Chapter One: Noises in the Night

Disclaimer: The characters and settings within belong to J.K.Rowling. I am just giving them a little outing.

Chapter One: Noises in the Night

The slight girl with brown curls sits before the mirror, her wedding dress hanging in the wardrobe behind her. Turning to the older witch who is fixing her hair, she asks with a wistful smile, "Will you tell me the story of Hermione and Severus again, Mum?"

"Late one evening in her sixth year at Hogwarts, Hermione was patrolling the deserted corridors when she heard a loud, crashing noise and shouting coming from the Defence Classroom..."

Hermione slowly strolled along the quiet hallways, enjoying the peace as she patrolled for the final time that evening. Despite the still chilly temperatures, it was her favourite time of day. All the younger students were tucked away in their beds, and the rest were quietly studying, playing games, or chatting in the common rooms. The very walls of Hogwarts themselves seemed to heave a sigh of relief at curfew, as if they could relax the vigilant watch they held over their precious charges at last. Even the staff was rarely seen, except Professor Snape or Argus Filch and his scraggly cat. The solitude of her patrol answered her need for a quiet time to think about the day's events and contemplate the problems of Horcruxes, cursed necklaces, and Ronald Weasley.

A sudden racket disturbing the stillness of the empty hallways pulled the emergency cord on her train of thought. Frowning, she followed the sound down the corridor to its source. Someone was in the Defence classroom, shouting and throwing things. Aware it was her duty as a prefect to investigate, she quietly unsheathed her wand and crept to the partially open door.

To her surprise, it was the Defence Against the Darks Arts professor, Severus Snape, creating the ruckus. The usually repressed, cold man was raging to the unfeeling walls of the classroom.

"I can't do it! I won't do it! Albus, you fucking manipulative bastard, how could you ask it of me? Why? Why?"

As she watched, he crumpled into a heap and slid down the wall. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he sat with his head bowed, shoulders shaking. It took her a moment or two to realise Snape was sobbing. The surly, powerful wizard was breaking down right in front of her eyes. Hermione felt a tear run slowly down her cheek as she watched the disintegration of the man whose intelligence she respected, whose courage she admired, and who had spent years treading the fine line between life and death for people who often hated him. Did no-one care about this man?

Gathering up her considerable courage, she slipped into the room, quietly righted the mess, and sat down on the floor beside him. Unsure how to proceed and fearful he would hex her, she simply sat there. Holding her breath as he leaned into her, still sobbing uncontrollably, she gradually lifted her arm and placed it about his shoulders, stroking the fall of fine, black hair.

Hermione held the broken man for endless hours that night as he wept for reasons she could only imagine, never acknowledging her presence or speaking, and eventually drifted off to a fitful sleep. After casting cushioning and warming charms for both of their sakes, she finally succumbed to slumber herself despite the discomfort of her position on the floor. She woke as the early light of dawn pierced the darkness through the windows to find herself alone, a soft blanket draped over her body.

The young witch quickly returned to her dorm and let herself into her shared room, worried what the rest of the day would bring. Would Snape remember her silent witness to his despair? Further sleep eluded her as she envisaged an enraged professor wiping her memories with a sneer while tears washed his cheeks.

Reluctance slowed her steps as she entered the Great Hall at breakfast, nervously looking up at the staff table and breathing a sigh of relief to see no sign of Snape. However, Defence was her first class, so her breakfast remained untouched. The boisterous noise of the other Gryffindors barely registered as she sat and worried her bottom lip.

She waited until the last minute to enter the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, seating herself quietly and avoiding the gaze of the dark man at the front of the classroom handing out the previous day's homework essays. She took hers with trembling hands, finding only an impassive expression on her professor's face. Unrolling the scroll, she noted the usual E, but underneath in his distinctive handwriting there glowed two faint, green words. Thank you. The words faded as she sighed in relief.

Watching her professor during the class, Hermione noticed things which had previously not impinged on her awareness. Snape's face was more drawn and tired looking, the shadows under his eyes darker, and he looked as if he had lost weight. It was the portrait of a man under extreme pressure, not that she needed any more evidence than the night before had revealed. Her heart went out to the dour wizard; no-one should suffer such stress without any support, and from what he had been railing against the previous night the headmaster was not providing any succour.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and in the depths of his she caught a glimmer of deep despair before he locked it away once more. She smiled at him then, a tentative, almost fearful smile, which encompassed all the compassion and protectiveness she suddenly felt for this solitary man. As expected, he did not return the smile; to do so would be to admit vulnerability, which was something he could ill afford to do. However, he nodded very slightly, acknowledging her concern.

Hermione spent the rest of the day contemplating life, sacrifice, and loyalty. Somehow, she was sure within her heart Severus Snape was working for the light and needed all the help he could get.

Not that any was forthcoming.

Not unless she took a risk or two.

She carefully considered her plan of action, never putting anything into writing as was her wont and keeping her thoughts closely concealed. The direct, Gryffindor approach of asking him what she could do to help was clearly impossible, not to mention ridiculous. There was little she could do to assist him with his spying, and she was sure he would berate her thoroughly for even suggesting it. She needed a more subtle, Slytherin approach.

Her concern over Snape was overtaken by more pressing problems two days later on Ron Weasley's birthday. Harry's quick action with the bezoar had saved his friend's life, but the incontrovertible evidence of another attack at Hogwarts had stunned them all. No longer could they consider Hogwarts a safe haven. There were plans afoot – and nasty ones at that.

Hermione remembered Hagrid's revelation of the argument he had overheard between Snape and Dumbledore. It appeared the argument had precipitated Snape's breakdown. Clearly, the headmaster had elicited a promise from Snape to do something he desperately did not want to do. What was so traumatic for him to consider that it would make a wizard such as he sob for hours? More than ever, she knew he needed someone to understand and care.

A week after the evening she had comforted him, Hermione quietly knocked on the door to Snape's office down in the dungeons. At his snarled 'Enter,' she opened the door and walked into the room.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Granger? Come to ask for extra homework?" He sneered, pretty much as she had expected he would.

"I was just passing and wanted to check to see if you were OK," she answered, meeting his gaze calmly.

"Oh. Well, as you can see, I am fine. Now, please leave me to get on with my work," he replied, regarding her with a slight frown, as if trying to ascertain her motives.

"Good." Hermione smiled and said, "Good night, Professor," as she slipped out the door.

She did not see the slight softening of his expression as he continued with his marking.

***

Over the next few weeks, Hermione learned more about her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor than she had over the entire first five years of her magical education. She counted the stress lines on his face in class, watched him push his food around his plate at dinner, and recognised his frequent late night and early morning appearances in the corridors of Hogwarts as evidence of insomnia. It was no wonder the man had a foul temper. She wondered how he remained upright at times. His colleagues conversed with him infrequently, his students avoided him, and Dumbledore seemed to spend most of his time closeted within his office with Harry. She wondered whether the headmaster had even noticed Snape's decline in well-being.

Several times, Hermione stopped by Snape's office in the late evening. Simply knocking and popping her head through the door when he answered, she would smile and wish him a good evening. After the first time or two, the professor simply nodded and lifted a hand in acknowledgment of her greeting. It was enough.

Classes continued, Harry's obsession with Malfoy's activities intensified, and the search for information on Horcruxes became a priority. No-one knew of her concern for Snape. No-one cared enough about him to notice.

Returning from a practice Apparation session in Hogsmeade, Hermione carefully stashed the supply of Honeyduke's finest dark chocolate into a drawer in her room. It was time to put the next stage of her plan into action.

Late that night, the bushy-haired prefect once again arrived at Snape's door. Knocking softly, she opened the door at his barked invitation. A raised eyebrow questioned her presence as she entered the room instead of staying in the doorway as usual.

"Good evening, sir. I was just on patrol, and I..." Her practised explanation faltered at his implacable expression.

"You decided to interrupt me?" he asked, his voice a silver knife.

"Well, no... yes... oh, forget it!" She turned to leave, eyes burning with unshed tears. As she reached the door, a soft sigh behind her stilled her feet.

"No. Don't go." It was almost a whisper.

Raising her eyes, she met the glittering depths of his. Pain, unguarded and boundless, simmered within. He dropped his gaze and rested his head on his hands, as if it were too heavy to remain upright.

Hermione never knew why she did what she did then. It just seemed to be necessary. Walking slowly around behind him, she reached forward and laid her hands on his shoulders. His muscles tensed at her touch, but he did not turn to berate her or shake her off. Silently, she massaged the knots from his shoulders and neck, not daring to speak for fear of breaking the fragile truce. As he slowly relaxed under her gentle touch, his head lowered to his arms upon the desk. After fifteen minutes or so, she noticed he had become very still. Carefully lifting some fallen strands of hair off his face, she found her professor was asleep, a single tear clinging to his long, black eyelashes.

Studying his face, Hermione realised the wizard before her was really much younger than he appeared once the habitual scowl was erased by sleep. She had known for a long time he was the same age as Harry's parents, which put him in his late thirties, relatively young even by Muggle standards. He had always seemed so much older than his years. Compassion grew inside her young heart as she watched Snape sleep. Her thoughts entertained no fanciful notions of romance or intrigue; he was simply a soul in need of someone to care. Leaving a small bar of chocolate on his desk, Hermione quietly left the room and returned to her own.

***

A/N: This was written for the Hermione Big Bang on LiveJournal, which celebrated Hermione's thirtieth birthday. Many thanks go to my beloved beta, ladyinthecloak.