21. REVELATIONS

Dobby returned with tea all too soon, but as its heat coursed through her she felt immensely better. She nestled in the crook of Professor Snape's shoulder and felt as if she were soaking up strength just from touching him.

"So," he said matter-of-factly. "You would rather die than reveal my Dark secrets."

She sat straight up and stared at him. "Die?"

"So I'm told."

"What secrets?"

"That's what I'd like to know." He sipped his tea and studied her placidly.

"Die?" That one was a little difficult to wrap her mind around.

"Miss Granger, it seems you put up such a phenomenal defense against Albus's attempts at Legilimency, he determined that you – or rather, I – have something to hide. Something Dark being the odds-on favorite kind of secret when it comes to me, I fear."

"But … DIE?"

"Either Albus was being theatrical, which is not beyond the realm of believability, or … what happened? What do you remember?"

She realized her hands were trembling when the rattle of teacup against saucer broke through her confusion. She hastily set it down on the tray levitating before them.

"We … we entered his office. He offered me a sherbet lemon…"

"Of course."

"I said, 'No thank you.' Politely. And … " She strained to remember. "He smiled and said, 'Legilimens," and I said, 'no thank you.' Politely."

Professor Snape bit back a laugh. "And then?"

"Nothing. I was very polite, because after all, he is Headmaster, but he kept repeating, 'Legilimens,' and I kept refusing, because that was the point, wasn't it? And then --"

"Wait. He didn't get in?"

"No, not then," she said with a small shrug. "But then—"

"Miss Granger." He sat bolt upright in bed beside her. "Are you saying that when Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard on the planet, cast Legilimens, you blocked him by simply saying, 'No, thank you?' "

"Well, I don't think he was trying very hard, because after that, he got in."

Professor Snape stared at her and if she didn't know him fairly well, she would think he was rather astounded. "He was trying, Miss Granger. Believe me, he was trying." He narrowed his eyes. "What did you feel?"

"Nothing. He seemed to be feeling something, though. He grew quite red in the face, and once he looked at his wand and shook it … oh, and then he asked me if you'd given me a potion, and I said, yes, a breath-freshener, which I really wish I hadn't mentioned because it sounds like you were questioning my hygiene, doesn't it?"

Snape exploded in short burst of laughter.

Laughter.

At which point, he grabbed her and kissed her flat on the mouth. A short, hard, triumphant kiss that ended too quickly, and left her leaning forward for more, blinking up at him in disappointment.

"And then?" he demanded.

She struggled to remember more. "Oh, and then – oh." Suddenly, she felt a cold shaking start in her stomach. She remembered, and she didn't want to.

She shook her head to clear it. "He got in, and I was very upset, and so I just started throwing up hexes and curses at him – internally, of course, I'd never do that to him physically—"

"I'm sure." He smirked.

"But I didn't know what else to do. And somehow, I felt—" The shaking was getting worse. She clutched her hands in her lap and closed her eyes, and heard her voice shaking no matter how hard she tried to sound strong. "It felt wrong. He was kind, but he couldn't really be, could he? He was trying to know things about me, and all I could remember was you telling me, fight him, fight like hell, fight like fucking hell – and it just felt vital that I keep him out, and somehow it began to feel like I was keeping Voldemort out, because if I couldn't keep the Headmaster out and I knew he meant no harm, how could I keep Voldemort out – and – and –"

"Miss Granger…" His voice was so gentle, so calm.

She turned to him in desperation.

"What were you afraid he'd see?"

"Something that would hurt you."

"Something no particular thing?"

She shook her head and tears spilled onto her hands, wet and hot. "You told me to fight, and I knew I had to, so I did."

She felt rough fabric against her cheeks and opened her eyes. He was wiping her tears with a corner of those awful sheets.

"Miss Granger, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Your magic is almost traumatically depleted because of your desire to protect me, and the fact that you did it—brilliantly, I might add—leaves me breathless. The fact that you stumped Albus makes me want to buy you diamonds. Don't get any ideas about that, however," he warned her with a glare. "But the fact that I led you like a lamb to slaughter without preparing you adequately—" He broke off and shook his head. "Did it ever occur to you to eject him?"

"I can do that?"

"Yes, absolutely, if anybody could, you could have tossed him out on his arse, figuratively and I'm not discounting literally." He dug his fingers into her hair and hauled her in, pulling her against him and soothing her, and she felt his heart pounding against her. "And I didn't show you how. I never dreamed you'd be able to… I didn't think. I fucking didn't think."

"But—about the dying part?"

He lifted her teacup, warmed it with a flick of his fingers, and held it to her lips. "Drink."

She did.

"Albus had no fucking business pushing in that hard, just because you'd blocked him so easily. He almost depleted your magical stores, which is why you'll not be doing any magical application for two more days, at least."

"But—but my potions!"

"Will wait."

"No!" Her frustration welled up in her and threatened to spill over in tears, which she would not do, would not do. "Not my potions. You're the only one who has given me real work—"

"And you're not getting near a cauldron until Wednesday, at least. But we have plenty to do between now and then," he added, chucking her under the chin like she was a child, but the expression in his eyes was concerned. Guilty, even.

"What?" She let the word hang there, demanding response.

"I need to see what Albus did."

"You mean…" She looked into his black eyes and understood. She sank back against him and relaxed and allowed her eyes to go languid.

His entry was so gentle that she hardly felt it at all. Suddenly, he was simply there. This time, she didn't rocket along with him, seeing everything he saw. This time, her mind filled with his eyes, his black, black eyes, and she could have floated there forever, his arms around her, his mind in hers, his eyes holding her steady.

Except she felt a tightening in her jaws and throat, and felt a quiver of sick rise in her, and half-fell from the bed in her attempt to get to the bathroom.

She made it, barely.

Fighting to hold her hair out of her face, she lost everything that had been in her stomach as spasm after spasm rocked through her.

She only vaguely became aware of the strong arms supporting her, of the cool rag on the back of her neck, and when her body had exhausted itself in an effort to purge, she was only weakly able to accept the sips of water and then spit them out into the toilet.

And thus, she found herself tucked back into the bed like a child, swallowing more potions.

She wondered if he knew what she needed and how badly he needed it… He must, because he gave it to her without question, lying beside her, his fingers tangled into her hair, his eyes open for her to float in…until she finally drifted back into sleep.

XX

While classes on Tuesday had been less traumatic, he was hardly less distracted. Despite the potions he'd poured down her, he'd not wanted her to return to her regular class schedule, and so she was propped up in bed and surrounded by books and parchments and quills.

He'd popped in once to check on her and found her dozing, a quill in one hand and the other splayed across a book.

He'd wanted to cast everything to the floor and climb in beside her and take her—slowly and deliberately and thoroughly—starting while she slept, and watching her slowly awaken at his touch.

At what point would she waken? At his first touch, when he brushed her hair away from her face? Or would he get farther? Would his lips trace her cheekbone, tease her ear, capture her mouth, before she realized she wasn't dreaming? Would he smooth his hands up her legs, her thighs, and higher, to finally pull her out of slumber?

It took him a moment to realize with a guilty start that what he was really wondering about was the strength of the potion he'd given her to relax.

Oh, there's a fucking romantic thought, Severus, he told himself. Drug her into a stupor and then have your way with her.

He'd left her with her books and forced himself to be satisfied by removing the quill and book from her hands, and adjusting her pillow.

And deducted ten points from Ravenclaw upon his return to class for no reason whatsoever.

But when the last class was finished, he returned to her with a mission.

"You've got more post," he announced, startling her awake. "I can tell you what it says."

"You perform Legilimency on the post, now, or you read my mail?" she complained.

"Neither. No sooner did a house-elf bring it, than Hagrid showed up at my classroom to ask if you were coming." At her questioning glance he added, "He has invited you to tea today."

"I don't want anybody else's tea. I want tea here. With you."

"Stop pouting. You need some fresh air. Poppy refuses to believe it, but I know from experience that it will replenish your magical stores if you get out, as long as you don't overdo it."

XX

Not overdoing it was problematical.

They stopped the first time on the front steps of Hogwarts, and Professor Snape lifted her onto a pedestal to lean against a sculpture of Helga Hufflepuff and catch her breath. Since afternoon classes were still in session, there was no one around to stare at them for a change.

The second time they stopped outside the first greenhouse. Hermione sat grudgingly on a garden bench, frustrated that she was so weak. Professor Snape leaned against a tree and scowled across the park at the Forbidden Forest, evidently just on principal.

By the time they actually approached Hagrid's hut, she regretted ever agreeing to the outing.

But Hagrid saw them coming and flung his door open wide with a huge grin. "Hermione!" Then as an afterthought, but with a smile just as genuine, "Professor Snape!"

He showed them in and Hermione dropped to the floor to welcome Fang. She'd devised a Charm in second year to stop him from drooling when near her, and now found the beast quite easy to like.

Professor Snape sat down at the table and looked at her askance. "Do you always wallow on the floor with the hound?"

"Always," she grinned, rubbing Fang between the ears.

The old dog rolled over and farted.

She burst into laughter, peals of laughter, and realized suddenly that had Ron and Harry been there, they'd all be laughing together.

Professor Snape merely rolled his eyes although the corner of his mouth might have been tilted in the tiniest of smirks.

And of course, Hagrid took it in stride as if nothing had happened. He was long accustomed to Fang's gastrointestinal issues.

Hermione leapt from the floor and cast an Air-Clearing Charm before taking her place at Hagrid's table.

Hagrid brought a tray of mugs to the table, and distributed the tea. He remembered, of course, how Hermione liked hers, and surprisingly knew how the Professor liked his, as well. Did Professor Snape come to tea often? That was a rather odd thought.

Hermione was about to decline one of the rock-hard cakes, when she saw Professor Snape bite into his and moist crumbs fall onto his robes. She cocked her head, surprised. He took a cake and placed it on her plate, and when she touched it she felt the shimmer of his magic.

Why hadn't she ever thought of that?

A sleep lassitude eased through her, but she fought it and instead focused on tea and cake while Hagrid discussed the need for a healing potion for Fluffy.

That suddenly soaked in. "Fluffy? I thought he was gone?"

"He's been in the Forbidden Forest since, well, your first year, warn't it?" Hagrid mused. "But 'e's been a bit peaked lately and I thought, well…"

"I'll see what I can find for you," Professor Snape said dismissively, his eyes on Hermione. "Hermione has been a bit under the weather," he remarked, "and we should start back now, if you don't mind."

Hagrid grew flustered. "Not yet, I hadn given you – wait," he stammered.

He lumbered across the hut to the table beside his huge easy chair and picked up a piece of paper. "It were my idea, and I talked to Professor Dumbledore, and he said it were a'right for Colin Creevey to go back and—"

"What was all right?" Hermione was lost and it didn't seem as if things were going to get any clearer.

"He used a Time Turner," Hagrid said, for all the world, blushing. "I reco'nized that nobody else noticed – nobody saw – but it were your wedding, weren't it? And you should have something to remember it by, now shouldn't you?"

He held out his hand, and it took a moment for Hermione to realize that the piece of paper was actually a photograph.

A magical photograph.

She took it from his hand

It was a picture of their wedding.

Not just the wedding.

The kiss.

"I 'ad 'im slow it down, cause it all happened so fast, but I saw it, y'see, and … it were beautiful, wadn it?"

First, the backs of their heads. Her hair was a tousled nest of brown, not even combed, and his was long and black and, well, stringy. She stifled a bit of laughter, but then their heads turned simultaneously, oh so slowly….

Her picture-self looked up at him, half-frightened, and seeing that moment frozen before her, she felt the lurch in her stomach.

He looked at her, eyes narrowed, considering.

They both seemed to retreat behind closed eyes as they leaned together, and their lips brushed.

And both sets of eyes flew open with lips joined, hers filled with wonder. His startled.

As they pulled slowly apart, their eyes continued what their lips had ended all too quickly.

And magical bonds of silver wove through the air around them.

Hermione watched, her hand clutched in the folds of her robe over her heart and felt the air slow in her lungs, the blood in her veins slow to honey.

And it ended.

And started over again.

She watched it repeat, and watched it the third time, unable to tear her eyes away.

"Hagrid…it's beautiful."

"I know," the half-giant said softly. "I know."

She finally held it out to Professor Snape. She knew better than to expect him to reveal anything more than a casual interest. No flicker of emotion showed on his face.

But she noticed.

He watched the kiss three times, too.

She refrained from snuggling up next to him to watch it again.

Just barely.

"I had Colin make copies. I figgered you'd have friends and those as couldn be there you might want to give 'em to," Hagrid continued.

Hermione saw the small stack of photos he held out to her and hesitated. She didn't want to hurt his feelings, but who would she give them to, other than her mother and father?

And would they see what she saw, or would they see a disheveled daughter and a surly man twice her age performing a ridiculous sham of a marriage—

"Thank you, Hagrid." Professor Snape took the top photographs off the stack, leaving only one behind.

"I know there was others you'd rather have had there," Hagrid began.

"No." Hermione heard the ferocity of her voice and didn't bother to temper it. "I chose you. I chose you. And if I had it to do over, it would be the same."

"Aw, gee…" Hagrid pulled his tablecloth-sized handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. Loudly.

Hermione kissed him on the cheek.

The trip back to the castle didn't take nearly as long as the trip to the hut. All too quickly, the castle entrance loomed before them, and she knew at a glance, which three figures waited for them under the Hufflepuff statue.

"Fuck," came from beside her.

"Language, Professor," she responded with a smirk she didn't feel. What did they want now?

"Hermione!" Ginny was the first to speak. "Where have you been?"

"Yeah," Ron added, "you didn't show up to that meeting you arranged and nobody's seen you in class and—"

Harry stared at her in silence. His eyes took in everything. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. And then, his hand tense on his wand, he shifted his attention to Professor Snape. "What are you doing to her? So help me, if you're hurting her I'll--"

And before she knew what was happening, Hermione felt the rage boil in her, that anybody should dare accuse Professor Snape of hurting her – and she raised her hand and flung a pointed finger at the Boy Who Lived.

And marveled at the stream of red that flowed from her fingertip to Harry and hit him square in the throat. And she took a step forward, to do it again—

"Grab her, Weasley!"

She felt rather than saw Ron grab her from behind and tackle her to the ground as Professor Snape flew to Harry's side.

"Let go of me," she growled. "Let me go!"

Professor Snape was bent over Harry's frozen body. "Miss Weasley," he ordered. "A warming charm. Now!" He lowered his ear to Harry's chest and breathed a deep sigh of relief, raised his wand and whispered a soft incantation as Ginny, pale and wide-eyed, cast a warming charm over Harry's body.

Hermione twisted in Ron's arms, horrified at what she'd done, but equally horrified at being pinned down against her will.

She wrenched herself away from him, took off across the grass to Professor Snape, but he shouted, "Weasley, hold her, goddamnit!" And then his eyes locked onto hers. He plumbed and saw, and said more softly. "Calm her down. Make her feel safe."

Safe? With Ron? When Professor Snape was there—right there—and she needed him?

And then Ron had her again, but this time his hands were soft on her arms. "It's all right, Hermione. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay." And she didn't fight him, because she was watching Professor Snape, waiting for him to look at her again.

To forgive her. Because this was bad. This was really, really bad.

With a flick of his wand, Ron retrieved the photographs that Professor Snape had let fly when he'd gone to help Harry.

Harry.

She'd hurt Harry.

What was wrong with her?

"I didn't mean to—"

Ron held the photo where they both could see it. And then, softly, "Hermione. Your wedding…"

She glared, tried to pull away, but he held her, and stared down at the photograph. "You're so beautiful…"

She yanked the pictures from his fingers and watched the kiss happen over and over again until she finally realized the rage had eased out of her.

Ron had released her, but still sat near as he stared from the photograph to her face. "You mean, you really—you really love him?"

Again, emotion surged in her. Only this time it was words that poured out. "How can you be such a prat? How can you be so thick?" Her words burst from her with as little control and as much force as the hex from her fingertips and she heard herself saying—

"Of course I do!"

And as soon as the words escaped, she burst into tears and found herself buried in Ron Weasley's arms.