Harry Potter and his world belong to JKR.
Hermione woke up in the middle of the night, the room silent except for the crackling of the firewood in the grate. She turned onto her side to face the fire and pulled the blanket up to her neck, her eyes glistening with the reflection of the flames. She was wide awake and knew that she would not be able to quickly return to sleep. Her stomach was in knots as her thoughts returned to the memories she and Snape had viewed together the night prior, and everything that had happened since.
Snape's reputation was, if possible, worse among the students now than it had been before the battle. In the past few months, anyone with ties to Voldemort - anyone with a Dark Mark, especially - had been tried for their crimes and sent to Azkaban. All, except him. The details were not released publicly but Harry had petitioned for Snape's charges to be cleared, and despite public outcry, they were. Unsurprisingly, Snape was not forgiven by the students for his short reign as Headmaster or for the terrible things that had happened during that time. However, most were at least somewhat content to see him retire to his post of Potions master and Head of Slytherin House, where he could do no worse than give the occasional detention and assign horribly long papers.
Harry had not wanted to tell Hermione anything about Snape's memories, and it had made her curious about what they held. What could have redeemed Snape in Harry's eyes? What could Snape have possibly owed Dumbledore to have been his spy, all these years? It must have been something powerful. She could see that Snape would bend his will to no one else's unless forced.
And then, as she took care of him over the summer, Hermione realized that she had begun to have certain, slightly uncomfortable feelings towards Snape, that she had developed a kind of... fondness for him. She had told herself that this was only because she had saved him, and to save someone from death would create a bond that was not easily broken. However, her desire to watch his gestures, to listen to him speak, to discuss things with him like she was his equal, lasted far longer than the time it took for him to get well, beyond when classes had commenced. She could not help but feel that she was in the process of discovering him in a way that few - perhaps no one - had before. Bringing him back to health had required a certain physical proximity that had evolved into an intellectual closeness. And this - for Hermione - had become an emotional closeness, too.
She was deeply confused by her emotions. Logically, they made very little sense. How could she seek his approval when he had been so cruel to her when she was younger? How could she expect him to regard her as an equal considering the seemingly unbridgeable age gap? He was her professor. She could not allow herself to feel this way.
But she had watched him sleep. She had wiped away his blood. She had felt his skin. She could not take these things back, and she could not forget them.
But she knew that it was perhaps not quite the same for him. She did not think he had ever been fully comfortable with her presence, not really. He had initially been so - embarrassed, by how close her face was to his when she lent over him to check the progress of his wound, her fingers applying a cooling paste to his maddeningly itchy, healing neck. He would turn his face as far from her as was possible, his jaws clenched, his eyes staring at the wall blankly as though she was not there. But she had looked forward to their conversations, the moments surrounding those where she brought more poultice and he drank his potions, once in the morning, once in the evening, and she began to think he did too. She did not give him any indication of what she felt, and he did not betray any desire for her to stay longer, but she could tell. Over the weeks she had begun to remain by his side for more and more time, never more than was appropriate but long enough for a healthy conversation, and he had never asked her to leave, never signaled the end of their exchange.
There were, of course, plenty of things to discuss in the aftermath of the war. He had asked about the hunt for the Horcruxes, how it had happened, how they had succeeded. Over time she shared their adventures, explained how they had entered the Ministry and stole the locket from under Umbridge's nose. Then how they broke into the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, Hermione herself posing as Bellatrix, freeing a dragon in the process and flying out upon its back. Snape's expression had been intense, unwavering, almost unbelieving, his brows furrowed, his black eyes piercing. So much of it must have seemed improbable, a combination of skill and luck that upon retelling made her question how on earth they had ever succeeded. She did not speak much of the night of the battle, only to say they had destroyed the goblet, found and dispatched the diadem. She mentioned that Neville had destroyed the snake, the idea of such a thing having really happened causing Snape to go white, his most inept student killing the monster that had so nearly killed him. She did not feel he wished to think about it.
She had asked him about his part only occasionally, for he seemed reticent, as though he thought the less she knew, the better. He spoke in vague terms of the Dark Lord's wishes, of his own subversive actions. It had been so interesting to her, the small pieces he revealed allowing her to see the whole picture, their complex shared history. The parts they played in this story had been so deeply, so unknowingly intertwined.
And in those weeks she spent caring for him, she had begun to see the man that Snape really was. She believed now that the sinister character he played was only that - a character - and not who he truly was. It made her desperately sad that he seemed unable to shake this persona, as though he had Transfigured himself into it so long ago that he was unable to break free.
Parts of him, piece by piece, began to show themselves, things she had not expected to see. He was witty. He had a kind of dry humor, a different perspective that was often times amusing to her. He also seemed quite thoughtful, conjuring a pillow so that she could sit comfortably in the chair beside his bed, offering water or tea when he had been well enough to get to his feet. He was obviously intelligent, and he knew quite a lot about many things, more than just potions or the Dark Arts. But he was not arrogant, did not pretend to be all-knowing, a fault she knew she herself had from time to time. He was inquisitive, interested in her ideas, and did not imply that he held all the answers. He had seemed very interested in her, in how and what she thought. She had never been able to speak to anyone before about the books and the theories that made her mind buzz, not without some eye-rolling or subtle gibes at her passions, and here she was finding intellectual companionship with the Hogwarts Potions master.
She wondered if he, too, found some kind of solace in her company. He did not seem to write letters or leave his chambers, and it made her question whether he was truly alone, whether there was a single person who even cared that he had survived. She wondered whether she had in fact been the only person to speak to Severus Snape throughout that long summer, she the only one to pass over the threshold and into his private sanctuary. She thought it possible that she had been the only person to meet his gaze - to have touched his skin - in a very long time.
It was the subtle gleam in his eye when he looked at her. Yes, she could see it - the way his eyes lifted when she entered the room - and she could see how he would abruptly hide it, as though ashamed.
There was something in his eyes, she thought. A stoniness that belied a deep melancholy, and - not a weakness, but - a sensitivity, at all times, to how he was perceived by those around him. A holdover from his time spent as a spy, when his very life depended on convincing those around him whose side he was on. However, it seemed to go even deeper than that. Now reflecting upon what she had seen in the Pensieve, perhaps a holdover from his childhood, when he had grown up under the eye of a man who caused him only fear and shame by the mere fact of who - or rather, what - he was.
And sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she had the feeling as though his mind was prodding hers, softly, testing it, as though attempting to determine friend or foe, as though he could read her thoughts like they were pages in a novel, quickly looking away when he held her gaze for a moment too long-
She could feel it. She had thought she was imagining it for some time, but she could feel it now, the gentle probing, the feeling of someone's mind pressing up against her own. She froze. The warmth from the fire had vanished and she, moving ever so carefully, pulled her wand out of the pocket within her robes.
Hermione in one motion sat up, placed her feet on the floor, and pointed her wand where she knew he was standing, between her and the fire. When nothing happened, she shot a red spark out of the end of her wand, and watched as its path was deflected. Without a word, he twisted his wand to remove the Disillusionment Charm, his free hand open wide to show he held nothing in it. His wand, however, was pointed at her.
The look on his face was one of shock and horror. From Hermione finding him in such a compromising position? From what he had gleaned from her thoughts?
The silence was heavy, oppressive, an entity of its own. They both lowered their wands, but neither looked away.
She broke the silence first, as he knew she would. "Professor, why..." she trailed off. Why are you attempting to read my thoughts in the middle of the night? Why are you hiding it from me?
"I heard you rouse. I did not wish to alarm you," he clipped, his wand still at his side, his knuckles white. "I wished to ensure the potions I administered were causing no ill effect."
His words struck her as unconvincing, and as her mind raced, part of her wondered if he had wanted her to discover him. He surely was too good of a spy for this. "I am not a first year; I know when someone is practicing Legilimency," she accused. "It's... it's hardly appropriate."
He finally broke from her gaze, blinking as though he had been staring into the sun, and then swiveled his head to look back at her. It was his turn to become accusatory.
"Why did you touch me, Miss Granger?" He stepped away from the fire, towards her, his wand raised slightly, before side-stepping away from her, keeping his back to the wall.
She was taken aback. "I don't know wha-"
"In your memory," he explained, darkly. Hermione found herself avoiding his gaze, her mind racing. "I find that to be hardly appropriate, to act as though you had special dispensation to do what you wished when I was unconscious, completely at your mercy. Why did you touch me?" he questioned. He leaned forward again, his hand gripping the arm of the settee as he stood, his penetrating stare finding her although she would not return it.
"I... I don't know, sir," she responded, her voice hardly above a whisper. It was both true and a lie. An answer that wasn't really an answer.
"You... don't know?" he repeated, the slightest tone of mockery in his voice. A question that wasn't really a question.
Then she looked up at him, and he had that look. That look of unimaginable pain and sadness the he would allow, briefly, to overcome his face. He swallowed, his chest heaved. And then it was gone.
He looked away again, releasing his grip from the arm of the settee. "Goodnight, Miss Granger," he growled, slipping into the shadows as he opened the door which led to the dungeons and exiting through it.
Hermione's heart raced as she stared after him. What had just happened? She laid down, staring at the ceiling for quite a long time before she was able to fall asleep, unsure whether he would return, unsure what she was feeling, unsure why exactly she had touched him all those months ago.
.
.
.
The sound of clattering in the kitchen woke Hermione from a deep sleep early in the morning. She turned over and sat straight up, her eyes heavy from exhaustion. They focused on Snape, who did not seem to acknowledge her presence.
She folded her blanket and left to take a shower. His lavatory was small but neat and the water in the shower was hot and soothing. She put on a set of freshly laundered school robes, straightening her shirt and tie so that she looked respectable before sitting down in front of the fire to dry her hair.
Snape had made a pot of tea which he drank from at the table, while reading a rather large book. A plate of pastries, teacup, and saucer sat at the opposite end of the table to him, and Hermione, assuming they were for her, took her place there.
He set down his book and eyed her as though seeing her anew, as though he did not know what to make of her. "Tea?" he offered. She nodded, her eyes downcast. The teapot floated towards her, and she noticed that the tea changed color as it poured into the cup. Noting her interest, he explained, "It's a kettle which will make the sort of tea most agreeable to the intended drinker."
She sipped and nodded, for it was true that she had wanted a strong tea to wake her up, and that was exactly what had come out of the teapot. It was very unlike him to attempt any small talk at the best of times, however it seemed particularly strange after the events of last night. Clearly, he was just going to pretend as if nothing had happened, and she would have to follow suit. "It must have been expensive," she murmured, nibbling at a croissant.
"Yes, normally, however I have inherited this one."
She looked up at him. "But, it would have had to come from your mother's side of your family."
She expected him to be angry with her for bringing it up, but he wasn't. "And? My mother was not disinherited when she married my father. They gave her a few family tokens." There was another pause.
"Professor, if I may ask - how did you receive your mother's memories? From when she was young, from before you were born."
He sipped his tea before answering, simply, "She gave them to me."
Hermione bit her lip before saying, impudently, "Why won't you tell me where she is now? Is she..." She almost couldn't say it. "Is she still in Azkaban?"
He stared at her, and she detected a bit of anger in his tone. "Miss Granger, there are several reasons why I do not say. Most importantly, to understand the present requires more knowledge of the past. Some things must be delved into rather than skimmed through on the surface." He stopped, and then said a little more forcefully, "Because, Miss Granger, some things require you to have a little more knowledge, a little more patience, to be able to understand their full meaning." Lowering his voice, he continued, "If you wish, I believe we have time for a few more memories before classes commence."
She nodded, wondering why he would reprimand her and then go on to give her exactly what she wanted. She was altogether unsure what her standing was with him.
Hermione waited until he finished his tea before standing up, gathering her things, and walking with him through the cold corridors to his office. He closed the door behind them, locking it as she placed her things on a work table. She turned towards him and watched him extract his own memories, his face almost pained as he did so, before he tapped them into the Pensieve. They stood together as before, pressed their faces against the surface, and dove into the memory.
A young Severus Snape sat in a clearing, dressed in his school robes. He was leaning against a tree, bent over a book which he was reading intently, his quill now scrawling a note in the margin of the page. It looked to be a sunny spring day, the wind blowing softly, daffodils growing in clusters below the trees.
Hermione heard footsteps approaching, last autumn's leaves crunching underfoot. Snape looked up, scrambling for his wand, pointing it towards the sound.
"Hey Sev!" came a voice, a red-haired teenager appearing from in between several bushes. Her schoolbag was casually slung over her shoulder, and her green eyes glimmered when she saw him. "How did I know you'd be here?"
"Oh, Lily - hey," Snape said, his eyes darting around, as though he expected someone else to appear, before settling back upon her.
Lily... Lily Potter? Hermione wondered to herself, immediately knowing without being told that it was indeed her. It was true - Harry really did have her eyes.
Lily then noticed Snape's wand pointed at her. "Well, what's that out for?"
"Sorry," Snape responded quickly, embarrassed, lowering it. She had moved to sit near him on a patch of moss. "I thought... I thought it might have been someone else."
"James?" she asked, her hands grasping the strap of her schoolbag and moving it over her head. When he didn't respond she rolled her eyes, tucking her disheveled hair behind her ears. "What a git. Has he been at you again?"
He seemed embarrassed again. "Don't worry about it, it's really nothing." Before she could protest, he asked, "Why were you looking for me?"
"I just wanted to ask you about that assignment Slughorn gave us - it's rather difficult, don't you think?"
He face fell slightly, as if he had been hoping for another reason. "Well, it's fairly straightforward, if you realize that wormwood is basically the same as quinine in Potion-making, and has very similar properties."
"Oh. Is that all?" she asked, annoyed that she had missed such an easy connection.
"Yes - that's all," he confirmed, closing his book and placing it in his own schoolbag.
"Well, now I just feel silly," she said, giggling.
"'Silly Lily,' like your mum says," Snape replied, his lips turning up at the edges. "But really, it's not so obvious as all that. Hey," he said, sitting up straighter, "I was wondering if - now that you're here - we could practice that spell again?"
"Again?" She looked displeased, her mouth twisting to the side. "But we've already done it loads of times."
"Yeah, but not properly, not the way it says in the book, and we were nearly there last time!" Seeing that she didn't look so convinced, he plied her with, "It would look really good for our O.W.L.s, don't you think?"
"I suppose so," she assented. "But it's a lot of effort, for something we might never use in real life."
His mouth now twisted to the side, perhaps an unconscious mimicking of her. "I mean, defending yourself against the Dark Arts is useful, isn't it? Who's to say that you won't ever need to use it?"
She crossed her arms. "What's with you and the Dark Arts, Sev? Is this Avery and Mulciber getting into your head, again?"
"No!" he exclaimed, indignantly. "It's just, you know - it's so fascinating, isn't it?" When she didn't reply, he continued. "It's... true magic. It's wizards and witches pushing themselves to the edge, experimenting. And it's all so unknown - it's changing all the time. And besides," he said, "I kind of, you know... I find that my other classes are kind of boring. I feel like I kind of know it all, already."
She pursed her lips. "With talk like that, I'd say the size of your head will be rivaling James's soon."
He looked distraught, then angry. "I'm nothing like James!"
She instantly seemed sorrowful. "I'm sorry, Sev. I know you're not."
"The Dark Arts is just something new, something interesting," he said, with a note of finality, as though he didn't want to discuss it anymore.
"I know that you might see it that way, but I think Mulciber is less interested in understanding the nature of the Dark Arts and is more interested in how he can use it to be cruel to first years."
"Well, I'm not Mulciber," he retorted.
"But you're basically condoning what he does. You act like he's your best friend!"
"You're my best friend!" he exclaimed, and then reddened slightly, as though he regretted saying it.
She, too, reddened at this, but didn't say anything for a moment. Then, she murmured, "I just don't see Dark witches and wizards everywhere I look." He glanced away, as though her last words had hurt especially. Her green eyes dropped to the ground, and then rose back to him. "Oh... I guess if it will look good for our exams..." His black eyes met hers. "Let's give it another go then, shall we?"
He nodded cautiously, and they both got to their feet.
"Do you remember the words?" he asked, shaking off the leaves stuck to his robes.
She looked at him with a peeved expression on her face. "Of course I do - we've only practiced it about a thousand bloody times!" He grinned, the tension between them broken.
"All right then - you first."
She turned away from him, facing the clearing, and closed her eyes. She planted her feet firmly, took a deep breath, and began to let it out slowly in a quiet hiss. After a moment she raised her wand, twirled it, and exclaimed, "Expecto Patronum!" A white mist issued from her wand, hanging over them. It condensed into a form, an animal with four legs, although it was not very clear what it was meant to be, and quickly disappeared. Her mouth hung open. "Did you see that, Sev?" she asked, amazed.
"Give it another go!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide as well. "You're almost there, I think!"
She immediately went to hold her stance again, closed her eyes, concentrated, and uttered the words. This time, an animal erupted fully formed from her wand, leaping forth, its legs long and slight, before it stopped and turned its wide mournful eyes to both of them. It was a doe.
"See, I knew you could do it!" he exclaimed, a big grin across his face.
"Woohoo!" she shouted, raising her hands in the air in delight, pleased and in awe with her magic. She could not believe she had managed it. "You try, you try now!" she ordered, joyfully, excitedly, putting one hand on Snape's arm and another on his back. Her eyes never left the graceful doe as it bounded around the clearing.
Color had risen to his cheek and he too closed his eyes, concentrating, before he spoke the words, "Expecto Patronum!" A mist burst forth from his wand and it transformed, settling itself slowly into the figure of an animal. An animal which, he realized, was identical to Lily's. It too was a doe.
"Well done, Sev!" Lily exclaimed, enthralled. He looked stunned, almost abashed, watching his Patronus bound alongside Lily's. "That's a bit funny, isn't it?" she said, a smile still across her face. She removed her hands from him, standing at his side and looking up. "What are the chances that it's the same for both of us?
"I don't know," he said quietly, watching as their Patronuses both vanished suddenly, like a light going out.
The memory, also, faded away.
They now stood at the foot of the castle, and Hermione watched a memory play out before her that Harry himself had recounted to her, the memory he had seen in Snape's Pensieve during the last of his failed Occlumency lessons. She watched as who she could only assume to be James Potter hit Snape repeated with hex after hex, watching him fall over, helplessly scrambling for his wand. She watched as Lily strode up to them, angry, demanding that they let him go. But then she watched as Snape called Lily a Mudblood, watched her face grow livid and then taut before she left him to James who, free to bully once more, suspended Snape in mid-air using the Levicorpus spell.
A pack of Slytherins descended from the castle, their eyes trained on Snape and James.
James spied them, quickly removing the spell he had placed upon Snape, who immediately fell to a heap on the ground below. Snape gasped, the wind having been knocked out of him, and he found his wand with his right hand. He had nearly landed on it.
James stood, his wand pointed outwards, before turning slightly away, his face trying to hide the fear he most surely felt. He looked so much like Harry, Hermione thought.
Sirius, who was standing behind him, also stiffened. Remus closed the book he had been reading.
"Not so fast, Potter!" shouted a hulking figure at the front of the group of five. James raised his wand, but was not prepared. "Everte Statum!" shouted the Slytherin, the spell hitting James and knocking him backwards to the ground.
Sirius now raised his wand. "Mulciber, you stay out of this!" He was immediately disarmed by a member of the group of Slytherins, who were nearly upon them.
"Furnunculus!" a blond Slytherin shouted, and his spell hit James straight in the face as he was trying to sit up. Red boils appeared on his skin.
"Nice one, Avery," Mulciber complimented.
From his sitting position, with one hand over his face, James immediately retaliated with, "Petrificus Totalus," taking out one of the Slytherins.
Remus was now standing, his wand out too. "Stop, or I'll take away House Points!" Peter looked upon the group before him with terror.
"One rule for us, another for your Gryffindor pals?" taunted Mulciber, at once hitting Sirius with a body-bind spell. Sirius hit the ground with a thud. "You'll need to take away points from Potter and Black here first, Lupin. I feel it's only fair." Remus looked to be at a loss.
"Impedimenta!" exclaimed Avery. The spell hit James, who was now frozen.
Mulciber approached the Gryffindor, slowly, as though thinking through what it was he would enjoy most doing to his victim. Finally, he placed the tip of his wand flat to James's stomach and issued a Stinging Hex, one so strong that the Impedimenta spell broke and he fell onto his back, wheezing. The Slytherin took the opportunity to kick James, quite forcibly, in the groin, and he could only roll over, groaning. Finally, a Langlock jinx was cast upon James, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he sounded almost as if he was choking.
Mulciber leered above him. "Hopefully you'll think twice about messing with Snape again, Potter."
A slim, brown-haired Slytherin extended a hand towards Snape, who accepted it and was pulled to his feet. Snape stood now, having watched it all. He didn't say a word.
The group of teenagers walked up into the castle, and Hermione and Snape followed behind them as they descended into the dungeons, then into the Slytherin boys' dormitory.
Hermione watched as they congratulated themselves on their victory, taking their cloaks off from around their necks.
"Did you see Black's face when I got him?" Mulciber asked Avery, gleefully. "It was almost too easy." He then looked over at Snape, whose thin face appeared blank as he sat on his bed. The dark green curtains above him hung down from the black ceiling, partially obscuring him. "Snape," Mulciber called, waiting for him to turn around. He did, his black eyes searching the other boy's warily. "Look - I know that it's hard to fight back when it's two to one, but you should be more prepared. I know you like reading your books and all, but it doesn't really matter how much you know if you're not able to actually protect yourself."
"I am able to protect myself," Severus spat back. Hermione sensed that his self-pride had been deeply bruised.
"No - you're not," Mulciber retorted.
"We just saved you... remember?" asked Avery, rhetorically.
"And we're not always going to be around," Mulciber continued. "You know a lot of stuff, but that's not really important if you can't actually use it." He stood up now, moving to the bed in front of Severus, sitting on it and facing him. "You need to get ahead of the game. You need to be able to strike first, get Potter and Black and the rest before they get you." Avery had also followed Mulciber, and stood at his side. "Maybe... make them a little afraid of you."
"Afraid of me?" Snape spat again, clearly irritated. Avery and Mulciber exchanged glances.
"Yes." There was a pause. "Remember Lucius Malfoy?" Avery began, quietly. "He was in his last year when we were first years - he was Head Boy. I saw him over the Christmas holidays. He told me himself, he knows someone... there's this man who calls himself Lord Voldemort. Or, the Dark Lord. He has a following, a group of people called Death Eaters, and they practice the Dark Arts."
Snape was, by this time, paying close attention to Avery. "What do they do?" he asked.
"Whatever the Dark Lord asks," explained Avery, pleased that he had piqued his interest. "What he wants to do is finish Slytherin's work. He's a powerful wizard, and thinks only pure-bloods should be allowed to perform magic."
"I'm not even a pure-blood." Snape looked dejected.
"Some say he isn't either," replied Avery, glancing around furtively. "But as long as you're interested... Snape, face it. Your favorite subject is the Dark Arts, and Lucius says we would learn everything we need to from this man. Things that would make James Potter's hair stand on end," he said pointedly. "Voldemort's supposed to be brilliant, and I think he's exactly the one to support now. He's starting a revolution in magic, and we want to be on the winning side," he said, smiling wolfishly. "Don't we?"
Both young men faded from view and in their place Hermione was shocked to see Snape at Dumbledore's feet, on a dark grassy hilltop. The wind was blowing so hard she struggled to hear what they were saying.
"He thinks the prophecy means Lily Evans! He is going to hunt her down - kill them all-" It took Hermione a moment to realize he spoke of the prophecy that doomed the Potters, and she felt sick.
"If she means so much to you," Dumbledore said, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her?" He paused. "Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"
"I have asked him-"
Dumbledore's face was dark, hardened. "You disgust me." Snape looked away. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"
Snape looked broken. "Hide them all, then. Keep her - them - safe. Please," he begged.
"And what will you give me in return, Severus?" The Headmaster loomed over him, furious yet controlled.
"In return?" Snape's expression was desperate. "Anything."
They faded, and a circle of cloaked men in the clearing of a wood now appeared. The nighttime mists swirled around their feet. In the center stood a thin man with features that were sharp but elegant, a hooded cloak casting the rest of his body into obscurity.
"We have an initiation ceremony tonight," he breathed, his voice soft and cold. "It is not often that we have the chance to add another member to our number, so this is truly a cause for celebration. Severus," he said, beckoning forth one of the cloaked men with the slightest curl of his fingers. One of the figures stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal a length of smooth black hair and kneeling down at Lord Voldemort's feet.
"My Lord," he acknowledged, his unwavering voice a pitch higher than normal.
It seemed as though Voldemort could sense his fear, for he asked, "Any apprehensions, Severus?"
Snape shook his head. "No, my Lord."
"You are well aware that you are pledging your life to your duty. You shall answer to no other master but me."
"It is how it should be, my Lord," he responded, his head still bent towards the ground in respect.
"And so it shall be, Severus. Your arm," he ordered. Snape pulled up the sleeve of his left forearm, exposing the white skin which lay underneath. Voldemort's thin hand gripped Snape's left wrist as he placed the tip of his wand to the skin. Suddenly, a trail of blackness issued from the wand, burrowing into the skin, and Snape cried out in agony. Hermione gasped and stepped backwards, her shoulder hitting Snape's. She looked away, unable to watch him being tortured. After the longest time imaginable had passed, the cries stopped and she turned back towards the group of men. He was doubled over on the ground, clutching his arm and cradling it, and as he fell unconscious the scene changed again.
Snape was now sitting at a wooden kitchen table in a cramped apartment, a light bulb hanging from the ceiling above. Next to him was his mother, looking weathered and unhappy, dressed in a long faded blue gown.
"She's not in Azkaban?" asked Hermione, breathlessly. Snape did not respond, but instead circled the table for a better view. She followed him, intently watching the two people at the table. The younger Snape held a reddened washrag to his forearm, too ashamed to look at his mother. He removed it to inspect the wound again and Hermione had to avert her gaze. It looked as though someone had cut a pattern into his arm with a knife, the edges discolored and black.
Eileen shook her head, tears in her eyes. "Severus... why?" Her voice cracked and tears welled up in her already red eyes. "How c-could you?" She looked as though she had been crying for some time.
Snape looked even more pitiful than she did. "I... I had to. I didn't have a choice." He put his right elbow on the table and his head in his right palm, looking as though he too would burst into tears.
"Severus, there's always a choice, whether you see it or not," she cried desperately. She got up, placed her chair next to him, and then pulled him close. Even though he was a grown man, he laid his head against his mother's shoulder in compliance.
The room faded away, and Snape was now standing in Dumbledore's office. He and Dumbledore were arguing, and Hermione noticed the Headmaster's black limp hand lying on his desk.
Hermione watched as Snape pulled out his wand and a white doe burst out of the end. She, suddenly, remembered that Tonks's Patronus had taken the form of a werewolf when she had fallen in love with Remus. It had been nearly twenty years, and yet...
She realized abruptly what it meant. He had always loved her... he had always loved Lily. Everything he had done for Harry, he had done because of his love for Lily. As the word "Always" slipped from his lips, Hermione's eyes stung. To love someone for that long, and that strongly, was remarkable. It was a bond that could never be broken.
She turned towards Snape and looked into his eyes; they were deep and emotionless as always. She, however, found herself unable to cope with the feelings bubbling up within her. Feelings of sadness, helplessness, and... jealousy? Why had he been so keen to show this memory, this memory that proved the depths of emotion he was capable of, of holding onto for years?
Hermione recognized that, somehow, it was his way of drawing the line in the sand. Of telling her, without having to use words, that whatever she was feeling, whatever she was hoping, whatever he had read in her eyes last night, simply could not happen. The truth was, he would never love anyone but Lily. Hermione felt ashamed that she had allowed herself, however fleetingly or unknowingly, to believe that it could have been any different.
She stepped away from him.
"Miss Granger-"
"I want to leave now. Please." She turned away, embarrassed. She couldn't bear to look at him.
"There is only-"
"Please!"
He put a hand under her elbow and looked down at her, his face pained, distressed. She heard Dumbledore muse about how they perhaps "Sort too early" as he stood up behind her. Snape looked away. "As you wish."
They landed back in his office and Hermione pulled away from the hand on her elbow. She stepped further away, refusing to look at him as her eyes grew hot.
"Miss Granger, I fail to understand why-"
"Then I fail to understand why I'm here," she said coldly, her voice shaking. She laid her hand on the work table and glared up at Snape.
He stared back, drew himself up and said, "We are through."
Hermione stepped backwards and then turned, grabbing her things. She walked quickly out of his office and through the passageways, up through the Entrance Hall and then to her own chambers.
Snape stood, motionless, before taking the Pensieve and placed it into the cabinet, locking it away. He then walked over to his desk, sat on the thin wooden chair and propped his elbow on the table, his head in the palm of his right hand.
