Harry woke up, warm, groggy and alone, much to his displeasure. He made a distressfully annoyed sound as his fingers sleepily wormed their way across the wide mattress, searching for another warm presence for him to cuddle up to. As it was, there was no other warmness with him, and both he and his fingers were greatly displeased. With a sleepy pout on his face, Harry clumsily kicked off his blankets and rolled onto the floor. It was another minute before he convinced his lower limbs that yes, he wanted to be using them and yes, there would be dire consequences if they did not cooperate immediately. Said limbs were severely unimpressed, but acquiesced to his demands anyway. Minutes later, Harry drunkenly stumbled into the living room, managing to take a few more steps before he walked into something warm and solid. Justified with his actions, he wrapped both arms around the something, and promptly decided that cats were really onto something, what with rubbing their heads against people like that.

“Good afternoon to you as well, child,” came an amused voice from somewhere above his head.

“Mfglurp,” Harry responded, pressing his face closer to the warmness he clung to.

“My, what a wonderful vocabulary you have.”

“Nghtf.”

The voice above him chuckled, and long fingers ran through his hair. Harry smiled as the sound rumbled up from under his head like a laughing mountain, if mountains could laugh.

“Is there a particular reason you are out of bed, Harry?”

Since speaking was a skill he simply was not capable of at the minute, he used the link between their minds, which was fortunately wide open. An image of Harry rolling over and then blindly searching the bed drifted between them accompanied by vague annoyance, confusion and the slightest stirrings of fear. His brain was still foggy, not even remembering how he made it out of the potions classroom, let alone waking up all alone in a strange bed.

“I see,” the voice intoned, still amused. “Are you hungry?”

“Merglp,” Harry enunciated, shaking his head slightly.

“You want to return to bed, I assume.”

“Yugmf.”

“Very well,” Severus said, tightening his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Somehow, Severus was able to get them both back to Harry’s bedroom, without one or both of them ending up in an undignified heap. Not that it would have mattered to some small fifteen year olds. Harry was asleep on his feet, with only Sev’s arms and perhaps a bit of his magic keeping him upright. Sev snorted, and swiftly, deposited the smaller body onto the dark blue sheets. Said smaller body was not about to be abandoned again, however, as its two hands tightly fisted and twisted in the fabric of the potion’s master’s robes. After trying in vain to release the boy’s hands (which he suspected were reinforced with magic), he sighed and settled himself on the mattress. What else did he have to do, anyway? Get yelled at by McGonagall, who probably thought he was killing her little lion? Endure a scathing lecture from the old coot, and then be blinded by that thrice-damned twinkle and have to resist the urge to commit murder? He glared at the top of the boy’s head as Harry curled in on himself and snuggled into Sev’s chest. He would stay right here and be cuddled to death (he suppressed a deep shudder) and delay the inevitable fallout.

For a while, at least.

He awoke hours later, to the sound of annoying buzzing in his ear. He raised a heavy hand to slap at the annoying bug, only to find that it had somehow lodged itself within his head. With a start, he jerked upright, realizing too late that he had a very nasty crick in his neck and that he had been acting as a human pillow to one small teen, and thus his body was therefore asleep, even after Harry gurgled and rolled away from him.

Snarling, Severus rose rather ungracefully from the bed and stalked (read: stumbled) towards the door to his quarters, intent on blasting the idiot foolish enough to wake him into next week.

When he threw open the door, without even glancing at the visitor’s parchment, much to the dismay of voice number Three (‘What kind of spy are you?’), he very nearly made good on his private threat. For there stood Hermione Granger, bushy hair all a-frizz and not looking the least bit intimidated by Severus’ Death Eater Glare No. Seven: Have-you-completely-lost-the-little-sense-The-Creator-saw-fit-to-imbue-you-with-you-festering-pile-of-dung-seasoned-meat?

“Good afternoon, Professor,” the Granger said politely, and knowing just how un-politely she wished to say it, it was all Severus could do to reply in kind, even if his tone was a bit clipped.

“May I come in, Professor Snape?” she asked quietly. To the girl’s credit, her face was a blank mask. Several scathing remarks flitted through the potions master’s head, several of them sure to reduce the girl to tears and most revolving on the current state of her sanity, asking to be let into, in her opinion, a child molester’s personal rooms. The other more (or less?) ethical part of his brain was mourning his rather large change of heart; he would have ferreted into her mind from the minute he saw her standing there, and determined the risk to himself and his various missions. As it was, he stood there, inwardly chewing on his options. His quarters were heavily warded and fortified to his advantage, many of the items bound to his core and his alone, should he need to protect himself.

A cynical voice asked just why he felt the need to protect himself from the freshly minted fifth year before him was possible, and Severus inwardly scoffed. Though Hermione Granger was a witch of slightly above average magical power, she truly was the most brilliant witch of her year. Severus was willing to waver there had not been a witch so unaccountably brilliant since the days of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. What she lacked in sheer magical power she made up for with lightning quick and clever thinking. Severus realized that even with his thirty odd years of life, years of spying, and all the other years of experience he had gathered in the time he had been alive, the Granger might very well present him with a real challenge in a duel.

And that got him thinking.

Well, one part of his mind, anyway. The part not occupied by Two.

No, that part of his brain had come up with a slightly more plausible reason for protection from the short fifth year.

Severus possessed a library.

One he knew beyond a doubt surpassed the Headmaster's own private library that no one ever had access to anyway. Severus shuddered. That, right there, was oodles of possible reasons for maiming his person.

Why was he even considering letting the Granger in, again? He already had one ruinous teen loitering about the place, and one was ENOUGH, thank you very much (thought Harry was far from ruinous, or the loitering type). But what was one more? After all, he had TWO teenaged boys frequenting these rooms, so of course said rooms would be getting a lot of mileage. Why not get used to it sooner?

WHY GET USED TO IT AT ALL?!?!?!?! Severus let out a growl of frustration, which quickly turned in to a lusty purr of satisfaction. He had had the entire argument in his head, with HIMSELF! Not with any of those stinking voices! In the resulting flow of good mojo, Severus swept the slightly miffed girl into the room and onto a couch, before disappearing into the kitchen to fix some tea. No need to upset the Granger’s sensibilities, right? And not need at all to pass up such a PRIME opportunity, right? Severus Snape was, after all, a vengeful man.

Thankfully, because his good mood was gone and he was itching to cast a hex, the Granger started talking the minute he passed the threshold from the kitchen.

“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” she stated as he set the tea service down. “After all, you and I are hardly seeing eye to eye at the moment.” Severus made no motion that he had heard her, preferring to fix his tea and sit comfortably in his favorite chair, but inside he was spitting insults. How dare this frizzy monstrosity begin a conversation in HIS rooms? Was she lacking brain matter? Not ‘seeing eye to eye’? They were practically at each other’s throats! Well, if he wanted to be truthful, which he didn’t, he had actually done all the threatening, taking an already bad situation and making it horrible, to be further worsened by his status as an adult, and the difference in their gender. If a certain twinkle-eyed headmaster ever got wind of this……. Well, let us just say it was both good for his health and longevity and not a coincidence that the tea had been spiked with something….and he had drank the antidote. Not that he would have needed it anyway. He was a spy, and not stupid.

There was an amused, disbelieving snort. ‘Says you,’ chortled Two.

Severus ruthlessly crushed the offending voice and its opinions, and did his damnedest to tune in to the prattling girl before him.

‘Goodness,’ he thought, ‘how does she wrap her brain, let alone her tongue, around these words? Floccinaucinihilipilification, REALLY? He shifted, pulling his cup closer and taking another sip. If this girl did not hurry up, he was never going to get any peace. He gave her a baleful glare when a break in her moderate rant was only to pause for breath, and found himself with no more patience.

“Was there a particular reason you chose to invade my quarters tonight, Granger?” he asked. The girl stilled, giving him a look that said she would very much like to tell him where to stick his attitude, but fortunately did not.

“May I see Harry, sir?”

Well, that certainly was unexpected. “You want to see Harry,” he stated, just for clarification.

Hermione nodded solemnly, fingers entwined on her lap. Severus fixed her with an unreadable expression for the longest minute known to mankind, before rising to stand in front of the fireplace.

“What on earth made you think that I would allow you to gaze, unfettered, on my son whilst he slept?” he asked silkily. “What makes you think I should, Granger? Do you have any idea how much you hurt him?” he asked, before charging in without waiting for an answer. “Let us just forget, for the moment, that you accused someone he trusts and cares about of the most heinous act of twisting ever stumbled upon moronic human beings that predeceased us, and focus on the fact that you refused to believe him. Now, taking into account that the bloody idiot Gryffindor is about as transparent as the owelry windows on a good day and on others he tells you and the red head virtually everything, how do you suppose it feels to have someone you trust, someone who knows you intimately, refrain from trusting your words, for reasons unknown to you?”

Granger’s eyes were closed, and her fingers were gripping each other so tightly they seemed about ready to snap. He was sure she was chanting some ridiculous Muggle calming mantra, one that he planned to shatter in an instant…..

“Please, Professor. May I please just see Harry?” Her voice had caught at the end, and Severus hid a smirk.

“Please?” he said, rolling the word over his tongue like he had never experienced anything quite like it in all his days. “Please? My dear girl, are you begging? Are you truly begging me, Greasy Potions Master Dungeon Bat, for something?” He gave her a wicked chuckle. “My, my, how the mighty have fallen.”

The Granger’s eyes bored into his with an intensity that would have done a hunting cougar proud. It amused him, greatly, that he could rile her up so, especially since she could do nothing about it. He took a step forward casually, before swooping down to lean threateningly over the smaller student. “How painful was it for you to finally realize that you are no longer in control here?” he snarled in a deadly whisper, his dark hairy swinging forward to obscure his face.

“Very,” the Granger whispered. “Believe me.”

Severus smirked a terrible smirk, and slowly stood. After gazing down at her amusedly for a minute, a minute in which the Granger tried and failed to hide her discomfort, he gestured grandly to rise.

The walk down the hallway was silent, not that the dark man cared one whit. He supposed he could make some light banter about just how well cared for Harry was, but that would be rubbing salt in a wound one did not fully realize was there. And so, he led the way to Harry’s room in silence, aware that the Granger was taking in every. Single. Stone. That lined the hall. It was a bit unnerving, her intensity, or would have been to any other but himself. Or maybe Dumbledore. As it was, Severus just filed it away for perusal.

With exaggerated movements, Severus approached Harry’s door, and with a deep, solemn bow ushered the Granger into the room.

To say Severus was disappointed with the girl’s reaction would have been a severe understatement.

The Granger gave the room one cursory glance en route to the bed, but made no comment. Standing next to the rumpled covers, the fifth year gazed down. Steadily. It was a full dissatisfied minute before Severus watched her face pucker in confusion.

“You detect a cause for concern?” he sneered.

The Granger’s arms folded snappishly before she answered. “Harry never sleeps like this,” she said, barely above a whisper.

His sneer deepened, and his eyes rolled of their own accord. “What, precisely, is ‘this’, you dunderhead? Like he is not going to be attacked in the middle of the night? Because I assure you, this is how he is supposed to sleep.”

Hermione turned to glower at the Professor. “I know that. I’m only saying that the type of psychological healing and recovery needed to bring him to this level of subconscious freedom could not have happened in little over thirty-six hours.”

“Really?” Severus asked, feigning curiosity and leaning against the doorjamb. “What do you suppose happened, then?”

The girl glared at him rather like she would have liked to dunk his head in bubotuber pus. Severus stared back smugly. “I don’t know what happened," the Granger managed. “I only know that something did. Something beyond him just looking up to you, in that subconscious way he did.” Her gaze shifted from contemptuous to thoughtful, and it almost seemed as if she were talking to herself. “But that has always been the case. Something incredible must have happened. Something’s changed.”

Severus sneered. “I can assure you, Granger, that Harry’s state of slumber is directly indicative of his state of recovery.”

The Granger turned back to gaze thoughtfully at her sleeping friend, her freckled face a swirl of different emotions. Severus knew, without having to pick her brain, that the foremost of these was bewilderment. As in:’How on earth had she missed this?’

It was a question that Severus would only be all too pleased to answer for her, with his usual spark and humor, of course. If only she would ask! He sighed internally. The Granger did not seem to want him blessed opinion in this matter. Or any, really.

So sad for her….

“Are you quite done, Granger? I realize the sphere of your world is limited to your two Gryffindor counterparts, and as one is out of commission, so to speak, for the present moment you are rather at a loss, but I do have work that needs to be doing,” he said, his face an emotionless mask. “In plainer terms, you incompetent she-child, Get. Out.”

He watched in satisfaction as she spun around, sputtering, and calmly made his way to the living room, knowing she would follow. And she did, near silently huffing and puffing at the sheer ludicrous assumption that she was incompetent. He came to a stop at the door, and turned, watching in smug satisfaction as she finally seemed to realize she was struggling for words.  “I told you once before, did I not” he began in a silky whisper, “that it would be most unwise to anger me? What you are experiencing is the very tip of the iceberg.” He smirked as she drew herself up, got right in his face, and proceeded to poke him forcefully in the chest. “Yes, I am a conniving, loathsome, abhorrent little devil, I know. My mother would have been so proud, don’t you think?”

The Granger chose to meet his eyes and send him her fiercest glare. Which, considering the source, was actually very good. She would come a very long way under his tutelage. After all, he could not let this amount of raw power and brains slip through his fingers without contriving a way to twist it for the boy’s benefit, could he? Of course not. And since the girl was one of the boy’s friends in the first place, even though they had had a tiff, it only made his self-appointed task all the more easier. But really, where did she learn to hold a glare this way? He was almost jealous! His glares had not been nearly as effectual at this age. He pondered this new dilemna as the girl continued to rant and rave in her mind. He would give her a book on Occlumency at the end of their first lesson, he decided. Whatever natural blocks she had were completely nonexistent when she was angry.

His thoughts were cut short as the girl, ripped open the door, only to be brought up short at his next words. “You will report to my office Friday evenings at seven, Granger.” Her bushy head whipped around and her eyes burned fiercely with a question that most likely sounded something like ‘Why the hell would I do that, you nasty son of a dragon pox-infected squid?’ but he chose to believe was ‘Why, and for how long, sir?’

“Until I say otherwise, Granger. The purpose will be explained when you arrive.”

With a primal scream of fury, the Granger stomped out into the hall, slamming his thick oak door behind her.

Severus really did love his students.