What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails
And such are little boys made of
~ Nineteenth Century Nursery Rhyme

'What do you think I ought to do, then?'

Freezing, he stood at the door and lifted his fist to knock. Last time he'd eavesdropped on her, he'd ended up in a situation he still couldn't even begin to understand. And he stopped, mid-motion, as his ears strained to hear the reply. He told himself, orders stern and immovable, to knock already, and his body refused to listen. Especially as he heard her again. 'You say it like it's so easy. It's not, Severus. You, of all people, should understand just how complex it is.'

'Bugger the complexities. You're overanalysing again.'

'Because someone has to! You certainly aren't.'

Behind the door, he never realised that his eyes had squeezed shut – his conjured imaginings playing before him as though he was watching it in real life. He watched his mentally-conjured Severus stiffen, sneering at the woman before him. 'Stop projecting, Jean. We have wizarding precedent, we have ample primary sources – both wizard and muggle. Yes, there's a risk, but apparently it's less of one than not doing anything.'

'Do you really still think that not doing anything is a viable option?'

'Of course it is. Neutrality is always there for those who wish it.'

He could hear her slam something, probably an empty potions vial, onto the countertop, her voice shaking with frustration. 'We're not Switzerland, Severus! When this comes to our doorstep – and make no mistake, it will – do you really think that 'oh, sorry, I'm keeping mum' is going to pacify a self-mutilating sadist? God! And you're supposed to be sensible.'

'Don't insult me, Jean.'

She snorted, voice crude and throaty. 'Oh no, Severus doesn't want to hear the truth. Too bad. You're a part of this, you always were going to be, whether you like it or not. You can't turn away and pretend that out of sight, out of mind is actually going to mean anything at the end of the day. Especially as if you do try to stay neutral, you'll jump to his bidding the moment he darkens your doorstep. And we don't know when that's going to be. Not anymore.'

'You have such faith in me, don't you? Has it not occurred to you that I'm doing all I'm doing by choice? That I'm going against my very nature and putting myself at risk because of some vague, abstract notion of what's right, even when I'm not sure I actually believe in your notions? There is nothing about what you propose that doesn't put me in an incredibly dangerous position – from both ends of the spectrum. I've come this far with you, haven't I? And you still believe me to be so selfish?'

There was a long pause, and even the most active of imaginations could not have conjured the tenderness with which she stopped to look at him. Closing the distance between them, she pressed a hand to his cheek and her voice dropped. Ice dripped off every word and her eyes were just as sharp and cruel, a jagged contrast to the tenderness in her gestures. 'I am not talking of selfishness. After all, if you're dead, who else can you trust to watch over her?'

Somewhere, deep within those words, was a crudely veiled threat – but mostly it was a callous reminder of where they stood. It was a strategic showing of her hand, and it was one that struck a chord. Something happened, a strange shuffled resembling a dance and the roles reversed in an unspoken conversation; this pause unendurably longer than the last.

'I hadn't thought of that.'

'Severus –'

His hand flew up and she stopped as abruptly as if he'd struck her. 'That changes everything.'

'No, it doesn't. Don't you see? That's why this really is the best option, not just –'

'Granger.'

She froze, stepping back from him as her face fell. It was slow, laborious, and painfully visible as she fought to recollect herself. Rage at his poor treatment of her was inevitable, especially given that glint in her eyes, and she was too pale a shadow of herself to fight it. And so she fought with herself, chest heaving as she stared at him. 'Neutrality may very well be the best option. Although not necessarily for me, you had that right, I'll grant you.'

'But it isn't. Do you really think he'll agree just because you ask?'

'I cannot cow him, but I can ingratiate myself.'

Gaping soundlessly, it took her an eon to find the words. And with them came the rage that she couldn't have afforded before. Fire leapt into her voice, danced in her eyes, and he stepped back from the vision that assaulted him. 'Is that it to you? Let the world outside crumble to ash rather than face a chance that you may not possess what it is you covet? Do you not understand what has already been sacrificed for this? The lives – god, Severus, I destroyed my own existence! And you! Can you really not see what it will mean, for everyone, if something is not done?'

'I see no difference.'

The Severus Snape that stood before her bore little, if any, resemblance to the spectre of her past life. The infliction of his words, too, was endlessly different. But the words were the same. As was the hurt. And although this girl had stopped truly being Hermione Granger months ago, she still carried vestiges of the vicious fury that only Hermione Granger would unleash. 'Then go to him! Go! Maybe if you bow before him, you'll get your desires! Maybe then you'll get to fuck the Mudblood! That's what you want, isn't it? To fuck us whether we want it or not! Then go! FUCK THE MUDBLOOD!'

She was swinging at him, words perforated by slaps and blows and sobs and he was too stricken to retaliate, not properly. And the doors slammed open, eavesdropping suddenly never a good idea, and strong hands grabbed at her wrists and grasped onto her and fought her as she screamed unintelligible sentences and angry words. Eyes wide with shock, horror etched in his features, Severus Snape stood immobile as his erstwhile greatest enemy stood before him as protector. Their eyes locked, enmity overshadowed by a strange beast neither could identify. Still, schoolboy rivalries – even those composed of potentially fatal acts – paled compared to whatever had grown between them now. And Sirius Black's voice was soft, despite his harsh movements to keep the girl in his grip. 'I've got her. Go.'

A/N - Thanks so very much to my lovely, lovely reviewers! (Also to all the people who've added this story to their alerts and story lists!) This chapter may seem a bit out of character, but it sets the stage for what's coming next...

Hope all of you enjoyed it and, as always, reviews are very much loved. :)