This was inspired by that scene at the beginning of the 7th film, with Severus Snape standing high up in the castle, looking down over the grounds of Hogwarts. It was such a bleak moment and he looked so lonely there that it made me wonder what was going through his mind – whether he had made up his mind at that moment that he would not survive the war. I felt it would be too painful for him to live beyond it.
Well, anyway, it's my first ever fic, so be kind! But all constructive criticism is welcome.
I couldn't decide whether to make it a one-shot or not. I have a vague idea that I might write 3 short epilogues with different outcomes for Severus' decision… or I might leave it to stand as it is!
All characters belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.
Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood on the ramparts of Hogwarts Castle and watched the full moon high over the Forbidden Forest. At a quarter to midnight, the school was so silent he could hear the cold wind rustling through the bare branches, even at this distance.
In all his years here, as student and as teacher (with hardly a gap between – this had been his home for nearly 30 years), he'd never experienced this unnatural silence.
The sound of absolute fear. Abruptly, he turned away; fixed the blank expression that he always wore in public these days. Never show emotion. He strode through the castle, robes billowing. His senses were on alert as always; he wouldn't put it past one of those abominable Carrow siblings to be following him.
Ever since the anonymous note had arrived on his desk, his mind had been whirling and he had feared an encounter with a fellow legilimens, or worse still a summons from Voldemort. He'd kept to his office and tried to focus on paperwork.
He knew the writing – oh, yes, he couldn't forget that neat script, even though she'd written in block capitals to try to disguise her writing. He'd seen it too many times, on meticulously researched, carefully written essays that were always far too long (did students think he had all night to mark, for Merlin's sake?). The note had clearly been charmed to be read only by him and it had turned to ashes after 10 seconds. Just a place and time given. The Shrieking Shack. Midnight.
Granger… a vision of bushy hair, buck-teeth and that annoyingly prissy voice assailed him. Clever witch, but probably the most irritating child that had ever graced his classroom. He remembered the overgrown teeth caused by Draco's hex, and her tears at his comment: I see no difference. A mirthless smirk crossed his face as he took his own private route to the ground floor. Silly little girl – did she really think he would be able to show any sympathy to a muggle-born in the presence of the Malfoy boy?
He hoped she'd grown up a bit since then. He had no time or patience for over-emotional hormonal teenage girls, obsessed with their looks. Chances were that half a year on the run with Potter and the Weasley boy had matured her. In truth, he was impressed that they'd survived this long – clearly there was considerable forethought and some impressive magic being done to keep them out of the grasp of the snatchers, and he couldn't believe that either boy was intelligent enough.
How the hell was she going to manage this? The gates to the grounds were guarded by Dementors. If she tried the Hogsmeade entrance, she'd be captured within seconds of apparating into the village. She couldn't apparate directly into the grounds.
And… why would she risk it? He'd avoided thinking about the so-called 'golden trio' as much as possible. He knew they were out there, attempting to achieve Merlin knew what – some mysterious scheme of the old man's involving that wretched sword. Unless Dumbledore's portrait raised the topic, he tried to keep out of it as much as possible – the less he knew, the safer they were.
It seemed incredible to him that she would risk capture now. And could he risk it? For all he knew, she'd already been captured – was this a trick, was his loyalty to the Dark Lord being called into question? But then wouldn't the note have been more obvious? Wouldn't it have been a more open plea from a former pupil to a teacher suspected of being a fellow conspirator? Or…wouldn't the Dark Lord be more subtle?
Could he take the risk?
For most of the day, he'd oscillated between determining not to go and being drawn back to the temptation. He'd concluded in the end that it was too dangerous – he couldn't risk betrayal after so many meticulously planned years as a double-agent. Not on the whim of a teenage girl, anyway.
In the end, he did go.
He Disillusioned himself and stepped silently into the grounds from a hidden exit near his old dungeon quarters – a route he'd used many times in his days as Dumbledore's spy. He strode quickly across the moonlit grounds towards the Whomping Willow, keeping in the shadows as much as possible.
As he crept down the passageway to the Shack, he cursed his curiosity. This was a crazy decision; he was risking his own life and the cause, and for what? Stupid, stupid little girl…
He reached the room where he'd had that encounter with Black years ago and hesitated. If she was going to be anywhere, it would be here.
All was pitch black; there was no obvious sign of occupation. Well, Severus, it's now or never… Counting to 3, he performed a non-verbal Lumos and strode into the room as the light flared from his wand.
Suddenly, his wand shot out of his hand. He spun, half-crouched, and stopped as a small figure stepped out from behind the door, his wand in her hand.
"My apologies, Professor. I couldn't take the risk."
Really, Miss Granger? I'll see your non-verbal and raise you a wandless non-verbal.
He raised one hand imperceptibly and both wands shot towards him. She was thrown back against the wall with a satisfying thud.
He strode towards her, trademark sneer in place. "Are you entirely stupid, Miss Granger? You do realise that I could touch this mark to alert the Dark Lord? That would bring an end to your pathetic escapade very quickly, now wouldn't it?"
She peered up at him from her position on the floor, with narrowed, calculating eyes. "You could."
There it hung between them. He could. Yet, somehow she, of all people, knew that he wouldn't. Where did that assurance come from?
They stared at each other for a moment. His wand was pointing at her face; she crouched on the floor, tense and ready to flee.
"What mark did I give you for your fifth year Potions exam?"
She blinked at the sudden question then shrugged. "An Acceptable. And a warning that it would be a Troll next year if I insisted on merely churning out facts from the text book in my usual know-it-all fashion."
He sneered. "Happily for you, I never had the opportunity." He stepped forward and dangled her wand from his index finger. "And I suggest you put that away, Miss Granger, before I'm tempted to change my mind about calling the Dark Lord."
She sighed, pushed herself up and reached out to take it. As she stepped forward into the dim light from his wand, her features could be made out in the gloom, and it was the eyes that struck him first. Large brown eyes in a pale face smudged with exhaustion. The hair seemed to have calmed down somewhat and was scraped back into a ponytail. Her body was thin but wiry under her grubby sweater and jeans, but there were curves that he didn't recall before – or perhaps they had been buried beneath her school robes. There was a quiet strength about her; strength and wariness. As well she might be wary.
Ah yes, Miss Granger had grown up. Most definitely.
He sighed, suddenly exhausted. Much to her obvious surprise, he sat on the edge of the filthy mattress in the small room.
"Why are you here? You are not stupid, so you must know how dangerous this place is for you. There are alarms in Hogsmeade especially designed to pick up your magical signatures – any of the three of you." He rubbed his face, wearily. "The only reason there aren't Dementors swooping down on you at this very minute is because I have refused to allow the Death Eaters to have any control here."
She raised her eyebrows. "That's not entirely true, is it?"
He laughed; there was no humour in it. "You've heard about the Carrows? Believe me, they are the least of your worries. There are worst things in this world than inexpertly cast crucios, believe me." Or at least crucios that have been watered down by my own counter-spells – not that the students know or care, he thought, bitterly.
She hesitated momentarily before perching on a rickety rocking chair, her body still alert.
"I'm here because…" She hesitated, gazing at her hands, then looked up at him, intently. "Because you are in danger."
He stared at her in shock then suddenly laughed out loud. He couldn't help it – he was incredulous. "You are not serious, surely? Miss Granger, I have been in danger every day of my life since before you were born. Have you had a sudden … epiphany? What makes the danger any greater for me today?"
She frowned, gazing at the floor. "I know this is going to sound ridiculous but… well, Harry has been getting dreams again. We thought they had finally stopped, but last night he was in V – in his mind again. And he's got plans for you. We – I thought you should know, that's all."
"I see." He noticed what wasn't said in that speech. Potter and Weasley would be happy to let him rot. They'd hardly have gone out of their way to help him even before he killed Dumbledore, but now… He eyed her, intently.
"And what makes you think it is worth risking your personal freedom, to say nothing of Potter's, to inform me of that fact?"
"I couldn't let an innocent man die when I had the knowledge to make a difference." Her voice was level and calm now, but she seemed unable to meet his eyes.
He laughed again. "Innocent?"
Her eyes flashed up to his. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he registered that they were light brown, almost hazel, with long dark lashes. He didn't think he'd been close enough to notice before… or perhaps simply not interested enough to look. This new Granger was hard to fathom – for years, she'd been merely an irritating sidekick to the detestable Potter. Apart from habitual classroom sneers, he didn't think he'd addressed her directly before.
"Yes, innocent." Her gaze was knowing and there was a faint impression of a smile about the lips. "Give me a little credit, Professor. Don't you think I noticed the Headmaster's hand? And when Harry told us about the hor-" She stopped abruptly, as if aware that she was giving too much away. "Well, let's just say that it became obvious to me that Professor Dumbledore did not have long to live… and that he would hardly wish to fade away gradually or put us all at risk through his weakening leadership."
She stood and began to pace, restlessly. "I didn't realise at first, of course. But, bit by bit, it began to make sense to me. I haven't talked to Harry or Ron about it – things haven't been all that good between us at times, and I knew they wouldn't take it well. But… well, I knew that you wouldn't have killed Dumbledore unless he had wished it."
She stopped pacing and faced him expectantly. Clearly, despite her words, she wasn't quite sure and she looked to him to confirm or deny it.
He could deny it – could call the forces of evil upon her; could leave her to her fate. And he would be safe – as safe as he ever was these days. But…
He made up his mind and looked directly into her eyes. Let her see the truth in my eyes. Let someone believe in me, just for once.
"You are right, of course," he replied, evenly. "I suppose I should not be surprised that Miss Granger, of all people, should realise the truth."
She drew a shuddering breath and her face broke out into a smile that was almost dazzling in its intensity. "I knew it! I knew you would never betray us!" She leaned forward, eyes shining.
For an instant he lived in those shining eyes and felt the force of her joy… Yes, yes, believe in me…
Her hand reached out towards him, and he shrank back instinctively and felt iciness descend once more.
"You realise that your knowledge makes you dangerous, not just to yourself but to me too. If you are caught, so am I, and this school will fall into much harsher hands than mine."
Her hand dropped and she looked away, sobering instantly. "I understand." Her voice was colder, more business-like, and he caught a glimpse of the steely resolve that had clearly kept her going during several months on the run from terrible danger. She seemed to take a moment to get her emotions under control. When she faced him again, her eyes were guarded.
"Anyway, I couldn't live with myself if I hadn't at least warned you. He –", she swallowed. "He intends to kill you when you are of no further use to him. Harry thinks he intends to use Nagini."
That repulsive serpent. Severus repressed a shudder. He'd seen it in action enough times – the thought of being its next victim made him want to vomit.
He forced himself to look at her. "Very interesting," he responded, forcing levity into his voice that he did not feel. "But tell me, Miss Granger, what am I supposed to do with this information? I am the Dark Lord's creature." He spat the last word out. "If he chooses to dispose of me in such a manner, there is very little I can do."
"You expect to die." She gave him a level look. "It is not your intention to survive this war. Is it?"
He sighed. "I never expected to survive this war. My purpose for the last 20 years has been to be as useful as I can for as long as I can. I never expected to survive Dumbledore."
"But you did survive! You did!" And suddenly she was kneeling in front of him, clutching his arm. He flinched, but didn't pull his arm away. Her face was close to his, her eyes glittering with some strongly repressed emotion that he didn't dare try to interpret.
"Don't you see? You're a survivor, Professor. You can survive him – you can."
Despite his self-control, he could feel himself getting caught up in her emotion. He took a shaky breath and tried to steer the conversation into a safer direction. "Rather pointless to call me Professor now, is it not?"
She leaned back on her heels, shrugging. "What else am I to call you? You are my potions professor – that's all I know you as. That's all you've ever been to me, no matter what happened on the Tower that night."
"Is that all I mean to you?" He couldn't help himself. He almost knew, but he needed to hear it.
She flushed slightly and looked away defiantly. "All." The word was a whisper.
He clenched his fingers to stop them from trembling, and deliberately made his voice steady. "You are a poor liar, Hermione."
Her head shot up at his deliberate use of her first name, and she stared at him in disbelief.
He grimaced. "Even you would not risk Potter's safety for your 'potions professor'. You are too intelligent to take that risk. Your head wouldn't let you…but your heart…well, that's a different story. I used to think you were wasted in Gryffindor, but now I am not so sure."
She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes fell to the floor, clearly unable to look at him and see the dawning comprehension in his face.
He reached over and placed a finger under her chin. Her head came up and he saw unshed tears in those warm eyes. "Professor – I don't… I don't know why…"
"Neither do I," he croaked, his voice suddenly choked. Whatever he might feel for her, this little girl - not so little, not such a girl his traitorous inner voice told him – he couldn't help but be moved by her feelings. When was the last time that someone had felt anything but contempt for him; when had anyone willingly interacted with him without necessity? It was an indulgence but for a moment he revelled in the feeling.
His thumb gently traced her cheek; he noticed her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into his touch. "You are a fool. You know that, don't you?" He sighed and took his hand away from her face. "You have allowed yourself to develop feelings for a dead man. What is more - an old man, ugly in face, and thought, and deed."
He got up abruptly and she shrank back, still on her knees, as he started pacing angrily. "Any association with me would corrupt you. You think you can redeem me?" He stopped and faced her. "You are wrong. Some things… some deeds…can never be redeemed. You should wish me dead – do you know why? Because then you can mourn me, elevate my memory, do whatever the hell you like…and then move on. Marry a Weasley, have a family, finish your education, change the world for the better."
He knelt in front of her and clutched her hands. "Do not allow yourself to have feelings for me. Please, Hermione – Miss Granger?"
She breathed out, wonderingly. "You called me Hermione…"
"Oh hell," he bit out. He backed up, got to his feet and held his hand out to her. "Stand up, please, H- Miss Granger. Now is not the time, believe me."
"Then when is the time?" Her eyes flashed with sudden anger.
"Never." He sighed at the frozen look on her face. "Look, Miss Granger, I am…flattered by your feelings. I cannot say, in all honesty that I return them…that is to say, if there were time…if I could…" He abandoned the dangerous path of his current thoughts. "Look, the reality is that you – we are in a war and this is a dangerous place for you to be. We should not be wasting our time discussing what can never be. I have schooled myself to expect death, and death is what I will receive. You – you can escape death. You have a chance to live. Do not waste that chance."
"But, don't you see? Now that you know what the future holds, can't you change things? Alter the odds in your favour?" She stood in front of him, her eyes intent. "You're still a potions master, Severus. If anyone can find an antidote, it is you."
He noted the Severus with one part of his mind, but didn't allow himself to dwell on the luxury of those syllables falling from her warm voice.
"Even if I could find the time…" he turned away. "What difference would it make? I don't have enough information, Hermione. And how would I administer an antidote? I might be in no condition to save my own life, even if I could brew the means."
She turned away from him and raised her shaking hands to the back of her neck. He watched curiously as she released the catch of a long silver chain and pulled it out from under her jumper. She turned back to him, took his hand and dropped the chain in his palm.
"What is this?" It resembled some kind of charm necklace. There were several small items linked onto the chain. Squinting carefully, he could see that they were small, exquisitely crafted vials with silver stoppers.
She gestured towards them. "Shrinking charm. If you do manage to create something, you could store the contents in these vials. 3 taps on any vial will enlarge it to normal size, 3 more will shrink it again, and they are charmed to only respond to you or me. This one-" she pointed at one vial that had a gold stopper instead. "This is an unregistered portkey. It will transport you 1 mile in any direction, which might be enough to save your life. Just turn it 4 complete rotations anti-clockwise."
"This is advanced work…" he murmured, impressed.
She shrugged. "I worked on it last year. I was hoping to submit a proposal for an advanced research project combining Charms and Potions. My 2 favourite topics…" She hesitated, clearly thinking wistfully of her ruined education, then shrugged. "Anyway, it seemed a good idea to take it with us when… well, you don't need to know that. The main point is the unregistered portkey. Oh, you needn't worry – I have another, in case we need it."
He had been about to return it to her but dropped his hand again at her last words. It was not such a bad idea really… And he still had those notes that he'd made about Nagini's venom after Arthur Weasley had been bitten. Yes, it was possible…
"Will you do it?" She was looking at him intently. He could drown in those warm brown eyes, he realised… Had anyone ever looked at him quite like that?
Pushing the treacherous thoughts from his mind (wrong time, wrong place, just plain wrong in every way) he pocketed the chain and turned away, deliberately brusque. "Possibly… Miss Granger, I appreciate the visit, but you will be putting us both at considerable risk if you stay any longer. How do you intend to leave? Or… actually, you should not tell me. The less I know, the safer you are."
He heard her shifting around, clearly uneasy. "I know that. I have a way…"
"Then I suggest you use it." He kept his back turned; it was easier that way. "Good night, Miss Granger."
He heard her move away. That might have been it but for the instinct that caused him to blurt out, "Miss Granger… Hermione… we may never meet again, but I would like you to know that you were always one of my best students, even if I was unable to convey that to you. You were always – you were –" He couldn't complete the sentence; the words choked in his throat.
He heard her soft steps coming towards him. He shut his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.
Her voice, when it came, was close to his right ear; the warm air of her breath fanned his neck. "You have a chance to choose life… Severus, please choose to live, please… Not for me, not for anyone else… but for you. Make that choice."
She grasped his arm and he froze as she stood on tiptoe and touched warm dry lips to his cheek for a moment. His eyes squeezed shut and he shuddered, releasing a trembling breath. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone.
Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, pressed a finger to that point on his cheek that still tingled with the breath of another living being. His other hand reached into his robes and clutched a small silver chain.
And Severus Tobias Snape, at the age of 38, decided to live.