity that she had not experienced since her first year at Hogwarts. She researched case studies of the documented effects of extreme childhood abuse with unconcealed fervor. She equally applied herself to becoming familiar with the latest Potions discoveries, intent on showing the irascible wizard her worth in the discipline.

She anticipated his return to consciousness with both anxiety and an unfamiliar aching deep in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of strong desire...no, need, for him to awake soon, to unleash his verbal vitriol at her, to howl in rage at her, to show her that he was still himself. That he was, and always would be, the powerful, misanthropic, sarcastic, manipulative bastard: Severus Snape. Constant. Unchanged.

So it was the fourth morning after her first expedition to his bedside that Hermione found herself gently awakened by a soft shake of her shoulders. Blinking rapidly to expel the sleep from her eyes, she saw a blurred female form hunched over her who spoke with a muted tone, "Hermione, dear, wake up. No use wasting your days away in this place. Come now, up, up, that's a dear."

Hermione's brain quickly identified the source of the voice as the Headmistress. The fuzzy figure quickly clarified in her vision. The older witch wore an expression of tenderness and concern as she helped pull Hermione up into a sitting position.

Hermione was about to protest when the sound of distant voices caused her own to catch in her throat. "...scrub them clean. And, Mrs. Malfoy?" a male voice, rough from lack of use and with a deeper timbre than she had ever heard from it before, spoke from the adjoining room.

"Yes, Professor?" answered a young female's voice, thick with trepidation and uncertainty.

"Don't. Use. Magic," he stated, emphasizing each word emphatically.

"Yes, sir," the young woman replied with a squeak, and before Hermione could begin to categorize the familiar voice, her curtained partition was flung open and a blur of what Hermione recognized to be Pansy Malfoy sped through the room. The curtain lazily closed behind her, as if in protest at being so roughly thrust apart.

Unaware of Minerva's arms still assisting her, Hermione leapt from the bed with a spirit she had not possessed for several weeks, nearly toppling the Headmistress over in her fervor. Muttering out an apology as she snatched her wand from the nearby table, the younger witch gave not a thought for modesty as she summoned fresh clothes and quickly changed. She was only two steps away from the thin sheet of fabric that separated herself from her employer when a hand suddenly clutched her shoulder from behind, fingers pressing into her collarbone uncomfortably.

"Hermione," Minerva whispered as she forced her former student to turn around and face her. "Not so fast, please. Wait for a moment and allow me to enter first, so that I can gauge his temper."

Reluctantly acquiescing, Hermione stepped to the side and followed the Headmistress' entrance into the second room with only her eyes, straining for a glimpse of the Potions master even as the cloth settled back into place, isolating her.

She listened, but could hear nothing, not a scrape of a chair, not a murmur of conversation, not even the welcome sound of a snort. She waited.

And waited.

And waited yet some more.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the curtain parted to reveal Minerva gesturing for her to enter.

Stepping forward uneasily, wondering where on earth her famed Gryffindor courage had fled to, Hermione entered the room noiselessly. He sat on the edge of his bed, clothed in a white oxford shirt with sleeves rolled up just underneath his elbows and black trousers of an impossible length that finally ended in black boots, his head resting in his hands.

The silence was oppressive.

Minerva glanced between her two former students and said with an odd sort of finality, "Right. I'll leave you two to talk things over. And please keep in mind what I told you earlier, Severus."

He made no indication that he heard her, but his lack of response seemed to satisfy the older witch, and all too soon she had left, leaving Hermione, Severus Snape, and the tangible tension alone together.

*

The thin piece of fabric that isolated the room seemed to Hermione to be suddenly made of iron; a thick metal wall that offered no hope of escape or rescue. She tried to stand before it stoically, tried to retain a semblance of calm, tried to affect a sense of patience even though every bone in her body was poised flee, every muscle tensed painfully, adrenaline surging through her veins as she tried to rest her eyes on anything but him.

He, for the most part, seemed to be struggling to achieve the same. He tugged distractedly at his sleeves, rubbed the palms of his slightly trembling hands against the cloth of his trousers.

Their eyes avoided each other, their gazes powerfully repelled as though within them laid matching poles of a strong magnet.

Both witch and wizard studied their surroundings in discomfited silence.

It was several minutes later before he broke the hushed discord.

"Miss Granger," he began, glaring into the distance with ill-disguised agitation, "I am... glad to see that you are well. Minerva said that you, also, were adversely... affected."

"Professor," she started, staring at a point just over his left shoulder with purpose, "I apologize..."

His hand – that pale, bony, spidery hand, raised slightly, indicating his desire for her silence. Her eyes caught its movement and stared, transfixed, as it was roughly run through his dark hair before descending to his nose where it pinched the bridge and caused him to wince.

"Don't," he said in a harsh, forced whisper.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but she remained quiet.

Another ten minutes of averting eyes and uneasy silence.

Then, all at once, things seemed to click back into place: Snape gracefully leapt to his feet and reached for his teaching robes and wand, ignoring her presence completely as he fastidiously, disdainfully dressed. His trademark sneer had presented itself, affixed securely, as always, to the left side of his mouth. The professor had returned, had grandly retaken control of the awkward situation.

And although Hermione felt more secure in the presence of this known role, she felt a distinct loss, deeply within her, of something she could not quite define.

***

The next day found Hermione employed in scouring the worktables in the Potions classroom silently, accompanied by Pansy Malfoy, who had taken up the task to restock several of the classroom cabinets with various potion supplies. Hermione had tried valiantly to draw the other witch into conversation, but the newest member of the Malfoy clan had ignored her, focusing all of her attention to her duty.

Snape had been suspiciously absent so far this morning.

"Well, I think these worktables are as clean as they will ever be," Hermione stated, breaking yet another uncomfortable silence as she abandoned the steel mesh cleaning utensil. Leaning back against a nearby tabletop, she allowed her aching arms to relax as she watched Pansy covertly through half-lidded eyes.

The other woman acted as though she was the sole occupant of the room and never once let her gaze linger on Hermione. She carefully levitated the various flasks and bottles safely to their destination, taking care to observe and abide by Professor Snape's meticulous arrangement patterns. She worked quickly, silently, and with a sense of determination that Hermione had never before witnessed from her.

Wrenching her gaze from Pansy's flurry of activity, Hermione began to study her surroundings with feigned interest. Her thoughts eventually returned to her last encounter with her employer, analyzing and dissecting his behavior towards her. She absentmindedly nibbled at her bottom lip as she wondered why he had not acted as she had expected. Raging, roaring, hexing; all of these were reactions that she had predicted, had prepared for. But the silence, the ringing stillness...

The suffocating tension.

His obvious anxiety with the subtle undertone of fear.

Fear.

The thought that Professor Snape – the man who defied death, the man who stood before Lord Voldemort countless times, feeding the madman lies, the man who killed Albus Dumbledore on command and was thus damned by all of Wizarding Britain, the man who drowned in his own private hell day after monotonous day, the very thought that this man could feel fear in her presence made her stomach churn with self-loathing.

Hermione grasped the lip of the table for support. Her head swam with only random snatches of coherent thought as her body began to quiver. Some incessant sound buzzed in her ears, but the roaring noise of her own conscience blotted all else out. Something cold and hard slammed against the back of her head.

She was sinking, and yet she was berating herself for doing so – how could she allow herself to descend into selfish oblivion, how dare she permit herself to be submerged in such self-pity? She struggled valiantly against her own mind, thrashing her mental limbs to try and stay afloat, resisting the alluring pull that tried to tug her into its blissful depths.

And when at last she could fight it no more, when at last exhaustion took its toll, something grasped her from above and saved her from the great below.

Ascending to the surface, she felt a warm presence surrounding her, overwhelming all of her senses. To her olfactory sense, there was an aroma that reminded her of comfort and strength, of safety. Of power.

To her auditory sense, a rich, deep timbre that soothed her protesting limbs and calmed her tense muscles.

To her tactile sense, the warm, smooth feel of wool and linen and the skin of another, causing her nerves to vibrate pleasantly.

The sense of gustation, or taste, was engulfed with a sweetness that was carried on the air she breathed.

And when she opened her heavy eyelids, her vision was flooded with a glittering blackness as a pair of dark eyes stared into her own. Long, thick eyelashes fluttered before her, and when they descended, Hermione noticed that the eyelids attached to them were covered with a dusting of the color green.

The only thought that entered her mind was the word odd.

And when the voice that accompanied those eyes squeaked, "She's awake, Professor," reality crashed down.

She was staring at Pansy.

Horrified, Hermione scrambled backwards in an effort to sit up, but a spidery hand was gripping her wrist tightly, keeping her in place. Her gaze traveled to it apprehensively, expecting it to be adorned with false, painted nails and gaudy rings of fashion – but it was not. It was talon-like, but undeniably masculine.

His voice broke though her thoughts, rumbling from a close distance near her head. "Feeling alright, Granger?"

Hermione winced. She doubted his words could be infused with any more venom. "Yes, fine, sir," she croaked. Snape's hand released her wrist suddenly as though it burned him.

"Help her up," he commanded to Pansy. "Take her to the hospital wing..."

"No!" Hermione cried out, pulling herself up and offering a silent prayer that he wasn't witnessing her obvious swaying. Once standing, with one hand again on the nearby table to support her, she thrust out her chin and attempted to stare down her nose at him. "I feel absolutely fine."

From at least a foot above her, he arched his eyebrow and cocked his head just slightly, a barely suppressed, amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Struggling to keep her balance and affect grace simultaneously, she repeated, "I am fine."

"So I see," he murmured. "But, nevertheless, go and be 'fine' with Madam Pomfrey." He flicked his wrist in a gesture of dismissal and turned away. He had only progressed a few steps away from her before the sound of her indignant tone caused him to halt.

"No."

He spun around to face her, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Hermione stared defiantly back, her own eyes merely tiny slits that radiated fury. Minutes ticked by slowly as their gazes became locked in a stalemate. Finally, he spoke: "Leave us, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Sir?"

"Leave us. Granger and I have a few things we need to discuss. Privately." He dared not break his focus by looking in Pansy's direction; his eyes never left Hermione's. Not another word was spoken until the soft click of the door confirming Pansy's exit rang from the room.

Without preamble, he began to slowly advance on Hermione, a predatory glint shining in his black eyes. "Just what are you playing at?" he snarled at her, still stalking toward her with an almost feline grace.

"Sir?" Hermione asked in confusion, echoing Pansy's response from earlier.

"How uncanny your resemblance to your idiotic friend, Miss Granger," he said harshly.

Her eyebrows raised in retort. "Which friend would that be, Professor?" she hissed back with emphasis.

He bared his teeth and spat out the word, "Potter," as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "And watch your insolent tongue."

They circled each other defensively in a strained silence.

"What do you want?" he asked suddenly, so softly that she had to strain to hear him. "What do you want from me?"

"What do you mean..."

"Enough!" he bellowed, his entire body twitching with rage.

Her eyes flitted around the room for possible escape routes as she began to retreat slightly. "Professor Snape, I don't understand what you mean," she explained calmly, all indignation and insolence draining away in favor of paralyzing panic and fear.

"Going to share your newfound knowledge with your disgusting, sycophantic friends? Is that it? Did someone put you up to this, Granger?" he howled, stepping toward her once again. His face was contorted in fury, his complexion deathly white, his trembling body now violently shaking. Still, he pressed on, matching every inch of her retreat with forward movement. "How did you do it?" he demanded in a volume far below a whisper.

"I, I don't know..."

"Quit fucking lying to me!" he screamed. His eyes were frantic, jumping from side to side, his pupils dilated. He resembled nothing more than a rabid animal.

"Stop it!" Hermione roared.

And to her complete and utter amazement, he ceased all movement, save for the incessant twitching.

Snape's breathing was erratic and heavy. Twin, thin trails of blood trickled from his nose, of which he seemed oblivious.

Hermione's heart raced. She slowly let out a breath that she didn't realize she had been holding.

Both stood, frozen, rooted to their positions.

"Why?" whispered Snape, his voice suddenly broken and pleading. "Why did you...for what reason, what need..." He swallowed thickly. "What do you want?"

There was no question what he referred to. "I don't want anything," she whispered, "I don't know what happened, how it happened, I don't know!" She threw up her arms in surrender. "I don't know Legilimency, I never studied it, I never cast a spell!" She tried to hold back the tears that now viciously burned her eyes. "I'm," she inhaled deeply, "I'm sorry."

Author's Note – Thousands of thank-yous to my extraordinary beta, Angel Mischa, and the invaluable advice from both Amsev and Irishredlass. Also, Amsev helped with the title of this chapter and all the credit for the summary goes to her... it made me giggle. Profusely.

And, I'm sorry for the long, ah, "intermission." I finally graduated school (yay!), but am on my way to yet another school (not-so-yay). Also, I am professionally illustrating a children's book, but that shouldn't soak up as much time as the last semester did. So, hopefully, updates will come much faster. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far. Things are about to get very interesting indeed...