Deep Bruises of War (Finnished)

VII The Bat, The Lioness and The Fool

She slept the rest of the night without a single nightmare: sweet darkness and ever-longed-for unconsciousness have fallen over her the very moment she's closed her eyes. It was warm and safe, familiar, yet ‒ strange. Lying in her bed the following morning, Hermione couldn't recall when was the last time she's woken up so refreshed; she even managed a little smile.

Reality wasn't so happy though. Snape was now probably sitting in the Headmistress office, dishing her with Minerva McGonagall, telling the older woman the whole story of her nightly walkabouts all along the castle corridors. She felt sick, the moment it came to her already uneasy mind.

"Damn, him and his nosy character!"

Why wouldn't he just leave her alone? Hermione had no doubt that she would rather die somewhere in the depths of Hogwarts than be granted by the limitless pleasure of Potions Master's presence in her times of weakness. She haven't even done anything wrong. She was now one of professors; walking the castle at nights was not only her privilege, but above all, her duty. And yet, Snape surely wanted her head on a silver plate. It felt like she was still a sort of stupid, stubborn student to him, having to be penalized for unbecoming behaviour.

She clanged her teeth. That was not going to happen, not until she loose her mind completely.

The witch stepped out of her bed and grabbed her towel, heading to the bathroom door. She wasn't so sure which one was to be considered as a more urging problem right now: her anger or hunger. Hermione heard her stomach growl for food and felt some missed-meal cramps.

"Sweet Merlin," she thought, "for the first time after The War, I'm actually starving."

Nevertheless the breakfast had to wait, a chat with her former professor and her meant-to-be colleague was more important than her primal needs. She dressed herself up, tamed her hear as well as it was possible at the moment, and stormed out of her quarters.

She found him in his rooms, sitting calmly in the armchair. The very moment she heard his cold, but fairly enough polite "Come in", she was certain that her presence was anticipated.

"What brings you here so early in the morning Miss Granger? Aren't the nights your usual time of physical activity?" he mocked her.

Hermione pressed her lips together.

"Why do you help me, professor?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon?" his eyebrows lifted.

"You always appear near to me when I have my..."

"We call it panic attacks, Miss Granger" he almost smiled saying so.

"Yes, thank you professor for your kind remark... but, as I was saying, it feels strange to me that you are always near, willing to help."

He hissed.

"Oh, I assure you, Miss Granger, I am not by any means willing to help you or do anything else to you."

"So why do you always escort me back to my rooms?"

He hesitated for a brief moment. She saw it in his dark eyes, a glimpse of precariousness.

"Because, like I've already said to you multiple times, Minerva would have me killed if I didn't help you. And despite all of that, I know how you feel now, Granger. I am familiar with pain and shock and, what's even more important now, the fallouts of those mentioned before. I do not judge you, but also I do not pity you. What you experience now is the well-earned result of your fullish actions in the past. There are not too many people still alive, who would understand what is happening to you. It seams, that I'm your only hope. Clearly Miss Granger, you are not satisfied with the knowledge, that I am the one who is going to help you put yourself together, I can see that, but believie me, or not, neither am I. You can cooperate or be stubborn as you've always been, it all depends on you."