A/N: More thanks to the wonderful anogete for her beta reading of this chapter. Thanks also to my readers and reviewers, many of whom are already hard at work trying to get inside my brain!
Obligatory: None of these things belong to me; they all belong to JKR. I just like to have a bit of fun with them, and no profit is desired.
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The next night, Hermione stood outside of Professor Caveo's dungeon classroom with her stomach doing flip-flops as she reached out to knock on the door. Her mind had been playing the Pensieve memory of Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore since the night before, and she had yet to talk to Harry or Ron about it. She had very nearly convinced herself that it was best not to tell them. She would show them the Pensieve itself and perhaps they could experiment with it, but for now, the memory would be her secret. There was no use stoking the already existing conflagration of their hatred for Snape.
When the time on her clock ticked down the last few seconds of the waning hour, she rapped on the door three times, and waited until a deep voice from within sounded, "Come."
She opened the door and saw Caveo sitting at his desk, marking papers. Had his hair and eyes been darker and his nose a bit larger and more crooked, he could have been Snape. Acknowledging this thought made Hermione's blood run cold.
"Good evening, Miss Granger. I trust that this meeting is not inconvenient for you?" He put down his marking quill and removed his reading glasses from his face.
"Of course not, Professor. I want to thank you for agreeing to help me advance in my studies." She kept her voice polite and humble, and took a seat across from him at the desk.
"You are already quite advanced in your studies, Miss Granger. When I took over this position, I had notes and marks from your previous instructors, and I was surprised to find that neither had made any mention of your exemplary potion-making skills. Is this talent a recent development in your work?" He eyed her with amusement, as though he already knew the answer to his question.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Though they had spoken in private before, the allusion to Snape was awkward. "I am not sure if I am as good as all that, sir, but I believe I have performed well in this class since I began, and cannot speak for the opinions of my previous professors."
He chuckled. "Yes, well, I can think of one in particular who would not be quick to acknowledge the talents of a Muggle-born Gryffindor. But enough of that. I trust that you had no troubles from Madam Pince in getting books from the Restricted Section?"
"She seemed rather contented by your note, sir. Thank you for that. Like you, I believe that we should learn as much as possible about dark potions so that we can be prepared if we are faced with one. The Restricted books seem to have the best information about concoctions of that sort."
He thought for a moment. "Quite true, Miss Granger, however, there is one book I believe you will not be able to find, even in the extensive Hogwarts library, one that will be of great use to you in learning about dark potions. I know of only two owl order establishments that stock it, and I would like you to order one before we begin our official tutoring sessions. Here is the name of the text, and also information on the retailer. I trust you will have no trouble getting your hands on it?" He handed her a small piece of parchment with the information on it in his neat script.
"I will see to it immediately, Professor." She looked at the note that read, 'Moste Dark and Dreadful Potente Potions from La Morte's Potions Supplies Limited.'
"Very good. Now, if you have no other questions, I must see to these second year papers, though I assure you I would rather discuss the uses of unicorn hair in potions with you than be forced to endure this idiocy." His tone was dark and irritated, but it forced a small smile from Hermione.
"No questions, sir. Good luck with those essays. Good evening." She rose from her chair and backed away towards the door.
"Good evening, Miss Granger." His nose remained pointed down at the parchments in his hand, an exasperated look in his eyes as he began covering them with red ink.
As soon as she returned to her room, she sent off a note to the potion supply company to order the book. She borrowed Hedwig from Harry for the task, telling him that she was sending a note to her parents, and that it was too late for her to go to the Owlery. She wasn't sure why she was hiding the truth from her friends, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
She returned to the common room to find Harry with his nose stuffed into a Dark Arts book, as usual.
"Really, Harry," she chided. "Don't you ever study for anything else?"
"Listen to this one," he exclaimed, ignoring her protestations. "The Impalement Hex, when cast properly, causes a force from the wand that stabs through the center of the target's body and ensures a slow, painful death." Harry smiled triumphantly, his eyes almost red with glee. "That sounds like a good one for Snape."
"I should think you ought to focus on killing Voldemort for now," Hermione forced through gritted teeth at the evil delight on her friend's face, a delight that contorted it into someone she barely recognized.
For once, Ron piped up in agreement. "I think Hermione's right, mate. Shouldn't you leave the greasy git to the Aurors?"
"Without the Dementors in Azkaban, prison seems like an altogether pleasant experience for the bastard compared to what I can do to him with these curses." He slammed the book shut. "And anyway, I don't see what it matters to either of you. He set the wheels in motion to have my parents and Sirius killed, and he murdered Dumbledore. I am owed my revenge."
"Will that really make it better for you? Is that kind of revenge the same as justice?" Hermione eyed the book in his lap, and it was an even more unsavory Dark Arts text than she had been able to find in the library for her own study.
"Is there a difference?" Harry's eyes had begun to return to their normal brilliant green, but it seemed to Hermione that they were still outlined in red.
"Of course there's a difference! Snape gets punished for his crimes, and you don't end up in Azkaban for murder!" Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble.
"I see. So, it's okay for the Chosen One to kill Voldemort, but if he kills anyone else, that's a punishable offense? Seems like a bit of a double standard, if you ask me." Harry slumped back into his chair and made a huffing sound.
"I don't think that's what Hermione is saying. Voldemort will be out to kill you, and killing him before he gets the chance is self-defense. If you just hunt down Snape and impale him while his back is turned, that's premeditated murder." Hermione was shocked as Ron made her point for her.
"So you agree with her now? Everyone is against me, I swear it. Did you ever consider that Snape might be out to kill me?" Harry's tone was dangerously soft.
"He had the chance after he killed Dumbledore, Harry, and he didn't. He didn't even take you to Voldemort! Doesn't that prove anything to you? That maybe he isn't out to kill you?" Hermione felt a tear gathering in her eye.
"How can I prove to you two that Snape is an evil git who deserves to die as slowly and painfully as I can manage to do it? You two didn't see the look in his eyes when he killed Dumbledore. It was pure evil. He's pure evil. I would be doing a service to everyone if I decapitated him!" His eyes began glowing with a red fury once again.
Hermione thought for a moment, calming her breathing as she watched Harry rub at his scar. "You could show us the look in his eyes," she suggested quietly, calculating the consequences to him and herself if she got him to do what she was contemplating.
"What, with Legilimency?" Inexplicably, his eyes brightened.
"Come to my room. I have to show you both something." She motioned to Harry and Ron, and they followed her eagerly.
Once they were inside, she closed and warded the door, bringing out the shrunken box of the Pensieve and returning it to its normal size.
"That's Dumbledore's Pensieve!" Harry exclaimed with a touch of hurt in his voice. "Where did you get it?"
"McGonagall gave it to me. She said that she thought I might get some use out of it, and I didn't really know how until now. Harry, you were the only one who saw Snape kill Dumbledore. Maybe it will help if you share it with me and Ron." She hoped to keep him from dwelling on the hurt he would feel at not being given one of Dumbledore's possessions.
He thought for a moment. "You really want to see?" He looked back and forth between the two of them.
Ron and Hermione both nodded hesitantly, staring at him quietly to see his reaction.
Harry sighed. "Alright then." He took his wand, placed it to his temple, and withdrew a long, silvery strand that he dropped into the bowl. "Dive in. Don't think I'm letting you watch it without me."
Hermione and Ron cast uncertain glances at each other before taking their places around the Pensieve, pressing their faces to the surface of the bowl, and falling in.
Hermione stood, as she had in her dream, near a defenseless Dumbledore on the staircase. Before her stood Draco, with a trembling wand raised, and several other Death Eaters, all regarding the scene with a mixture of amusement and impatience. Next to her, Ron gasped and Harry watched, transfixed.
"Draco, do it or stand aside so one of us – " shouted one of the female Death Eaters as they looked on at Dumbledore, prostrate on the stairs.
Suddenly, so loudly that it made Hermione jump, someone burst through the doors and swept into the scene. It was Snape.
"We've got a problem, Snape," said a Death Eater she knew to be called Amycus from Harry's earlier retellings of the event. "The boy doesn't seem able – "
"Severus," interrupted Dumbledore's soft voice.
Hermione took a moment to study Dumbledore. Harry had described his voice and manner earlier as desperate pleading for his life, but Hermione wasn't so sure. His tone seemed far too steady for that.
"Severus…please…" came the insistence again, this time more determined, more calm.
Snape's face became contorted with a dozen unreadable emotions, some seemingly fury, hatred, and defeat, as he raised his wand with a stead hand and cast, "Avada Kedavra!"
Then, the scene went black, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry were propelled out of the Pensieve and landed hard on the floor of the Head Girl's room.
"There, are you both satisfied?" gasped Harry as his eyes glowed again with hatred.
"It is as you described it, Harry," Hermione admitted, though she was still contemplating what she had seen.
"I'm so sorry, Harry…" Ron whispered, pulling himself up and helping Harry and Hermione to their feet. "You know we trust you, don't you?"
Harry looked down at his feet and shuffled nervously. "I know. I've just got a lot on my mind, is all."
"We know, Harry," Hermione said soothingly, placing a hand on his arm. "We just worry about you."
"You needn't, though. When the time comes, I will do what I have to do." His expression told Hermione and Ron that the discussion was over.
"You're both tired. We should all get some sleep." Hermione admitted defeat in the conversation.
"That sounds like a brilliant idea," Ron commented with a yawn.
"Yeah. Good night, Hermione."
"Good night, Harry. Good night, Ron."
"'Night, Hermione." Harry led Ron out of Hermione's room, and she was left with her thoughts once again.
She gasped when she turned around and saw Harry's memory floating in the Pensieve. Harry didn't seem to realize that he should retrieve it before he left her room. Feeling a bit guilty, she picked up the end of the memory with her wand and stored it in a spare potions vial she had in her room. She carefully tucked the purloined memory into her trunk with Aberforth's.
The worry that had been gathering in her mind since the summer was becoming more and more potent. What was going on with Harry? She had known him to be moody and impulsive in the past, but this sort of reckless bloodlust was entirely unlike him. If he continued to dwell on it, she feared, he would get lost in his hatred and be unable to focus on the most important task at hand: defeating Voldemort.
Hermione was awakened in the morning by Hedwig's persistent pecking at her window.
"Hello, Hedwig," she greeted her sleepily, opening the window and taking the package from her. "Here's a biscuit. Thanks for your discretion." She smoothed the owl's feathers, earning her an appreciative hoot before she flew away.
The brown package was unmarked, save Hermione's name, and though she suspected that it was the text she had ordered, she tested it for dark magic anyway. Now was not the time to let one's guard down. Finding that it was clean, she tore open the package and found an unassuming looking black, leather bound book, its title, Moste Dark and Dreadful Potente Potions, embossed on it in silver print.
Though she wanted to look through it, she needed to get to breakfast and to classes. It looked like it would have to wait a while.
"Mr. Weasley," Professor Caveo's voice sounded into the din of the Potion's class as Ron writhed on the ground, gripped by some unseen pain. "I see you have once again failed to produce the antidote. Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to force feed Mr. Weasley some of yours?"
Hermione sighed as she bottled a vial of her potion, which was a brilliant, clear crimson, and looked on at Ron's potion, which was a murky, lumpy blood red.
She knelt down and poured the antidote into his mouth as Harry cradled Ron's head. "Are you alright, Ron?"
"Oh yeah, I'm bloody brilliant, considering I just had a potion-induced heart attack!" He cleared his throat as Harry and Hermione helped him to his feet.
"Now that we are all in one piece again, you may clean up your work and go." Caveo returned to the parchment on his desk.
This was often how Potions was spent. Caveo would describe the properties of the dark potion, and then instruct the students to consult their texts to brew the antidote. He would sit quietly, marking papers or making some kind of notations on a parchment, while the class worked in near silence. He would not walk around, he would merely wait for the students to come to his desk, take his potion, and then take their antidote. Even if you knew that your potion was not up to snuff, you didn't dare try not to take it. Inevitably, one student or another, often Ron, would end up rolling around the floor in agony, and someone would have to deliver to them an appropriate antidote.
Much to Ron's chagrin, the appropriate antidote often came from Hermione. Caveo didn't exactly dote on her, but he clearly favored her in the class and was always quick to point out her talent for potions. If the Slytherins were angered by his obvious favoritism, they didn't speak about it. The bark and bite of the Slytherin house had gone since Draco had disappeared, and none seemed too encouraged by the information they had on his fate.
After everyone filed out of the class, some still patting their chests to make sure their hearts were okay, Hermione walked up to Caveo's desk.
"Professor Caveo, I just wanted to tell you that the book arrived this morning. That is quite a fast operation!"
"Indeed. Due to the nature of the supplies that particular source sells, its clients tend to appreciate discretion and haste. Now that you have the book, we can move ahead with your apprenticeship. However, I am afraid that I will be busy for the next week, so what would you say to beginning next week on Sunday afternoon, say, two o'clock?" He threw down his quill and regarded her with intensity.
"That would be fine, Professor. Is there anything specifically you would like me to study, or should I just start from the beginning?" Hermione was predictably eager to begin reading her new book.
"Read it at your leisure, Miss Granger. I believe it will be more important for our purposes for you to brew rather than memorize the more unsavory aspects of the text." He smirked at her eagerness.
"Of course, sir. I'll be off to my next class, then." She bowed her head and made to go to the door.
"Thank you for your help with Mr. Weasley today, Miss Granger. I hope you can convince him to pay closer attention to his dicing from now on, lest we have more unpleasant incidents." He grinned again more openly. When he smiled that like, it revealed his dark handsomeness.
"You might say that I am used to it, sir, but you are welcome." With one last small smile, Hermione left for her next class.
That night, Hermione began reading the first chapter of the dark potions text. The introduction sounded as though Snape had lifted his first year speech directly from it, as it talked about the great power of potions when one was attentive to detail. She fell asleep, as usual, with the book pressed open on her chest.
Though she had not had a dream about Dumbledore's murder for a couple of weeks, she was once again in the middle of the familiar scene. Now that she had witnessed the Pensieve memory from Harry, the images were more crisp and certain than they had been before.
Snape held his wand up to Dumbledore, the other Death Eaters around him frozen in near disbelief. However, rather than cast the Killing Curse, he turned to Hermione and stared into her eyes. With his trademark dangerous, silky teaching voice, he instructed, "Page 394, Miss Granger. Turn to page 394."
"In what book?" Hermione gasped as she sat bolt upright in bed. The dark potions book slid down her chest and perched itself in her lap. "In this book?" she asked the room.
Figuring she had been listening to her dreams thus far, she decided to take a chance and open the book to the page Snape had indicated. It was in the middle of a chapter entitled "Potions of Life and Death."
A natural paragraph began the page. Hermione read aloud. "The Elixir of Life is the most well-known immortality potion in the field. However, the necessity of being in possession of a Philosopher's Stone makes production of this draught impossible for all save Nicholas Flamel. Another potion exists which can be made with more conventional ingredients, the Animus Redimio, though only a sparse number of Potions Masters know the formula and unique procedures for its preparation."
Hermione read through the rest of page; it seemed to discuss potions that dealt death, none of which were particularly new to her. She searched the logs of her memory for this Animus Redimio potion, but came up empty.
The dream bothered her for weeks afterwards. Any spare moment she had in the library was spent combing the Restricted Section for mentions of the potion, but she found nothing. Hermione didn't know why she had suddenly become so interested in an immortality potion, as these things were generally taboo in the Wizarding world, but having Snape speak to her in a dream in which Dumbledore's voice was usually dominant was enough to motivate her.
She had stopped being bothered by how seriously she was taking her dreams. Some unknown force in her told her that she should listen to them, and so she was. So long as she wasn't involving anyone else in her lunacy, she figured it couldn't hurt anyone so long as she got all of her schoolwork and N.E.W.T. revision done, and completed her duties as Head Girl.
Hermione wasn't the only one who seemed haunted, however. Harry's behavior was becoming more and more bizarre, and several times in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he would become anxious and accidentally hurt someone on whom he was practicing a hex. When this would happen, Professor Lupin would keep him after class, and though Harry never specifically mentioned what he said, he would return to Ron and Hermione looking thoroughly talked to. Any time Ron and Hermione tried to ask Harry what was going on with him, he would get angry, and either lash out at them or refuse to speak to them for the rest of the day. They were running out of ways to reach him, and, privately, both expressed their concerns to each other and tried to figure out with whom they could speak who could help their friend.
Hermione's apprenticeship was going very well, though she was getting sick of convincing Ron that Caveo wasn't torturing her in the dungeons. However, it was true that she was brewing some of the strangest and darkest potions she had never even imagined existed. She didn't question how Caveo had obtained some of the ingredients (unicorn bladder, spleen of a centaur), and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. After a few lessons with him, however, she learned that there really was a fascinating art to potion making, and she was sure that this was the direction she wanted her career to take.
When approximately a month had yielded no more dreams and no more positive results in finding the Animus Redimio in any book in Hogwarts, she decided that she would have to ask Caveo. They had developed a great working rapport, and, occasionally, his stern professor mode would slip, and they would talk about potions and her future casually over a bubbling cauldron.
And so, with her curiosity and impatience unsettled for far too long, one Sunday afternoon in the third week of October, Hermione decided to gather up the courage to speak to the Potions master.
She had just set a cauldron of Veritaserum to simmer when she looked up at the inquisitive face of Eli Caveo. "Something is on your mind, Miss Granger."
She jumped nearly a mile and wondered if he was using Legilimency against her, but she knew he wasn't, as she had been working quite persistently on her own and with Harry and Ron on both Legilimency and Occlumency. Caveo was not currently in her thoughts.
"Well, I had been reading Moste Dark and Dreadful Potente Potions, and there was something in there about a potion called the Animus Redimio. It didn't say much, and I tried to find out more about it in the library, but I came up empty." She bit her lip in her usual method of displaying nervousness.
"Ahh yes, the Animus Redimio." Caveo leaned back onto his chair and studied her. "It is a very potent immortality potion, more potent even than the Elixir of Life."
"But there is a good deal of information available on the Elixir of Life, yet nothing but this one mention of the Animus Redimio in a book on very dark potions. Why is it such a secret?" Her nervousness subsided and was replaced by excitement.
"Miss Granger, what is it for you that makes a potion dark? Don't give me the textbook definition; I want to hear what it is that you truly believe."
Hermione thought for a moment. "I suppose that a truly dark potion is one that inflicts some sort of pain or unpleasantness on another."
"And yet here we have a potion that gives life, and it is considered dark. So dark that I know of only one Potions master alive right now who knows how to brew it, and it isn't me." He smirked at her, allowing her to let out a short laugh of relief. "What do you suppose it is about an immortality potion that makes it dark?"
"I would guess that meddling with life or death would be considered a taboo, as it is not even for wizards to decide who lives forever and who dies young." She tucked a stray strand of hair back into her ponytail.
"That is quite true. Many are at odds over how to classify dark potions, and it is about more than what the potions do. Many potions that do things such as saving one from imminent death make use of the inherent magic of substances not everyone agrees we should use. As you know, in our class and in our extra lessons here, we have used bits and pieces of creatures, and I am sure even an aspiring Potions mistress such as yourself has found the organs of innocent animals a disgusting addition to an otherwise normal potion, yes?" His eyes wandered to his stores of owl eyes and swan beaks.
"You could say that, sir. But we can find the formulas for these brews quite easily, even if the ingredients themselves are more difficult to locate."
"Indeed. And here lies the dark nature of the Animus Redimio. It is a bit unlike the Elixir of Life, which is a draught that, all other things being equal, will prolong one's life indefinitely. It is said that the Animus Redimio will save you from the Killing Curse itself if taken in time before it is cast. It does not make you immortal, per se, but it binds your soul to your body. It makes it impossible for your soul to leave the flesh and allow you to die." His tone was wistful and dreamlike.
"So what ingredient makes it dark, sir?" Hermione swallowed hard.
"Don't look so terrified. It isn't as bad as you may think, though perhaps it is different for a man to consider. The potion requires a drop of the blood of a virgin to brew it."
Hermione looked at him incredulously. "So you just poke a needle into a virgin's finger and get the blood. What's so bad about that?"
Caveo chuckled. "If only it were that simple. Yes, the potion can be made effectively with the blood from a virgin's finger, but to make it as potent as possible, the virgin blood must be retrieved through intercourse."
Hermione's eyes snapped open in understanding. "I see. So if one wanted to make this potion to save himself from death often, he would have to deflower a lot of virgins."
"Precisely. Of course, it is a more potent potion if the blood is surrendered willingly, but there are many ways to ensure compliance with the retrieval of the blood. So, you see, potions such as this, whose brewing itself requires the sacrifice or discomfort of a witch or wizard, as well as meddling in the affairs of life and death, make a potion traditionally dark." Caveo tapped his fingers together a bit anxiously. "Well, I think that is enough of a lesson for one afternoon, what do you say? You can come to bottle the Veritaserum when it has finished simmering tomorrow."
"Thank you, sir." Hermione gathered her books and prepared to leave. Just as she was about to turn for the door, she snapped back towards Caveo. "Professor?"
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"You said you know of only one Potions master who could brew the Animus Redimio. Who is it?" Her curiosity had got the best of her ever since he had made the comment.
"Why, Severus Snape, of course." He looked up at her with a hesitant eye.
"Ah, of course," she replied, cursing herself silently for not having guessed it right away. After all, he was the one person she knew who could rival Caveo in fascination with dark potions. "Well then, have a good evening, sir."
"You as well, Miss Granger. Goodbye." He abruptly snatched a parchment from his desk and began writing.
"Goodbye, Professor."