Severus scowled as he took in his surroundings. He was unwilling to admit that he was a little lost.

He could retrace his steps so he wasn't truly lost. Hogwarts wouldn't allow that to happen to him. It seemed to help him at times, and he knew it didn't do that for others. So he wasn't lost in the sense that he couldn't find his way back to somewhere he recognized. He just wasn't entirely sure where he was in relation to things familiar to him like the infirmary, Slytherin dormitory, or library.

The three places he spent a good chunk of his time while here. As if he had anywhere else to spend his time. He didn't like engaging in some of the … games Avery and Mulciber engaged in. He did once in a while, when he felt it was necessary. Necessary to keep up appearances. Usually, though, his being studious and focused gave him an excuse. Sometimes he had to if he wanted any sort of protection from his bullies. He hated that the need for protection was at all necessary, but as good as he was there was power in numbers.

Their protection hadn't done him any good that day.

Today hadn't been about protection.

He had needed to get away and his feet led him here almost of their own accord. Again, he was used to that happening here at Hogwarts so he didn't think twice about following where it led him. The castle hadn't steered him wrong to this point.

Fucking bastards.

They thought they were so fucking smart and clever. Severus could admit they were smart and capable wizards, all four of them. He still wasn't sure what he'd done five years ago that offended them so much.

Other than just being poor.

And not being attractive or nice.

(Not that Pettigrew was any great prize. How that wizard had gotten in with the three of them Severus would probably never understand.)

How he hated them!

He hadn't always. He'd actually tried to fit in. As best as he was capable.

At one point he'd hoped to gain an understanding with them so that he might have mutual dealings with Lily. That they'd realize he wasn't that bad just because he was in Slytherin, had a muggle father, and a blood traitor mother.

He wasn't sure when it was he realized they were never going to accept him. That Lily had changed and would choose them, take their side. Any hope had been beaten and humiliated out of him.

If he could, he would destroy each and every one of them.

One day, away from Hogwarts and the headmaster's preferential treatment, he would get his chance. He was totally confident that he would. They had no idea who they were dealing with nor was the headmaster doing them any favours letting them get away with their bullying here. They wouldn't be here under the headmaster's protection and rules skewed in their favour forever.

Severus knew that there was more to life than Hogwarts, that he would have to work hard to get what he wanted out of life. Unlike his bullies he did not have an aversion to that. He, in fact, looked forward to it.

He knew those wizards were expecting to live off their parents' names and wealth. Severus contented himself with the fact a long time ago that he had neither an influential family name nor wealth. He did not have good looks either to win people to his side. That meant that he himself was in charge of him getting ahead. Nothing was going to be handed to him. He wouldn't have wanted anything given to him anyway. He wasn't built that way.

Until such a future was reality, he would just have to bide his time and watch his back anytime he was away from his dorm.

For the next two school years!

They seemed to be ramping up their torment of him. Leading to that day and his failed attempt to apologize.

Watching his back had always worked, until recently. He still wasn't sure how they'd gained such a severe upper hand.

And with Lily nearby!

If he didn't know better he'd say they planned it, wanting to humiliate him and turn his only true friend against him. Why he bothered them so much he really had no idea. It had started from day one, so it wasn't anything he'd done.

It was just his existence.

Well, he couldn't help that he was born. He was and he was here. He damn well was going to get the education he was born to get! His bastard of a father couldn't stop him from doing that nor could anyone else.

He'd survived his father, he would weather this, too. Those wizards didn't know what his life had been like before Hogwarts to know he was … resilient. And committed to getting all that he could from his education.

He paused from his thoughts, really stopping to recognize that he was in a completely unfamiliar part of the castle. None of the art looked at all familiar. There were statues he would have remembered seeing before.

He hated that there were still parts of the castle it could lead him to that he hadn't seen before because he liked to think he knew it better than most, certainly any other student. And, well, he certainly thought he would remember seeing trolls wearing ballet shoes before this moment. It was so hideous he couldn't have forgotten about it.

He could not even quite remember how he got here now that he'd stopped.

Would he actually be able to get back to somewhere familiar from here?

Would Hogwarts guide him somewhere familiar from here?

Wherever here was.

God, he hoped so. That would just be perfect. Rumours of him getting lost!

He would almost think someone had put him under a Confundus if he didn't know better.

Black and Potter had gotten the upper hand with their bullying tactics, but there was no way anyone would get the upper hand with him enough to cast a Confundus at him.

Impossible.

He'd needed to get away, though, and hadn't wanted anyone to see him for a while. He'd thought of the lab that had been provided for him, but the castle seemed to guide him here instead. He'd learned by now to trust whatever it was doing.. So he had to assume it would guide him back to familiar territory when he was ready to return.

After he'd collected his thoughts and calmed down.

Why trying to apologize was cause for violence he wasn't sure.

He hadn't wanted the library or his dorm. He didn't need the healer.

So, he'd gone where his feet took him.

A hallway he had never seen before.

The castle did that sometimes.

He took the help when it was offered to him.

It couldn't stop him from being tormented, couldn't stop the headmaster from letting the chosen Gryffindors' bullying go unpunished. Occasionally, though, a perfectly placed empty classroom or storage room would appear when the Marauders seemed to have particularly vicious things in mind. The door would seal shut until they were long gone.

A few times it had just been a darkened alcove that the Marauders evidently couldn't see despite the fact he was for all intents and purposes in view of them.

Today, well, he wasn't sure what they'd do to him for continuing to try to ask Lily to forgive him. He wasn't sure why it bothered them so much. He wasn't asking her for anything. He just wanted her to listen to his apology. They thwarted him at every turn. This evening was no different. The four of them didn't seem to have anything … good in mind when they'd ambushed him outside of Gryffindor's common room.

Damn Fat Lady was probably in on it, too.

He just wanted his friend!

He hadn't even really meant it. It had come out because he'd wanted to lash out and punish them for humiliating him. He hadn't been coherent enough to think about who he was saying it to.

Not toward her!

Never toward her!

Why couldn't she see what they were doing? They were trying to make her hate him.

What was he supposed to do? He never saw her alone anymore!

This evening it had been more than just Black and his gang to laugh at and ridicule him for again trying to get her to come talk to him. There'd been others. Just like the day he'd called her that .

So, he'd fled, wanting to get away from everyone and everything before they could do something to him to show off in front of those watching. He wasn't a coward, but he needed time to regroup. To think.

No Gryffindors.

No Slytherins.

Because he could admit that Mulciber and Avery for all their efforts didn't always help but instead made things worse.

To come up with a plan so that she'd have to listen to him.

He still couldn't believe that she wouldn't forgive him. Did years of knowing one another truly mean nothing? He was the one who had told her about magic. He was the one she had excitedly shown her Hogwarts letter to.

One mistake.

One word said at a time when he was angry and humiliated.

He paced the hall, eyeing the tapestry with vague interest as he did. It was really atrocious, but he couldn't stop looking at it. Much like people who stopped to gawk at a muggle car crash.

This was one of his father's favorite things to do as it so happened. He loved to witness others' suffering. It didn't seem to matter he wasn't the one causing the pain and suffering for his dad. It was pretty ghastly. (Both his father's penchant for watching destruction and the painting.)

Was it too much to ask for a true friend?

Someone to accept him as he was?

Someone he could be himself with? That was the hard part. He had people some would call friends, but it was all an act. On both sides. They didn't know the real him and he was confident the same was true in reverse.

He was dark and bitter and when it got down to it, not very nice. His interests were not what most would deem pure. He knew and accepted this.

He thought she had, too. He really had. She knew he hadn't had a good home life, hadn't had very many good examples to feed off and learn from.

He had read about and created spells that were meant to cause harm. He created them as defense mechanisms so he didn't feel they were truly dark. He hadn't designed them intending to seek out people to use them on.

As their school years and magical abilities advanced, the bullying by the Marauders did as well. He had to be able to defend himself! It was no different than his father owning a gun to defend their house against a burglar in his mind.

Not everyone viewed things that way, though. Evidently you couldn't truly defend yourself to the best of your abilities. Only what wizarding society considered just.

He knew how people saw and felt about him. He could stomach that, knowing he had one person on his side. He had assumed she felt differently. That she saw and knew the true him. That she liked him anyway despite his upbringing. That she knew he didn't truly have a foul soul.

He honestly wasn't sure he knew how to be nice to people. It wasn't something he'd learned in his home and certainly no one here at Hogwarts had shown him kindness. Honestly, now that he thought about it he wasn't even sure she had been kind to him for a while. She treated him lately more like a chore.

Unless he could do something for them in exchange for it.

Then people were nice to him. Even he knew that wasn't supposed to be how it worked. Madam Pomfrey was the only one, but that was her job so he didn't count her.

He knew that he had the capacity to love if given the chance. He knew it! He wanted it. Love. A witch of his own. Why did the Blacks and Potters of the world get the witches?

He'd thought she was the one. That chance. He'd mucked that up somehow, even before now. He wasn't sure when Potter caught her attention to know whether he even stood a chance after getting to Hogwarts. He probably hadn't now that he thought about it or she wouldn't have laughed at him, or added to his embarrassment.

He tried to apologize. Surely she had to understand he spoke in the heat of the moment. Out of embarrassment and anger. She knew they tormented him. He hated when Potter and Black got the upper hand on him. He was usually careful so that wouldn't happen. He'd obviously been off as the end of school was approaching and soon he would have to make some important decisions. On his own because he had no one to talk to about things. He'd just always assumed he'd have her.

Personal distractions, something he didn't normally have to contend with. His parents hadn't given a shit about him for years so it'd been easy to act as if he didn't for them either.

Now, though.

He sighed and set his hand against the wall, resting his head against his bicep.

He wasn't even seventeen years old.

He felt so defeated.

So alone.

He'd always been alone as a child and then he'd met her. He realized she was magical and had assumed at least he would have her. They'd go to school together. Learn magic together.

Now he didn't even have that.

Without her, he was alone. Truly alone.

He'd make it through Hogwarts.

Then what? Do what? By himself?

He couldn't count on Malfoy, Avery, or Mulciber to be his friends away from here. The only reason he saw Malfoy anymore was because of his interest in current Slytherins. Severus among them.

"I just want one person to want me . Is that too much to ask?"

His mom had wanted him, sixteen years ago.

At least he presumed she had.

He'd never asked, that just wasn't a question one asked their mum. Well, not if one didn't want to be completely scarred for life. More than he already was, that is.

So, he was going under the assumption that he had been wanted initially. (Wouldn't that be ironic if he hadn't been, though?)

Had his father wanted him? That was the part he wasn't so confident about. Before the mill closed? Before the money dried up? Before the drinking got out of hand?

He truly couldn't remember life where those things weren't in play. He had no fond memories of watching football matches on the TV with his dad or anything as a boy. So he really couldn't say.

He did know that his father had beaten, verbally as well as physically, that want out of her many years ago.

She wasn't cruel to Severus, but she just wasn't there anymore. She hadn't even asked how his fourth year had gone when he'd gotten home last summer. That wasn't the mum he'd grown up with. Education was hugely important to her. In primary school when he'd wanted to skate she'd pushed him. Hard. His first year of Hogwarts she had, too.

She checked out a long time ago. He could vaguely recall her eyes full of life and vivaciousness when they'd talk about this or that. It was that recollection that had him wanting to help her.

He was pretty sure that he was going to have to put her in a home because she was too far gone to even attempt to care for his father, or herself, any longer. He hadn't gone home over the Christmas holidays so hadn't realized how bad it had gotten. His visit home over Easter holidays made him come to the conclusion that he had to do something when he saw the state of not just his parents but the house.

He was pretty sure his father would survive just fine without his mum. That meant his father would likely let her just wither away and die. As long as the house stayed clean and food showed up on the table in the meantime.

So, he had that to deal with.

Alone. Always alone.

If not this summer, soon.

He had to work out what to even do first. He was sixteen years old, he shouldn't have to be dealing with this shit. He wasn't sure he'd be able to do that by this summer. He knew if she was in her right mind his mum would tell him to worry about his OWLs before anything else. Despite her faults, education had always been incredibly important to her.

She'd never said so but it was clear she wanted better for her son than the life she'd ended up with. It was also clear that she had presumed his mind and intellect was what he'd have to rely on to get ahead. She'd never told him that he had been passed over in the looks department. She didn't have to. He knew.

He'd done what she had pushed him toward, focusing on his school work. He wanted to make his mum proud of his academic accomplishments.

It had helped distract him to a point, which was good. There was nothing he could do about the situation now.

There were moments, times that he thought that he shouldn't care what the fuck happened to either of them. He should let them rot and die in their own mess. They made it, they could waste away in it. They clearly hadn't given him a thought or consideration since well before he left for Hogwarts. He'd be done with Hogwarts in two years, would hopefully get an apprenticeship, and would have no reason to return to Cokeworth again.

He always came back to the fact that she was his mum. What kind of son? What kind of man could he hope to be if he turned his back on her?

He kept coming back to that every time he contented himself with tucking any concern away to the far recesses of his mind.

Being his mum had to mean something. More than just something.

He couldn't just forget and leave her to waste away.

He was a wizard because of her. He had gotten into Hogwarts because of her. He was as focused on his studies as he was because of her influences. She had driven home the point that with his intelligence he could do anything he set his mind to doing.

Except for make friends and be accepted it seemed.

He was still trying to work out where to put her so that his father wouldn't find her. He had no doubt if he put her somewhere that his father would think she'd left. He didn't want him searching for her and really hurting her, killing her, because Severus tried to do the best thing for his mum.

He'd talked with Madam Pomfrey recently while he'd been in the infirmary for healing, so at least had some things to think about now.

Money, of course, was going to be an issue but Madam Pomfrey had told him there might be aid available depending on the situation. His questioning had been general and vague, no specifics. Though the healer knew by now everything was specific for Severus. If he asked a question, there was a reason. Even if he liked to distract himself by picking her brain while she was tending to him. She knew by now if he brought up a subject there was nothing random about it.

He just wished he had help. Someone to help him shoulder the responsibility. Someone to tell him he was doing the right thing. Someone to ease his pain. Someone to tell him that it would be all right.

And not just about his mother.

He wanted to know he wasn't completely alone in this thing called life.

He wanted a partner. Someone he could talk about books with. Not just discuss them, read with them and know they would understand. Someone to discuss magical theories and potions and … Oh, just everything. He wanted someone who would understand him as well as him understanding them.

Suddenly, a door appeared across from the tapestry. He frowned, wondering if he was so far gone that he hadn't noticed a door there before now. He didn't think so, which meant it had just appeared. Not altogether surprising at Hogwarts. This wasn't the first time things had appeared for him.

Did that mean that Potter and Black had found him? No, he didn't think so. He would have heard them if they were closing in on him. They weren't usually subtle. That meant this was for him.

He straightened proudly.

Hogwarts was truly incredible at times.

Without thought, confident this was for him, he approached and opened the door, finding what looked to be a common room when he crossed the threshold. Only no common room he had been privy to. (Not that he'd ever caught more than a glimpse of one aside from the one in his own dormitory.) There were big but comfortable and soft looking chairs in front of a small fire in a fireplace as if taking into consideration it was June not December.

Interestingly, he noticed on the other side of the room from the chairs and fireplace there was a table. On it were a couple of cauldrons and other equipment commonly necessary to make potions, including stirring rods and cutting boards. He highly doubted that was standard for a common room, which made him wonder why it was here. A bookcase filled with books was along a wall nearest to the chairs and fireplace. He noticed there was even a book on the small table between two of the chairs by the fireplace.

As if waiting for him to sit down in front of the fire and start reading.

Homey was the first thing that came to his mind after he'd finished taking it all in.

Warm.

Welcoming.

He truly loved Hogwarts.

Finally having ascertained his surroundings and that they seemed safe he allowed himself to let his guard down a little. This was not a trap set for him by Potter and Black. Somehow he knew that truly this was for him. He was eyeing the bookshelves with interest.

And then he heard it.

Soft crying from one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

He groaned inwardly. So this wasn't really for him after all!

What was the meaning of this?

He had no time for crying witches.

As if he didn't have enough on his mind. He had his own problems to worry about!

He turned to leave but something stopped him.

Again, this was nothing new, feeling a connection to the castle but it didn't usually put people in his path. In fact, it usually did the opposite. It seemed to know he didn't want people around him. He was a loner.

He turned again to look at the back of the chair. He couldn't see who was sitting in it from this angle.

He sighed heavily as realization washed through him that he would not - could not - leave until he at least ensured whoever was in here with him was okay. Somewhere deep inside of him came the thought that his mother would be very disappointed with him turning his back on a witch in need. Despite not leading by example she had in fact raised and taught him better than that.

With that thought, he knew he wasn't going to just leave.

He took a deep breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

He sounded way more confident than he felt just then, but he was unwilling to believe this was a trap. Who would plant a witch in this room under the assumption he'd stumble upon it and her? Who would think he'd help a crying witch for that matter? There wasn't anyone here who would think he would do that. Certainly neither Potter nor Black would. They'd likely presume he'd do something to make her cry more, not attempt to assist her.

The tears stopped for a moment and in their place was a soft gasp followed by the sniffles of someone trying to stop the tears.

He knew what this sounded like from years of experience in asking his mum if she was all right through the bathroom door.

He saw a rather small hand, petite he supposed polite society would say, clutching the arm of the chair and a plethora of what looked like unruly curls that he surmised was the witch's hair.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with what sounded like a cross between a gasp and a hiccough.

He scoffed. Who did she think she was asking him that? "I didn't realize this was a private room," he said with a snarl. "I'm sorry I did the polite thing and took a moment to ensure that you were all right."

She sighed audibly. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I just wasn't expecting anyone. It's never happened before."

"Obviously," he said sarcastically. His feet took him in the direction of where she sat without any conscious thought on his part. "Well?"

She raised her shoulders in a very feminine shrug. Her hair seemed to move of its own accord, almost as he envisioned Medusa's hair moving before settling along her back, shoulders, and arms. Dormant.

"I'm all right. I'm just nervous about everything coming up. I thought I was ready. I thought I knew everything I needed to know, but I didn't. I don't. I guess I missed something. Everyone says I'm doing too much. I didn't think I was, but I didn't see this coming at all. Maybe they're right."

"Oh," he said with a frown.

Did he know this witch? If she was taking OWLs, which he presumed is what she meant by everything coming up, she was a fifth year the same as he was. She didn't look old enough to be a seventh year student so she wasn't talking about NEWTs. He moved to the seat next to hers, glancing at her but he did not recognize her. Her hair was pretty distinct and while her eyes were reddened from crying he could see that they were the colour of his father's favorite whisky.

So what did he say now that he was here and they'd spoken? He wasn't sure how to … console someone. He'd never had any real inclination to do so before this moment.

So, he went with logic.

"Well, do you think you're ready?"

She scoffed. "Of course. Harry and Ron would tell you that I've done nothing but prepare for months. I'm ready."

"Have you?"

She gave a soft laugh that sounded more like a giggle. "Maybe," she said with a bit of cheek in her tone.

He couldn't help but give a soft laugh of his own. He'd been preparing for months himself. He thought he was the only one taking OWLs so seriously.

"Me, too."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, glancing at him.

Some of her hair, the bits on the side closest to him almost seemed as if they were … reaching for him. He watched it a little wearily for a second, but it clearly meant him no harm. How he knew that he wasn't sure, it was just a feeling he had and it seemed right.

"I'm not really sure. Does the door always just appear like that?"

"Your first time then?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, affronted at such a question. Who was this witch?

Another giggle-like laugh.

" You have a dirty mind. I meant, is it your first time in the Room of Requirement," she said.

"Oh," he said.

He wasn't even certain what that was. Obviously he was in it. He'd heard rumors now that she said its name, but he'd assumed it was someone pulling his leg. Or trying to get others in trouble for exploring parts of the castle that they shouldn't be in. A room that would give you what you desired seemed far fetched even by wizarding or Hogwarts standards.

"Yeah," he answered, realizing she wasn't making fun of him with the question. "Not yours then?"

"No, I come here to study sometimes. Sometimes even the library is too … busy."

He nodded, wordlessly saying that he understood.

He did. Completely.

There were, indeed, sometimes when the library was overrun with people who'd put off this or that until the last minute. People who didn't appreciate it or that you were supposed to be quiet while there. To Severus the library was almost as sacred as the potions lab he had in an unused classroom that Hogwarts seemed to have provided him with when it realized he excelled in the subject and could make some money brewing. He'd worked hard his second year to accumulate a fair amount of galleons, knowing he'd want them for Hogsmeade weekends.

He'd assumed then, in second year, that Lily would accompany him on those Hogsmeade weekends. His mum had spoken fondly of those weekend excursions. He'd looked forward to sharing that with her, too.

It hadn't worked that way.

"Other times I come here just to think," she continued. "To get away from everything going on. You know?"

"I understand," he said.

He did.

It could get … busy. That was what he used his private lab for sometimes, truthfully. Just time to get away from everything going on. There was always a lot of it with the different sides of the blood purity argument getting heated at times.

"Tonight was just to think. I needed that tonight with everyone and everything going crazy. I really needed to clear my head. I was not wrong about Umbridge being a bitch. I swear I have never been tempted to commit homicide before, but she made me think about it. I was right about her, though. I was! And I figured out that Remus is a werewolf."

Severus' heart lurched at that statement. She what?

He thought he was the only one not a member of Potter's little gang that knew about Lupin's proclivities around the timing of the full moon each month.

How had she found out?

Why was she not silenced as he had been about saying anything to anyone? He had almost been killed but he had been told not to tell.

"So I'm not completely inept. How could I have been so wrong about him? I don't get it! I mean, I admit I was very wrong about Lockhart, but I was only thirteen and in my second year. I'd never seen anyone like him and the magical world was still somewhat new, you know? Not in person anyway, of course there are people like him on the telly every day. And, really, everyone makes a mistake once. Did I let my crush on him cloud my mind?"

He ignored her comments about Lockhart.

That ponce.

Despite being a few years younger than Severus, he had heard enough about him that like she said he could see how a crush could develop. He was smooth, but quite full of himself. Many could say the same about Severus he realized, but he didn't talk about himself.

But the werewolf? How did one go from someone like Lockhart to Lupin? Especially if she knew what he was.

"You have a crush on Lupin?"

He couldn't keep quiet on that. Maybe he'd misheard or misunderstood.

If not?

Well, he was going to get up and leave right now if that was the case.

He didn't care what Hogwarts was doing!

He had nothing to say to anyone who would want to be with that monster. Of the four of them, Lupin was the one who seemed somewhat hesitant to engage in their bullying of him, which in and of itself might be admirable.

However, he did nothing to stop it which in Severus' eyes made him just as culpable.

He still didn't understand how Headmaster Dumbledore allowed a werewolf to attend the school. Of course, he didn't understand how the professors allowed Potter and Black to get away with their continued torment and abuse of him for five years now either.

Evidently these were things he wasn't meant to know or understand.

McGonagall especially praised them more often than not as if they didn't bully him to the point he sometimes wished he was not here anymore.

He'd never taken that wish any further, never intentionally harmed himself or put a plan together, but they had made him feel as if he didn't deserve to even be alive. They'd made him think about and wonder if the world would, in fact, be better off without him in it. He had little to contribute in the grand scheme of things after all. He'd pushed those thoughts aside not long after they had first come to him.

He would not let them win in such a fashion. They didn't deserve it.

He would never let them know how truly deep their words cut, worse sometimes than any hex. He was better and stronger than them. He would show them! He only had a couple more years and he'd be on his own then, finally able to prove that he was worthy.

Prove that he was more.

They would take notice then.

"Of course not," she said with a haughty sounding scoff. "Don't be absurd. I wasn't talking about him!"

"Mm," he said.

He did think it was absurd, but he wasn't the one talking about having feelings for someone. Evidently, though it wasn't Gilderoy or Remus. That didn't narrow the pool down very much since there were about two hundred other wizards in the castle.

Who was she talking about then? What was this room? Why had it made itself available to him when he was wishing for … someone?

And if she was the answer to his plea, why was that someone seemingly already infatuated with someone else?

Was his lot in life always to be second to another wizard?

He must have done something really abhorrent in a previous life.

As to her other point, while Severus had no real opinion on Miss Umbridge one way or the other, he knew that Professor Slughorn didn't like the witch so maybe there was some truth to this witch's mindset.

"I'm not sure she's worth a trip to Azkaban," he said dryly. "Umbridge I mean."

She gave that giggle again and he had to admit he didn't find it nearly as annoying as he usually might. He heard witches in the library and great hall giggling while they gossiped about whatever insipid things were up for discussion at that moment in time. From his understanding it had little to do with actual learning but instead makeup, wizards, and gossip. This wasn't like that, and her hair when she did it looked as if it, too, perked up in amusement. For some reason coming from her it didn't sound brainless.

"I suppose you're right. It's a good thing I didn't do more than lead her out to the centaurs then."

"You did not?"

Surely he would have heard about such a prank if it had happened to a fellow Slytherin. She could have been killed, so maybe it wasn't a prank. He shuddered to think of what the centaurs would do to a witch before killing her. Had this witch tried to kill a fellow student? And she was still here?

Was there no limit to what the headmaster and staff would sweep under the proverbial rug? Strands of her hair seemed to reach for him, almost dancing before him, as if trying to wave his thoughts away from thinking ill of its owner.

"Absolutely I did. I would never joke about that vile witch."

There was no tone of amusement or sarcasm in her voice. He had to assume she was telling the truth then.

"You are an odd witch," he said.

"Is that good or bad?"

She sounded cheeky with her question, as if she liked hearing him say that.

How odd. That hair of hers clearly reflected her pleasure, though, almost appearing to be petting her cheek and neck.

He wasn't sure, honestly, but it didn't seem to be a bad thing with regard to her.

"May I ask your name?"

"Hermione," she replied.

"Your parents loved you as much as mine loved me, I guess," he said dryly.

"Oh? And you are?"

"Severus," he said.

No reaction.

None.

He usually got one the first time he introduced himself because it was unusual. Was she a Gryffindor sent here by Potter and Black? Was this, in fact, a trap? Or maybe she just wasn't surprised because she herself had a different name.

It was possible.

She was quiet then and he wondered what was so off putting about his name. It wasn't unusual but not terrible. He'd contented himself years ago with it standing out, but he liked to think of it as original.

"Yours isn't much better, you know," he said as a reflex.

"No, don't do that, Severus. I'm sorry. I actually," she said, shrugging slightly.

She turned to look at him then, offering him a smile that made her eyes shine despite the redness still in them from the tears she'd shed. They were … nice to look into and betrayed her intelligence. This was no dunderheaded witch he'd stumbled across this evening. (She had stopped crying now, he noticed.).

"I like your name."

"You do?"

No one had ever said that to him in his life. He'd been laughed at and ridiculed for it more times than he could count. So many times, in fact, that between the teasing and the Marauder's nickname for him he wondered what his mother was thinking giving it to him. (And he was sure it was his mother not his father behind his name.) He'd never been complimented about it before, of that he was certain.

"It suits you. Strong. Independent. Unique. It's very nice to … meet you, Severus."

He noticed the pause there and wondered what that was about. Did he know this witch? No, he'd remember her. Her hair. Her eyes. He'd always assumed he was partial to green ones, but he liked hers. He'd listened to Green-Eyed Lady by Sugarloaf more times than he could count after he'd first heard it around the time he was ten. Before he started Hogwarts he knew.

"Did something happen today that brought you here?"

She brought him out of his thoughts of the green eyed witch he had once assumed would be his.

"Nothing worth talking about," he groused.

Like he was going to spill his guts about his embarrassment involving a different witch to a witch who was not only willingly alone with him but talking to him as well. Talking to him as a human being not as if she thought he was a street urchin. Or the way to a better grade. He may be suspicious of what exactly was going on here but he wasn't stupid. Other than Lily he'd never been this close to nevermind alone with a witch. None ever showed an inclination to want to get this close to him with other people around them even.

Silence fell between them. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but he was curious how he didn't know this witch.

"What are you reading?" he asked, eyes falling to the book that lay on the table between them. 

He tapped it with a fingertip, and felt the ends of her hair brush along the back of it. He jerked his hand away as a few seemed … interested for lack of a better word … to want to grip his finger in contact with the book, glancing at her but she seemed oblivious. Was she not aware of what her hair did?

"Oh, Carrie by Stephen King. He's a muggle author," she said.

"Ah," he said.

He'd heard of him, but hadn't read anything by him. His local librarian in Cokeworth told Severus about him when he was looking for new books to read last summer. She'd mentioned that he wrote horror novels. He hadn't been in the mood for horror so found other things to read. Life at his house was bad enough without throwing scary books into things.

"Is it good?" he asked.

"So far. I took it out from the bookcase." She gestured almost dismissively at the shelves of books he'd noticed upon entry in the room. "I always like to have a book on me and knew that I wasn't in the frame of mind to read non-fiction tonight. I'm not sure I'm in the mood for this right now either, which is why it's on the table."

"Oh?"

She shrugged, grazing a finger over the book in question, almost in the same spot he'd just touched. He felt compelled to watch her and he had no idea why or what was causing him to be so curious and interested about this witch.

What was going on? He'd been around dozens of witches the past five years and none piqued his interest. At all. Well, other than Lily.

Why her? Why today? Why this room? Why was he here? Why was she here? What was the castle doing?

She stood from the chair then and he realized that his first glimpse and impression of her hair did not do it justice. Riotous, yes, but rather glorious. He thought about what he'd observed of it so far in their short time together in the Room. It was almost as if it was sentient. He knew enough about the wizarding world to know that wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

Did she know that, he wondered.

And it seemed to … like him. The touch to his finger a moment ago had not been threatening or anything. He drew away because it was completely foreign to him to be touched.

She regarded him for a second and looked very much as if she liked what she saw. He'd never seen that look directed at him before but recognized it just the same.

He knew it well enough by now without question because he'd watched jealously as witches looked at other wizards in that way. She shifted her eyes to look around the room they currently occupied. Did she recognize him? Was it possible she did know him and he did not know her? He didn't ask, not wanting to sound crazy for such a ridiculous sounding question.

"Oh you cheeky thing," she murmured, stepping away from the chair.

He could see now that she was a rather petite thing, probably more than half a foot shorter than he was. He had no idea why she was accusing him of being cheeky, though. He thought, despite his mood before coming in here, that he'd been relatively polite. He stopped to ensure she was all right without just leaving the room.

"What?"

She scowled a bit at him, as if she knew what he was thinking.

"Hogwarts. The Room," she said, walking toward the potion equipment he'd noticed earlier. He stood then, watching her as she took in the equipment almost as fondly as he had when he'd first come in and seen it there.

"You like to brew?"

He was going to ask if she brewed, but anyone who was a student at Hogwarts brewed at least their first five years. Sixth and seventh years would depend on their OWL score. There was no question he'd be in Potions after this year. He could teach the classes more sufficiently than Horace Slughorn did. And more efficiently at that. Just like everything else, though, Headmaster Dumbledore seemed to look past the blowhard hanger-on who liked to gather people around him who could make him look good or do things for him.

"I do," she said.

"Not in Slughorn's little club, though."

It was a statement not a question. 

He knew that she was not. He would remember seeing her there for sure. He likely would have struck up a conversation with her if she was as capable as she appeared. Appearances could be deceiving, though. So perhaps she was not as good as she presented herself to be.

"Mm," was all she said.

He followed her to the table and eyed the ingredients laid out for them the same as she was. He knew exactly what various items on the table indicated should be made.

"It seems the room would like us to make some burn paste," she said.

He stepped closer to her and the equipment, pretending not to smell something fruity that he found he rather liked the scent of. He couldn't help but notice that underneath the fruity scent that had to be from her shampoo or soap she smelled like books, ink, Hogwarts, and surprisingly what he envisioned magic itself might smell like. He'd never met someone who smelled like that, but he just knew what it was on her.

She was right about what the potion the ingredients set out before them suggested. He'd already figured it out, but her doing so as quickly as she did impressed him.

"Have you made it before?"

"I have," she said. "Have you?" she asked, sounding very much as if she already knew the answer.

"Yes," he said. She'd probably be shocked at the things he'd made.

Not just made either, but made well.

"Shall we then?"

"Sure," he said with a shrug and a moment's pause deciding whether he, in fact, wanted to.

Normally, he didn't like to brew with anyone, but he was curious enough about who she was, her potion making capabilities, and what this room was (and what it might be doing) to make an exception tonight. He could always quit if she was too bothersome or incompetent.

He watched her from the opposite side of the lab table she'd chosen then as she analyzed the provided ingredients. She was checking for quality and contamination he noted with approval. She was not wearing her robes and was instead dressed rather casually in a pair of muggle jeans and a tank top. Her feet were bare, but he had noticed a pair of strappy sandals by the chairs. No jeans like he'd seen before, but it was clear enough that was what they were.

Looking closer at the witch now that she was standing and he could see her he noticed a scar starting at the neck opening of her top that obviously continued downward. Obviously, but he couldn't see the rest of it with her top in the way. He wondered what happened to her. It looked rather recent, not so fresh that he thought it had just happened but not something from several years ago either. He had enough scars to know what they looked like at various stages of the healing process. Shouldn't he have heard about a fellow student getting hurt so badly?

"It's hideous, isn't it?" she whispered, startling him from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry?"

"My scar," she said, running her index finger over the top of said scar.

"My apologies," he stammered a little.

He suddenly found his hands and the table very interesting.

She'd caught him staring!

He was usually more careful and discreet than that.

He felt more than just a little like a dirty barely pubescent wizard wondering just how far down that scar went. Did it affect the breast that it apparently passed through? Would she feel nothing there as a result? What would it feel like, he wondered? And did it all feel the same? He wasn't sure here if he was more curious about her scar or her breast. He'd never seen a witch wear a tank top. Come to think of it, like the jeans, he'd never seen a tank top like the one she had on at all. Would the part visible to his eye, and thus the elements, feel different than the rest that remained covered? He presumed it did anyway.

She probably thought he was perverted staring at her as he was. And yet she was still here and hadn't yelled or screamed at him despite his boldness.

How odd.

She'd only told him her first name but propriety dictated he address her by her surname. Now didn't seem the time to ask for it, though.

"Hermione," he said then. He knew he sounded cautious, waiting a minute before continuing to give her the chance to correct him for addressing her informally. It was foreign to him, exercising caution like this. "I didn't mean to stare. Is that how you found out about Lupin?"

She gave a snort.

"No," she said, glancing at him. "Nothing so banal as a werewolf scratch," she added.

"I'll say it again, you are an odd witch," he said with a shake of his head.

A werewolf scratch was banal? Where did this witch come from? What kind of life did she live that she thought that?

It was apparent she wasn't going to tell him more about the scar. He'd never met someone so … secretive. It was odd. She hadn't directly answered his question about being in Slughorn's club, he noticed. He knew she wasn't, but her answer had been dismissive, deflective. He knew because he himself was proficient at doing that.

He didn't push for an answer and she didn't volunteer information. Wordlessly they started to work on the burn paste. There were enough ingredients for them to each make a few jars, it appeared. It was quiet as they measured and prepared. The only sound he heard was the fire crackling softly in the fireplace over by the chairs.

He liked it.

It was a comfortable, companionable silence. Both glanced at the other once in a while to see what they were doing as they were both just about ready with various steps or stages near the same time. That was new to him, too. He was used to being the first one by a rather wide margin.

He didn't have a partner in Potions class and he preferred it that way. This witch, though, he thought that he could work with easily. She didn't get in his way or ask ridiculous questions to hold him back.

They made periodic conversation, but nothing deep or longer than a brief exchange between them. She seemed to enjoy being able to talk about the properties of slug juice or how fresh the aloe should be for the best results. These were things he didn't usually get to discuss either so he enjoyed it, too.

"Care to talk about it yet?"

His head shot up. Oddly, he did want to talk about it.

How had she known?

Confiding in people was not something he did. He'd come to the conclusion that he was pretty much on his own, and as it turned out by Lily being unwilling to even hear his apology all the way through he had been right in that assumption.

So, why this witch?

"As I'm sure you are aware I don't have a lot of friends around here. Only one really. One true friend I mean. I thought she was anyway. I was apparently wrong about that. I said something and she won't forgive me."

"That's too bad. And you've apologized?"

"Of course! Well, I've tried. I've known her since before Hogwarts, but she won't listen to anything I say."

"Ah," she said with a nod of her head. "And I take it she won't forgive you despite the attempts to apologize?"

"No! I don't know what more to do."

"May I ask what you said?"

He stiffened, regarding her. Why would she want to know? Was this a setup after all?

"I'd rather not…"

"Well, wouldn't you like an objective opinion on whether what you said was so bad that you don't deserve forgiveness?"

Did he? Is that what he wanted? He wasn't sure.

He, dare he think it, liked this witch. She seemed to be of the same mindset, or at the very least didn't find his company abhorrent. With one word he could ruin that.

He didn't want to do that.

Again.

He sighed heavily.

Here goes nothing .

There was nothing really to lose. Worst case scenario she'd leave, thinking he was as awful as everyone else already did. He'd be on his own.

Again.

Nothing new there. It wasn't as if they'd been friends for years or anything. Why she was being nice to him to begin with he didn't understand, but it was what he needed right now it seemed.

"Mudblood," he said clearly but not looking at her.

He surmised by her clothing and reading of a muggle author that she was at least from the muggle world if not muggleborn.

"Why?"

"What?" The question was clipped, short. That was not the question or response he'd been expecting.

"Why did you say it? I assume you had a reason, that you didn't just randomly call your friend that. So I'm asking what caused you to say that word and direct it toward her."

"Her hooligan friends caught me by surprise and embarrassed me in front of other students. They … exposed me. It was humiliating."

He shook his head, willing the images out of his mind. As if he hadn't been humiliated enough over the years. As if he didn't already know that he was from a poor family, that he was unattractive, and people thought because of his hair's natural appearance he didn't even go through normal hygienic efforts to try to make himself attractive. Or at the very least what they deemed as being presentable.

He knew it! That didn't mean he wanted everyone to laugh at him or treat him as less than because he hadn't been granted Black or Potter's looks and money.

"Mm. And she?"

"Tried to get them to leave me alone. At first." That was the part that was most difficult to swallow.

"Of course that was exactly what you wouldn't want. A witch riding to your rescue."

"Yes, exactly! I am perfectly capable of defending myself when two of them don't catch me unawares."

"I expect you are very capable, Severus. I have no doubt."

"Thank you," he said. "She joined in the taunting."

The last sentence was mumbled. If she heard, fine. If not, he wasn't going to repeat it. In truth, that part had stung more than just quite a bit. He'd thought she was better than that. That he'd meant more to her than that. That she didn't view him as lesser despite knowing where he came from.

She'd met Severus' parents, seen his house, and knew his financial means were not good.

And it seemed that she wasn't better than that. That he had overestimated her. That in Cokeworth he was acceptable but at Hogwarts he was not.

She was quiet for a while, but again she hadn't left or anything. He took that as a good sign. A sign of what he wasn't exactly sure. He was starting to question if he was a good judge of character at all.

"My opinion? Based on being a mudblood myself."

"Don't say that word," he said, pointing his pestle at her.

She smiled and her whisky-brown eyes glimmered with sincerity. He saw no evidence that she thought he was an arsehole. That relieved him for some reason.

"It's just a word, Severus."

"It's a hateful, hurtful word."

"You're right, Severus, but really words don't harm. I mean they can if you let them. I've been called that several times. Yet I didn't walk out of here or threaten to leave. I'm still here with you knowing that you've used it, aren't I?"

"And you've forgiven those who have called you that?"

"Well, there's one primarily who does, and he hasn't asked my forgiveness so no I haven't. However, if he did and I thought he was sincere, yes, I would. People can learn. People can change," she said. "What good would hating him do? Besides prove to him that he was right about me on some level."

"You are an odd witch," he said again.

She reached across their workspace and set her hand over his, squeezing it once again.

"I'm sorry she's unable to forgive you, Severus. It sounds to me like that's her issue not yours, though. If she can't forgive you for something spoken in a time of distress then to me she's not a very nice friend or person. We all make mistakes. Who hasn't said something somewhere along the line they wish they could take back? No one knows how they'd react under the same circumstances until they experience it for themselves. And, really, no two people are going to react to the same situation in the same way. In my opinion, no true friend would laugh at someone if they were being humiliated. Forget a true friend, a good person wouldn't do that. I can tell that you're a very private person so for it to happen in front of others would be very emotional and distressing for you."

"Thank you," he said simply, thinking over what she'd just said.

He'd never had another friend to know if what she said was true, but it seemed as if it should be. How pathetic was that? Sixteen years old and one friend to lay claim to. He would certainly forgive Lily if the situation were reversed. (Not that it would be.)

"You've given me something to think about," he said finally.

Silence again. He didn't find it uncomfortable, apparently neither did she. He liked that. Companionable silences were not something he had much experience with.

"Plans for the summer?"

"Nothing fun," he said.

"Tell me anyway," she said. "I promise I'm not going to tell anyone, Severus."

Somehow he knew that was true. Could he trust his instinct about her having evidently been so wrong about Lily? He sighed. It would be nice to talk to someone about the situation.

"It's my mother."

"Is she ill?" she asked.

She sounded as if she was truly interested, really cared. Who was this witch? No one cared about his mother. She was a pureblood who'd married a muggle, throwing her entire future away. A blood traitor. Certainly, no one cared about him or anything he had to say because his mother was viewed as insignificant. A betrayer to the wizarding world.

"Mentally, yes. I suppose years of being my father's punching bag has made her physically so as well. The two very possibly go hand in hand. I guess I'm not sure."

"I'm very sorry. I know that's not good enough," she said, watching him. "I am, though."

He looked at her, stared really which was highly inappropriate given the fact they'd just met and she'd already caught him staring once. He saw empathy in her eyes, understanding. He recognized it despite never having seen it in anyone's eyes directed at him before.

No one had ever spoken to him sincerely. Not really. They acted like it, but they were fake. He was aware of this. So many told him what they thought he wanted or needed to hear. Or what would get him to help them. She wasn't just throwing platitudes his way. She meant it. How he could tell that he wasn't sure, but he knew. He would never accept pity, but he didn't see that here.

"You mean it, so your sentiments are accepted. Thank you."

He wasn't sure how he knew that she did. He didn't know her and clearly he wasn't a very good judge of character.

He was quite sure after being let down from hanging from the tree he'd hit his head harder than he realized and he'd wake up shortly in Madam Pomfrey's infirmary to this entire thing, tonight and the past couple of weeks, being a dream or hallucination of some sort. He would remember having seen this witch at meals if nothing else.

"I don't know how I'm going to be able to afford it. That type of care is costly. My father doesn't have the means. Honestly, I'm not sure he'd help her anyway."

"I assume you are from a muggle town?"

"Cokeworth," he said simply, trying to hide the snarl.

"She is a witch, correct?"

Straight and to the point with her question.

No judgment or condescension toward his hometown. Interesting, as that wasn't the usual response. Cokeworth was about as common and poor as they got these days. It didn't used to be that way, but that didn't help him at all. People still saw a poor wizard and little else.

"How did you…"

She giggled again, shaking her head slightly.

"Yes," he muttered.

"St. Mungo's can't help?"

"I don't know."

He hadn't gotten that far. Pomfrey hadn't mentioned it, but he hadn't asked outright either. He'd sort of glazed over the facts when he'd spoken with her last.

"No family to assist?"

"No," he said through gritted teeth. A ridiculous question for someone who seemed to know things about him to ask.

Could she be more bothersome with the questions?

"Hmm," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that I presume she wasn't hatched by Horton."

"Who?"

"Horton. Dr. Seuss," she shrugged when he clearly didn't recognize this doctor she spoke of. "Never mind."

"You are one odd witch."

"So you keep saying, yet you haven't left."

"You are tolerable, despite the oddness."

He meant it, too. He had to say this was the most relaxed he'd been for this long at one time in months. Possibly years. He wasn't sure what about her made him comfortable. Maybe it was this room and not her.

Both?

He didn't know.

"Well, that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard, Severus. You're going to make my heart flutter."

"Oh, please," he said. "As if that's the only compliment you've ever received."

"You'd be surprised."

"Then the wizards you spend your time with are clearly dunderheads."

She giggled. This one wasn't soft and was clearly out of amusement.

"That is not at all a surprising opinion of Harry and Ron coming from you."

He wondered who Harry and Ron were. Were one of them courting her? Were both competing for the opportunity to court her?

He tilted his head a bit, regarding her as she diligently worked on the steps of the burn paste. He could see her being sought after.

She was attractive in an understated way. She wasn't aiming to impress anyone with her outfit for certain, but he could see the potential to very much impress in the right situation. Had she had the occasion to do that, he wondered?

He eyed her cauldron and nodded simply in approval. He had to stop thinking about her as a potential object of affection. That would not end well for him.

Obviously.

He couldn't compete with one other wizard let alone two.

"It meets your stringent specifications?" she asked cheekily, gesturing to the burn paste.

"It does."

It looked exactly as it should at this stage. He sensed she knew that was the case, too. Cheeky witch.

"So, your mother's family. You're sure there isn't anyone who would help?"

"I'm sure," he said, but then paused.

Was he?

All he really knew was what his mother had told him over the years. That she'd been disowned. That the Prince's would have nothing to do with her, or him if he would ever try to approach them.

Was it totally accurate?

He'd never thought it was anything but before now. He'd never had reason to. What were they going to do for him?

She had siblings he knew. He knew nothing about them, not even their names or genders. He just knew that she wasn't an only child.

He had aunts and/or uncles. Was there one who might be sympathetic and assist their sister? He lifted his eyes from his task, watching her. He still couldn't place her as a student here and imagined it was whatever this room was. It was doing something he wasn't meant to understand.

But why?

"Well, Severus, I still would think St. Mungo's would be a place to start. They take care of their people. Maybe Madam Pomfrey knows someone who would consult with you? You know, sit down, go over your mum's symptoms and condition without any pressure to place her immediately, tell you how much care would cost, etcetera. Maybe get some tips for things she can do at home herself if she's not in too bad of a way, though it sounds like maybe she is if you're talking of putting her in a home."

He gaped at her. He'd talked with Madam Pomfrey about options on where to bring her, but he hadn't spoken to her about ideas as far as a caregiver or someone who the healer might know who would take on or at least review her case personally. He hadn't even admitted to the healer who he was asking her on behalf of. The healer knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn't offer information he didn't want her to have. She'd learned early on not to push too severely.

Could she possibly know, or know of, his uncles and aunts to help in finding them to see if any of them would be interested in aiding their sister? They must have attended Hogwarts as well. Madam Pomfrey wasn't old enough to have been the healer while they were students but she could have known them as a student herself. Or just by reputation. He wasn't sure why it never occurred to him before now to even be curious enough to look for their pictures.

Out of sight, out of mind. They'd turned their backs on his mum - and therefore him - he had no interest in them.

"I will ask her, thank you, I hadn't thought of that as a possibility," he said simply. "And you, Hermione. Your plans for the summer?"

"Stay alive," she said simply.

She lifted her face to look at him and while he was focused on his cauldron he knew her eyes were focused on him. Watching him. Intently. He was rather proficient by now at knowing when people were staring at him. He wasn't used to this kind of staring, though, as if she was curious and wanted to know more.

"Bad things are happening, Severus."

He glanced up then to the scar he noticed earlier and then to her face. She nodded simply, answering his wordless question without words of her own.

He found himself wondering again who she was. Why did he not know her if they were the same year?

"That is an admirable goal."

What else could he say if she didn't, wouldn't, reveal more to him? She had said little about herself or why she might be in danger. She hadn't even said who she was in danger from so he couldn't really offer any advice. Clearly she knew how to defend herself to a degree if her claim to have led Miss Umbridge out to the centaurs was true.

"Yes. Sadly it's not just me I have to worry about keeping alive."

"Harry and Ron?" he prompted.

She giggled again. "You are a smart wizard."

"Are they muggleborn as well?"

"No. Harry is half-blood."

"As am I," he said.

She nodded simply in acknowledgement of his statement.

"I suppose you won't tell me how you got that," he said, gesturing to the scar.

She shook her head, pausing her work.

"I don't think that I should."

"You mentioned wanting to kill Miss Umbridge," he said, letting the question hang.

"No, it was not her."

"Are they still breathing?"

"Sadly, yes," she said.

He could tell somehow he'd struck a chord with that so let it drop.

They were quiet as they worked a bit more on their potions.

He loved this. Creating a physical form of magic.

Magic as a whole was great. He belonged here. Potions, though, to him was the best of both worlds. It took more than just waving a wand and saying the correct word to get a potion correct.

Suddenly, she slammed her pestle on the tabletop. He just about jumped at the sound in the, until that moment, very quiet room. Even their conversation had been subdued, rather quiet.

"Someone died today, Severus."

"What?"

What was she talking about? He would have heard if someone died at Hogwarts. One of the Slytherins would have said something.

She sighed. She looked distraught. Those curls, that hair, that he'd admired when he first saw them were moving of their own accord at the moment. She was mad. Not at him, but the emotion was there and legitimate. Somehow he knew that.

"I don't know what's going on. Why you're here. Why the Room is doing this for you. For us. One day you will understand who I am. Who died. Why I needed to come here and collect myself."

He was quiet, thinking over what she'd said until now leading up to this outburst. She hadn't said much, certainly nothing that he could repeat to anyone else to gain information as to her identity.

"This person that you mentioned earlier that you thought you knew. Was he a suitor?"

She scoffed, but blushed and her hair seemed to … reach for him. He didn't feel threatened by it or anything, but it definitely was focused on him. "No, in my dreams maybe, but no. He is just a crush."

"On your behalf or his?"

"Strictly mine. He would never."

"Don't be so sure, Witch. You are clearly intelligent, competent, and strong."

He assumed she was strong based on the fact that she was still walking despite the scar that reflected a very bad wound. He went through his mind again, trying to figure out if he'd heard of any students being as severely hurt as she must have been. He hadn't, though.

"Yes, well, he would never. Trust me."

"His loss."

"I wish," she murmured and he went back to work, pretending he hadn't heard. So evidently not Harry or Ron.

"May I ask something?" she asked after more silence between them.

"I wager you can."

"What were you thinking before you came in here?"

"I'm really not sure. My thoughts were all over the place. I guess primarily a failed attempt to get Lily to accept my apology led me up to this hallway. Solitude. I thought she was my friend and had accepted me. I'm not a nice person by nature. I toe the line between light and dark. I can acknowledge that. I don't believe dark magic necessarily means evil and I like knowledge. I want to know…"

"Everything," she said.

"Yes," he said, knowing somehow this witch understood.

He'd never met anyone else who understood his thirst for knowledge. Lily had, to a point. As intelligent as she was, though, she wasn't in his league. If only dark wizards learned about dark magic. Well, how could anyone expect to defeat a dark wizard? Certainly in order to defeat an enemy you had to know what they were fighting with. If more had the knowledge maybe it wouldn't have taken years to defeat Grindelwald.

"So you were looking for a friend? Acceptance?"

"I'm really not sure. I guess. I admit seeing her and others paired off with witches and wizards, the idea of my own witch has merit."

"Only because others have one?"

"Well, yes. I mean, no. I'm rather alone. Sometimes I wish that I was not. I am not friendly, but I think for one person I could make an exception. I would like to do better than my father."

How else to explain it? He wanted to have one, too. He wanted to know someone accepted him. He wanted to get something out of this place beyond torment and ridicule. His mum obviously had enjoyed Hogwarts and magic. Why she gave it up for his father he didn't understand. He wanted love. Something he'd really never had. He wanted to belong.

He wanted to be good enough for these things taught but he was made to feel as if he wasn't worthy of having them himself.

"I understand that feeling."

"You sound as though you have friends."

"I really only gained their friendship by lying when I was attacked by a troll."

His eyes darted to the scar again.

"No," she said cheekily.

Trolls. Werewolves. Centaurs.

Was there anything this witch hadn't encountered? He could admit to being a little … envious.

"At least you have them. No one around here wants anything to do with me unless I can do something for them. Brew a potion, teach them a spell, help them with their homework."

"Which really translates into you doing their homework for them."

"You know this phenomenon?"

"I do," she said with a nod of finality. "Before Hogwarts I didn't have anyone either, Severus. You had Lily, I didn't have that. I thought when I got my letter that it explained everything. My inability to make friends. I was different and surely by coming to Hogwarts I'd meet others like me and finally be accepted. Finally meet people who understood me."

Her eyes were on him again. He could feel it. He was guessing she hadn't found the acceptance she'd been looking for any more than he had. How could a school that was magical be so exclusionary? He knew exactly what she meant, too.

"Severus, I'm glad you had Lily, even if she is no longer your friend. I'm sorry that she won't forgive your mistake. She's not the only person who cares, though."

"Thank you," he said softly.

More silence that wasn't at all uncomfortable, causing Severus to relax a bit more.

"Severus?"

The question came a little while later.

"Yes, Hermione," he said.

"What year are you?"

"Fifth," he said. "You?"

"Sixth. You're in the middle of your OWLs, I presume?"

He snorted. "Yes. How many did you pass?"

"Ten," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry, did you say ten?"

"Yes."

"Ambitious. What didn't you test in?"

"Divination."

He scoffed. "I don't blame you. And you continued all of them this year?"

"Yes."

"What was your favorite this year?"

"Honestly," she asked.

"Please."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Really?"

An odd choice for certain, and interesting as they were just talking about the fact dark magic does not equate to someone having knowledge of it being evil.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure I can say."

"I see," he said, frowning slightly.

Why was she so secretive? Why did he care? Why did he want to know?

"May I ask why you believe that you were misguided on your trust in the individual you were lamenting about earlier?"

"I thought he was on our side. I thought that everyone who said he wasn't really just wanted him to be evil. I thought I was so smart and knew better, but it turns out my logic was faulty I guess. I'm just not sure how or where it happened."

"And now you doubt yourself?"

"Yes. He is the reason the other person I mentioned earlier is dead."

"Oh," he said with a frown.

He tried to recall reading about a particular death that would have upset this witch, but he couldn't. The Daily Prophet reported all sorts of suspicious things, but he couldn't imagine any of them being taken so personally by someone their age.

"And you believe it was intentional?"

"That's what I'm being told."

"Who do you trust more? Yourself? Your instincts? Or who told you about the events?"

"I thought I trusted me and my instincts, they haven't steered me wrong yet. He's saved my life even though I've done things to thwart his efforts." She got an almost wistful smile on her face. "I set his robes on fire my first year. Then solved a riddle of his, which I'm sure rather wounded his pride. I stole items from him my second year. And generally did everything I could along the way to inconvenience him and his efforts to keep us safe."

"Yet he still did? Then I'd say stick with what hasn't failed you yet."

"He could be evil! He could be betraying us to the Dark Lord right now."

"Do you think he is?"

She sighed, slumping slightly from the proud way she'd been standing a moment ago. She didn't seem to like being asked that question.

"No," she said meekly.

"Why?"

"Like I said, he's saved my life so many times already. I stole from him. He could have seen me expelled I'm sure but he not only did not do that. He did nothing. He saved us from Remus. Why do that just to turn on us?"

"I don't know, but maybe you should try talking to him."

"He's gone!"

"Oh," he said.

He pondered that for a moment. Had a student left recently? He hadn't noticed, but that didn't say much. He hadn't heard any gossip about a student killing someone, and certainly someone in Slytherin would have been talking about it if it had happened. Wouldn't they have?

"Trust your instincts, Hermione."

"I wish it was that easy, Severus. Lives are at stake. The wizarding world is at stake. Forget just the wizarding world. My parents' lives are at stake."

"Hermione."

"I wish I could tell you everything. If what I think the Room has done is right, well I can't. Or rather I guess I shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

She finished her portion of the burn paste and closed the distance between them. She cupped his cheek with her hand and it felt like nothing he'd ever experienced before. It was warm, yes, that was to be expected. It was so much more than just the warmth of her palm against his cheek. Her hair was around her wrist, the ends brushing against his cheek like a caress.

He felt her magic. He had no idea how he knew that's what it was, but he did. She was the first person who'd ever touched him completely of their own free will. That in itself was pretty fucking magical. He couldn't even recall the last time his mother or father had touched him without malice behind the gesture.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go, Severus."

Wait! She was leaving? Had he done or said something wrong that she wanted to go?

"I'm glad to have met you, though."

"Me, too, Hermione."

"Good luck on your OWLs, though I know you don't need it."

He snorted softly.

She turned then and he watched her walk to the door.

Are you really going to just let her leave?

"Wait," he called and she stopped.

That hair of hers reacted as well.

Happiness.

He wasn't sure how he knew that was the emotion it was reflecting, but he did.

"Can I walk you to your common room?"

He closed the distance between them, hoping she'd let him do at least that much.

"No, I'm sorry. You can't. Not tonight anyway." She glanced at her feet and shrugged. "Maybe one day. I'd certainly like that."

He scoffed! Could she not answer him directly about anything?

"Is that supposed to make sense?"

"I think when you're supposed to you'll understand quite well. In fact," she said with a slight tilt of her head as if she was thinking about something. "There will come a time this conversation will make sense to you. You'll know what I'm talking about, whose death. When that happens, meet me at St. Patrick's Catholic Church at eight o'clock Saturday morning. I presume you're familiar with the church I speak of. If not, you will take the time between now and then to find out where it is. You have time."

She leaned in, kissing him lightly. She lingered a bit, so it wasn't just a peck. It was, dare he say it, nice. Nice enough he wished she'd do it again when she drew away.

"Stay safe, Severus Snape."

"You as well, Witch."

His eyes widened, realizing she'd said his full name.

"I don't know your last name or which house you're in."

She was already gone, though. She'd left her portion of the burn paste behind, he noticed.

He looked from hers to his and realized that he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between the two if he hadn't been sure which was his. Hers was so good, in fact, he'd have no qualms in using it, which he could not say was true about anyone else he'd worked on potions with.

"What an odd witch," he mused again.

"So what was the meaning of this?" he asked the Room. "Am I supposed to understand when I'm to meet her at that church?"

He looked from the table they'd been working at to the chairs they'd started out in. He realized she'd left her book behind. He went to the table to grab it. It'd give him a reason to ask around about her without seeming even more pathetic than he likely already did mooning after Lily for years. He was kind of embarrassed about how … desperate he probably seemed to everyone observing their interactions.

Desperate and pathetic.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

He didn't know who Harry or Ron were, but surely someone had to be aware of one of the three of them.

He paged through the book, noticing on the title page that it had been autographed by the author. So the book would be valuable to her. Presumably anyway. Surely she'd want it back then. He turned to the next page, glancing at the publishing information for some reason.

"1983?"

He glanced at the fireplace, the chairs, and the potion equipment. She'd left her sandals behind, too, he just now noticed.

"What is the meaning of this?"

He was repeating himself, he realized but he had no idea what else to say. She wasn't here to ask. Clearly, the Room. The Room of Requirement wasn't going to answer him. And yet it had allowed them to meet. She'd claimed it had never done that before.

How could she possibly have a book that hadn't been written for seven years?

Was the witch, Hermione, from the future? Would he have to wait seven years to see her again?

He thought over their conversation. The things she'd said. She knew about the Dark Lord. She knew Lupin's secret. She knew his name.

"Who is she?" he asked the Room.

NOTE: I know Carrie was first published long before 1983, however, I was able to find that there was a release printed in 1983.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com