Summary: One shot, complete. Hermione muses on the problem of standing too close to someone to see the whole picture. Never one to be shy, she then takes direct action. Could be added to, but would need massive reviews ( numbers not necessarily length) in order to persuade me.

Disclaimer: Not making a knut from this, all characters and settings belong to the Goddess aka JKRowling.

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Have you ever tried being so close to someone that you touch noses? Your mother perhaps, or a loved one in an intimate moment, gazing into their eyes as they come closer, until your vision blurs and you can see only a fuzzy shape, feel their warm breath and know that you are loved. I remember, in a moment of perfect clarity, the smiles and laughter as my mother and I played this game. As she came closer she filled my vision, the colour of her eyes a greenish blur, she was my world.

In hindsight I realise that was how I saw him. The persona he wore was not subtle, was pushed in our faces to prevent us seeing anything else, to protect us. He was the hated professor who made our lives hell, for no reason, for nothing we ever did warranted his treatment of us. But, even my reasoning brain could not see past the fictions he spun in order to keep our vision short. His eyes mesmerised us, our attention straight and close, never allowing us to wonder off and see the real reason, the real person.

That's the trouble with being so close. Even the face of your mother becomes distorted, a skin coloured blur obscuring all else. You know her, you know the face mapped in your mind's eye, and yet the contours shift beyond recognition. You see only a barely recognisable imprint of the whole. And that is how we saw him, how I saw him.

I stand back now, returned from fighting in a war which although won has cost us so much. So much time and talent, so much blood and tears, wasted on the ego of a mad man, of a mad wizard. Not a good combination that, the power and the insanity feeding each upon the other until they form a mass of evil that spills out, tainting all it touches, corrupting life itself. It has touched him, worked its insidious presence into his blood and bone, and yet he has resisted. He has fought for us, protected us with his life, given everything for our cause, and yet.....

We stood too close, seeing only the blur of black robes, the smirk, the sarcasm, the distaste and hate that emanated from him. Too close to see the reasons, even when we had them spelled out to us, his loyalty explained. We were children, but that is no excuse, we were simply too close.

His head snaps up and he focuses on me, eyes narrowing until all I can see are dark, glinting slits. He is suspicious, uncomfortable in this new world free from the Lord he served obliquely. But, he recognises the girl in the woman he sees before him and he relaxes, slightly, enough to be contemptuous. It is only Granger, she is no danger to me, I can see the thoughts as they chase across his face.

And that is the trouble with standing too close. He has only seen me as a blur, has only seen the schoolgirl, the brain, the friend of Harry and the Gryffindor. He hasn't seen the person, the thoughts,..... the danger. For I am dangerous to him, I am the seer, the one to break though the veil he weaves around himself. I have seen him for who he is, and although he still fills my vision, my sight is clear.

I smile slightly and walk towards him, my heart pounding as I take the first steps that he would never dream of taking. Catching my mood he straightens, defensive posture coming to the fore as his sixth sense is obviously screaming that he is the prey being hunted. His eyes never leave mine, keeping their dark gaze intent on mine, questioning, seeking answers to my presence, to my attitude. I have nothing left to say to him, I am not sure I could explain why I feel compelled to do this, to try this, with him. I am within a step of him now, his head tilted slightly, his lips pursed as he swallows an acid remark, the question very clear although no words have been spoken. His wand is clutched tightly by his side, although I never saw the movement that brought it from its hiding place, held tightly in a tension filled grip. He should be afraid, I have every intention of changing his world, and no threatened hex would be able to stop me in this moment. I bring my hand up the cup his pallid cheek, smiling at his start of surprise, and gently rub my thumb across his cheekbone, tracing the lines of his face.

"Severus" I whisper, I have longed for this too long to keep dumb, and am gratified by the softness that enters his eyes. How did I not see them before, I wonder, as I finally meet the man I have known years and teach him how to see me.

Please review, like Snape I hate to beg, not a pretty sight, especially when the mascara runs....mine, not his, although it would explain the beautiful long black lashes of his........