He remembers her first year. He remembers the first time he saw her. All bushy hair and jutting teeth. She was actually quite adorable in her own way. An ever present expression of determination upon her face, contrasting greatly with the chaos that was the rest of her. And even then, her constant need of approval was tragic, if not a little pathetic. She was trying to be the best in a world that would never accept her as such, even though she did a fine job of succeeding most of the time. But her brilliance would become her hindrance, stunting creative growth, along with the ability of connecting to her peers. Eventually, she would find her niche, and as it happened, her niche would be the only thing he truly despised about her. But no matter how much he wanted to give her a pat on the shoulder and a smile for her efforts, he could do nothing but give her derisive comments and sneers. For first and foremost he is a spy, and the role he plays has to be top priority. Giving her anything but nastiness would give Lucius a reason to speak to him, and for god's sake, he'll put that off as long as he can. That's not even taking into consideration what it would do to his reputation among the Death Eaters. Both now and in the future. Because he knew. He knew as soon as he set eyes on the horrible Potter boy. Dumbledore is right, and The Dark Lord will return.

And so the year went on. While he waited impatiently for the winter break of the term, he continued to teach complete idiots, all except one. And continued to suppress the paternal urges she inspired in him. Paternal. He gives a mental sneer. That is not an adjective that anyone would associate with him. But then no one knew, did they? No one knew what he felt as he looked at her. She reminds him of himself. Her books get ripped out of her hands in the hall. Other children snicker as she walks by. She's been tripped, poked, had her hair pulled. And the most he can do is watch. It became apparent that the two she considered her friends were not her friends at all. Or at least it became apparent to him. He saw the looks they would give each other behind her back, and he saw her handing them her homework to copy from. He even heard them on an occasion.

"Oi, mate. Glad to be without that Hermione around for a tick."

"I know what you mean, Ron. I don't think I could handle being corrected in spell pronunciation another time today."

"Once we get through exams, Bushy Hair is on her own"

And they laughed. He honestly didn't think it was possible to more revolted by the two of them than he already was. He stood corrected.

And so again, the year went on. It was one afternoon potions class that changed everything. After a particularly difficult lesson, not that it actually was, the dunderheads, Miss Granger was injured. Being her abnormally kind self, which Snape had noticed she was indeed that, she tried to help Neville Longbottom properly dispose of his atrocity of a potion. While doing so, he spilled most of the contents on her arm. Needless to say, there was chaos. Her shouts and tears ignited jeering and laughs among the Slytherins, and therefore enraged yelling from the Gryffindors. They weren't even on Granger's behalf, she was simply an excuse to exercise some of the famous house rivalry. He silenced them, ordered them out, and then slammed the door. Granger was still crying. He rushed to the back of his stores to retrieve the proper salve and made his way back to her.

"Miss Granger, let me see." It was said in the softest of commands, and the shock made her tears slow a bit.

"I-I can-can't roll up my sleeve P-Professor S-s-snape." It was pitiful. It was the first time he felt such sadness for another in a long time. All over a silly little burn.

And so with a swoop of his arm, she was in his lap. Still such a small little thing. I always forget how young the first years really are. With a couple waves of his wand, her sleeve was removed and the door was locked. Can't let anyone see the evil potions master being caring, he internally sneered. Her tears had moved on to whimpers, and she was looking at him with her big, confused, teary eyes. He looked away.

"The pain will be gone in just a few moments, Miss Granger. The rub will twinge."

She said nothing while he applied it. But after a while, she laid her head upon his shoulder. Though shocked, and therefore half tempted to snap at her because she caught him off guard, he continued to apply it in silence until he was finished. The shock had turned to warmth, and he could almost cry himself. Pathetic. But even with that thought, it didn't change the fact that he had never known such a trusting and affection gesture. He fixed her sleeve, and gave her a few soothing pats on the back. What the hell is happening to him?

"Thank you very much Professor."

He knew she had noticed. Noticed how truly unusual this was. He heard it in her voice, the way his title was said. Her tone was filled gratitude and awe.

"You're very much welcome." He picked her up again and set her on the ground. He had no idea what to do next. What just happened was slightly inappropriate, no matter how platonic his feelings were. But he didn't regret it. He finally gave Granger a little of the affection she deserved. Affection he had for his favorite student. He might as well admit it. Just to himself though.

"Professor...if...if I might...what I mean to say..." she paused. He could tell that she feared whatever came out of her mouth next would anger him. He hoped it didn't as much as she.

"You don't despise me." It came out in a rush. Immediately after her head was bowed and her cheeks were pink. Once more his affection rose, as did his sadness on her account.

"Miss Granger. I do not despise you. But I can not show that I don't. You're a very bright witch. I know you understand what I'm speaking of. You know the house which I lead." She nodded her head in understanding. He wondered why the hell he was explaining anyway. But once again, his head contradicted his actions, and he continued.

"If you find yourself in true trouble Miss Granger, you may come to me at any time. But I cannot praise you in class, nor can I help you. Before you protest (he read it right on her face), even the brightest need help from time to time. Now, with that being said. You would do well to restrain yourself from answering every question. You give them reason to taunt you. And while you're working on that, ditch the dimwitted duo." At this she giggled, even further endearing her to him. But enough is enough, and it was time for her to go. He walked back to his desk and wrote her a tardy slip. He sealed the wax with his signet ring and handed it to her. She looked up at him, and her eyes were filled with true, unwavering respect. What a darling child.

"Now off you go. No word of this to anyone, you understand. Try and keep cloth off your arm as much as possible. It needs air."

"Yes sir, thank you sir. I won't say anything, and I won't let you down." She took the slip, threw her arms around him in a lightning fast hug, and bounded out of the now unlocked door.

He did not speak to her again until Halloween. In class, she had made an effort to tone down her incessant hand waving. She still answered most questions though, but he appreciated that she took what he said to heart. As far as he could tell, she had failed to get rid of Potter and Weasley, but then again he had never expected her to. Sometimes, when having a particularly challenging day, be it from academics or the children around her, she would manage to catch his eye. Though he never smiled at her, he tried to convey as much sympathy as he dared into his gaze before looking away. It seemed to help her. But he still berated himself internally. He was Severus Snape, and he felt sympathy for no one. But even telling himself so, he couldn't harden his heart to the child. She was the first in a very long time to care about what he thought. And he treasured it.

On the day of Halloween, she wasn't in class. And it worried him, despite trying to tell himself otherwise. On the night of Halloween, she wasn't at the dinner feast. He told himself he only happened to notice, that he wasn't looking for her when he had scanned the Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasley carried on as usual. He didn't try to pretend that he wasn't disgusted they didn't notice her absence. She was only ever around the two of them. How callous they were. Surprise, surprise. And then there was Quirrel, and he didn't even have time to have an internal debate or monologue. He had to save his favorite student from a troll. He did as was instructed by Dumbledore, and in a whirl of events he found himself in a lavatory with Granger, Potter, Weasley, and his colleagues. He saw red. His Student was shaking and whimpering, obviously terrified, and he knew what had happened. He almost made a move towards her, but caught himself just in time. Though not quite quick enough that the headmaster's twinkle was shot in his direction. But it was gone almost as soon as it was there. Back to the matter at hand. It was time for explanations. His Student looked into his eyes. He knew she didn't know what to do. He gave her a look that clearly meant "Tell the truth or else". She lied. And he found himself wanting to be angry with her but still not managing it. Dumb friends were better than no friends. And so he turned his glare onto the true culprits, and made sure to put as much hate and violence into his eyes as he could. They flinched and looked terrified. Good.

He was charged with escorting the children to their dorm. He watched closely as the two dunderheaded fools tried to piece together what to next. Granger walked the closest to him, and he understood that she was worried she had made him angry with her. And so when the two delinquents were already inside, he gave her a brief pat on the shoulder when she passed. She made an audible sigh of relief, but she did not look at him. Sly.

The rest of the year he would care not to remember. Robes on fire, quite literal two-faced villains and stones. Not to mention more injuries on His Student's part. It didn't matter. He began to think of second year.