Pressure

Chapter 8 ~ Pressure

     Snape paced the thankfully empty house for some time before settling down in the front room, watching the snow as it began to fall. It was there Hermione found him, hours later. "I searched the entire building for you, you know," she remarked neutrally.

     "I hope you will accept my apology." Snape's voice equally bland.

     "Should I?" she queried, tilting her head, studying his face. "I may, but would you answer me one question first?"

     "I may." Her lips pursed slightly at the echo, but she continued on calmly.

     "I want to know," she continued slowly. "Did you disappear out of malice, some sort of childish prank to annoy your ever-so-irritating student? or was there another reason?"

     "There was another reason, Miss Granger." She knew that was as much of an answer as she was likely to get and sighed.

     "Very well." Resigned, she turned and picked up her parcels, heading up the stairs. "I shall accept your apology, then. I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to go to the BM, though. My parents will be home in an hour. Dinner will be ready as soon as I can make it."

     "Very well, Miss Granger." Snape returned to staring at the fire he had built, and its reflection off of the ornaments on the Christmas tree.

     Hermione, on the other hand, climbed quickly up the stairs to her room, grabbed a certain CD and a cloth-covered object from her bottom drawer, and proceeded to her sister's room. She closed the door firmly, then set the CD down on a table. The girl then picked up the brightly-coloured, stuffed toy--which was little more than a pillow with a face drawn on it--and introduced it--repeatedly, and with no little force--to the bed post. Crookshanks, dozing on the bed itself, opened a sleepy eye and cocked an ear to listen to the constant, if low-voiced, stream of invective she let loose. Finally, the pillow was hurled across the room, hitting the door with an impressive thud. "Bastard," she finished wearily, then took a deep, calming breath. It felt good to let it all out like that, especially with the "pounding pillow" she had named 'Snape' in her third year. With a smile on her face, she attached her CD player to her waist, inserted the disc and pressed play. Earphones on, she made her way downstairs, moving in time to the music of Guns 'n' Roses.

     On the way to the kitchen, she noticed the blinking light of the answering machine in the hallway. Annoyed, she paused her music and pressed the play button on the machine. Hello, dear, her mother's voice echoed. I know you're probably still in Town, but I wanted to let you know that you're father and I will be staying on here tonight. Our work is going to keep both of us here late, and with the way the weather is looking, it will be safer to stay. So don't worry, dear. Genie will be staying at Olivia's, as well. I'll call again later to check up on you, Mynie. Don't forget the candles are in the kitchen drawer.

     "I know, Mother," Hermione muttered, savagely smashing the delete button. So it would be an evening alone with a man who had just managed to annoy the hell out of her. She was prepared to start swearing again, but found that there were no words strong enough. With no further ado, she stalked into the kitchen and plugged the speakers there into her player. Hermione then turned the volume up and pressed 'play.' Fortunately for Snape, she had vegetables to turn her butcher knives on.

     Snape himself remained in the darkened room, listening thoughtfully to the "music" emanating from the kitchen.

     By the time dinner was ready, Hermione had calmed considerably, to the point where she truly wondered what had driven Snape to disappear on her as he had. It would have taken more than screaming children to faze him (as evidenced by years of teaching) and she was forced to admit that, while somewhat frosty, he had been polite to a fault since the beginning of hols.

     "Food's on the table." She was quiet, unsure whether her professor was asleep or awake.

     "Very well." She watched the dark shadow unfurl itself from the couch, noticing in some odd corner of her mind that it would have frightened her no more than a few weeks ago. But tonight she noticed the slight swaying as he stood, the pale reflection of the light off if his face. He seemed, she thought, exhausted. Disconcerted, she turned and preceded him into the dining room.

     "I suppose you heard the machine," she commented as they seated themselves at the table. "It'll just be the two of us until tomorrow, when the weather's cleared."

     "So I understood, Miss Granger."

     An empty silence ensued.

     "Sir?" she asked hesitantly, halfway through the meal.

     "Yes." Non-committal, as always.

     "What really happened today? Why did you disappear? Was something wrong?"

     "I don't see that it is any of your business, Miss Granger."

     "Perhaps not," she agreed, focusing on the bit of steak she was currently cutting. "But I was still worried. I'd like to know if there's something wrong. If I could help..." Her head shot up at his initial reply: a disdainful snort.

     "Worried?" His lips curled. "My dear girl, you should know better than to think I would believe that. And no, I won't cater to your busybody nosiness."

     For the first time in her life, Hermione's temper overrode her sensibility. Her dinner plate sailed across the room, covering the floor with food and shards of ceramic. "Screw you, Professor!" He looked at her in vague startlement. She glared back, her eyes practically glowing. "Is it that difficult, is it that. bloody. difficult. to accept honest human concern? And don't give me any crap about 'pity'; I have never wasted a single fucking moment of pity on you. But of course, God forbid I actually take the time to make sure you're all right!"

     "'Honest human concern?" Snape nearly chuckled in cynical amusement. "Really, Miss Granger. As far as I can tell, there is no such beast. Nothing exists without at least a modicum of self-interest."

     Disconcerted, Hermione stared at him, his words like a bucket of icy water. "I can't believe you just said that, Professor."

     "That is your problem, girl, not mine."

     "But... Haven't you..." She was at a loss to express herself. "Sir, what about the Headmaster? Surely..."

     He gave her the sort of pitying smile one reserves for the particularly dim-witted. "Albus least of all, as you would realise if you thought about it," he replied. "The Headmaster is committed to maintaining the status quo, Miss Granger. I was--and am--simply a means to that end."

     "Your parents, then," she challenged, refusing to give up.

     "Hardly," he drawled. He did not elaborate further.

     She swallowed. "Well, then," the girl managed to say evenly. "Even if you don't believe me, you have now had your first experience of altruism. I hope you enjoyed it." Hermione pressed her lips together to prevent anything further from escaping and knelt down on the floor to begin clearing the mess she had made. Her mother was going to be annoyed at the broken plate later; she believed there was no excuse for destructiveness.

     "You're doing it the hard way," Snape remarked blandly.

     "I'm well aware of that, Professor, " answered Hermione. "I am also aware, as are you, of the laws on underage magic. I may be eighteen physically, but not legally. And I'm still a student, as you well know."

     "Of course." He had apparently finished his meal by then, for Hermione heard him stand and walk out of the room.

     "Screw him," she muttered. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

     The feeling followed her as she finished cleaning the kitchen and through the rest of the evening. True to form, the now full-fledged snow storm knocked out the power and just about everything else. Resigned, she dragged candles and blankets upstairs for both herself and Snape. He answered her knock civilly, but said nothing more as she outlined the situation. Of course, he could cast light and warming charms to his heart's content; he was not limited by stupid laws. Her annoyance (and exhaustion, truth be told) kept her from noticing the slightly drawn appearance of his face as well as her customary analysis of their earlier exchange. Instead, she merely ignored everything, shoving it onto her 'to-do' list for the next day. It was much nicer to curl up in front of the fireplace downstairs. (Though she had to drag all of her blankets back down the stairs once she changed her mind.) And falling asleep was such a simple thing to do...

     Snape himself had a harder time of it. Hermione had given him some food for thought, but that was easily dismissed. However, some of his memories--triggered by the earlier reminiscence--escaped his control easily and were damned difficult to stuff back into their boxes. Unlike boggarts, it was impossible to make sour memories into anything even remotely amusing. Still, decades of practice meant that he managed to shut them away in the end, drifting into the restless unconsciousness he called 'sleep.'

     Only to be awakened only a few hours later by a noise that brought surging out of bed, wand at the ready. No more than slightly disoriented, he swiftly checked the listening charms he had cast--after Amelia Granger had pointed out certain things, it seemed only prudent--and identified the location of what he heard. As he bolted out the door, it became clearer. Hermione was screaming.

     With only slightly less control, his descent down the stairs would have been called 'falling.' He reached the parlor door and slammed it open, a hex on his lips.

     To find the girl alone. He was more than a little nonplussed. And, as he tucked his wand away, annoyed. Snape approached the bundle of blankets and hair with every intention of giving the girl a piece of his mind. Though Granger had stopped screaming, she was still whimpering in her sleep. He was startled to find tears streaming down her cheeks and her voice rose slightly as he approached. "No," she pleaded. "Please God, no. Don't. Don't make me..."

     A fleeting look of pain crossed Severus' face as he looked down at the girl. Instead of the sharp shake he had been intending, he jostled her gently. He recognised that familiar litany from his own dreams... "Miss Granger. Miss Granger. Wake up."

     Hermione jolted out of sleep, her arm rearing back in readiness. Snape closed his hand over her fist before it could fly. "You were having a nightmare, Miss Granger," he informed her. "Nothing more." She stared up at him, body still shaking, lungs struggling to regain control of her breathing. She shook her head, hair flying around her.

     "It's more... when they're... memories..." She turned away from him to face the couch and burst into violent, wrenching sobs.

     Snape watched her in consternation. Ordinarily, he would tell the silly girl to stop making that irritating noise. But this wasn't some chit weeping over an equally air-brained boy. This was something he could empathise with far too well. On one hand, he knew he shouldn't coddle the girl; only the strongest would be likely to survive this war. On the other... She had already proven herself in the past few years. And well he remembered the feeling--one he ruthlessly sublimated, but never rid himself of--of desperately wanting someone--anyone--to simply be there as he faced his monsters alone and in the dark.

     Hesitantly, almost involuntarily, his hand reached out to clasp the girl's shoulder. When she didn't jerk away, he knelt down next to the sofa and waited, gifting her with the strength of his presence.