Once again I've heard back from one beta but not the other one yet. As I'm an impatient sort I'm jumping the gun and posting without one beta's comments. Those of you who get a thrill at the opportunity of spotting mistakes are welcome to point them out and they will be duly corrected. Those of you who prefer clean and corrected versions of things will have to wait until I hear back from beta #2 and the story is posted at Ashwinder.

I would also just like to say – yeah me for sticking with the New Year's resolution and thanks to all those kind souls who sent chocolate cookie recipes and muses. The cookies are tasty and the muses helpful.

Thanks to Potion Mistress and Keladry for the beta work and Whitehound for the Brit-picking.

Chapter 25: History Lessons

When Hermione entered Snape's room the next morning, breakfast tray in hand, she was determined that today she'd make a better showing of herself than she'd done yesterday. She was going to be mature and self-possessed. Yesterday she'd felt like she was always one step behind him. Snape was not going to rattle her today.

"Granger."

She crooked a small smile at his bland, rather monotone greeting. 'Not a morning person' didn't even begin to cover Severus Snape. Then again, it was awfully light in the room for someone used to darker realms. No wonder he's out of sorts. And with the no magic restrictions on him, he can't fix it himself and heaven help if he showed any weakness and asked for assistance. Idiot, although the last was thought with a fair amount of amused tolerance.

Handing over his breakfast tray, she headed over to the window. Debating for two seconds, she gave a swish of her wand and conjured a pair of medium-weight curtains. Immediately the room went from cheery, but rather blinding, to a more muted glow.

She didn't get any verbal thanks for her foolish wand-waving but she did note the softly-voiced sigh of appreciation. Hermione mentally chalked one up for S.N.O.R.T.

Keeping her manner subdued in deference to his usual morning grumpiness, Hermione went about checking the medicines Healer Alverez had left. Yesterday had been a potions-only day, but today would involve both potions and the salve that had to be spread across Professor Snape's spell burns.

She wasn't looking forward to that, feeling sure that Professor Snape would protest when it came time to treat him. Truth be told, it was going to be an uncomfortable situation for them both. While Hermione did her level best to forget that Snape was unclothed beneath his covering sheets, the thought tended to pop up at the oddest times. The fact that she was going to be spreading salve on his bare skin was going to mean that forgetting wasn't an option. She was going to be mature about the whole thing, even if it killed her. . . or he killed her, whichever came first.

Inventory complete, she palmed the small blue container of salve and returned to what she thought of as her chair. With nothing to occupy her mind though, the silence stretched and gathered around her in an oppressive weight.

For the first time since setting down the tray, Hermione saw Snape look up at her. He then glanced down at his plate and then back up at her, a calculating light in his eyes.

A bit of indignation rose. Really, what was he thinking – that I'd poisoned his eggs or something?

Resisting the urge to make a face at him, she cast about for something to distract her attention. Why didn't he talk? Ron and Harry were always going on . . . on about what girl had caught their eye, what was being served for dinner, about Quidditch and . . . and . . . well, often times about what a complete prat the man propped up on pillows across from her was.

All this silence was unnerving. Was she supposed to do something, say something? Really. They were stuck together for the foreseeable future, was a little polite conversation all that much to ask?

When the silence became the loudest sound Hermione thought she'd ever heard, she gave in. "How are you feeling today, sir?"

As that one damnable black brow rose, Hermione cursed a blue streak – if only in her head. She wasn't sure what she'd done, but she was positive that it was now S.N.O.R.T. 1, Snape 1.

Setting aside the empty tray, he said, "I am feeling rather rotten. As that situation is not likely to change anytime soon, I think we can dispense with any future repetitions of that question. Agreed?"

Again that brow rose, along with Hermione's ire. Repeating her resolve of maturity and self-possession, she gave him a tight smile. "Yes, sir."

That earned her what she considered Snape's smile-smirk. Which, if she was reading him correctly, meant that he was feeling pretty good, all things considered, even if he'd said he was feeling rotten. Because the smile-smirk was marginally more smile than true smirk and she viewed it as a Snape-pleased expression rather than a Snape-plotting-your-demise expression.

Which meant that she probably ought to use his good mood while she had it.

"Professor, it's time to reapply the burn salve."

His pleased look immediately dropped into a heavy scowl. "Of course it is."

"Healer Alverez-"

"Yes, yes," he waved her off. "I am well aware of Healer Alverez's various edicts concerning my recuperation and your place in it." He paused and Hermione got the distinct impression that he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. "You may begin with the burns along my legs."

That was a surprise and much easier than she'd ever expected. She studiously ignored the part of her that was feeling let down at missing what she'd imagined to be a right good, and winnable for her, argument.

Taking a seat at the foot of the narrow bed, Hermione pulled out the jar and set it beside her. Having been drilled by Alverez on how sensitive Snape's skin and nerves were from the various curses and hexes he'd been hit with, Hermione very carefully lifted the sheet from Snape's feet and lower legs and folded it back so it rested just above his knees.

Her professor gave no comment and Hermione risked a glance up at him. He was staring straight up at the ceiling and studiously avoiding looking at her.

She felt the prickle of nervous sweat between her shoulder blades. It wasn't that she hadn't done this before, but he'd never been awake before. She knew how much Snape disliked being touched. This had to be particularly trying for him.

"Just get on with it, Granger," he snapped, though gritted teeth.

"Right. Get on with it," she murmured, more to herself than him.

Loosening the cork stopper, she was hit with the soothing odor of the herbs used in the preparation. Dipping in two fingers, she scooped up an oily glob of the stuff. As she'd done in the past when he'd been unconscious, she talked her way through each step. She'd done it then so he'd know, even if unconscious, that he was being cared for and that the touch he was feeling wasn't meant to inflict more pain. She did it now to try and ease the painfully tight tension within him.

"Starting with your left foot."

Using just her fingertips and with the lightest of touches, she spread the salve over the angry looking hex burn that circled his foot a few inches above his ankle before flaring upward in jagged peaks to mid-calf. Focusing on the task at hand, Hermione tried to forget the fact she was touching her teacher – her very naked teacher. The naked teacher who had surprisingly muscled calves, and fine-boned, almost elegant-looking feet, even if the decidedly boney ankles showed evidence of his unhealthy weight loss. Fine black hair tickled her fingertips as Hermione smoothed the salve over his calves.

A drop of sweat rolled down along her spine and she frantically searched for anything to say to fill the silence of the room.

"This is a very odd burn pattern." Her voice sounded loud in the silence.

"Boots," Snape grunted out, while still focused on the ceiling.

Grasping onto anything that would fill the void, Hermione started to ask the follow-up question to the enigmatic answer of 'boots'.

"How-"

Snape cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "I teach Potions to idiots." As that was a standard complaint with him, she wasn't even offended. "Potions are inherently dangerous and volatile, especially when completed incorrectly. I wear dragon hide boots, Granger, that are resistant to various levels of both acid and fire."

With Snape being distracted into 'teacher mode,' Hermione felt some of the tension leave the tight muscles beneath her fingertips.

"In addition, since dragons are by nature magical creatures, the hide also provides limited protection against spells. My feet were protected while the skin above my boots was not."

Hermione swallowed hard. He spoke with such dispassion, as if the torture he was relating hadn't been inflicted upon his own flesh. But he was talking and since she figured they both needed some distraction she asked a question she'd always been curious about.

"The headmaster says that we shouldn't be afraid of a name. That we should call" – she started to say Voldemort and then thought better of it – "You Know Who by his name. Why don't you call him by his name?"

The muscles under her fingertips stiffened again and Hermione braced for the tirade. When he spoke his voice had gone cold. Eyes that had been staring upwards tracked down to pin her with a merciless stare. "I have already told you that I would tell you the truth of things. That I would not hold back the knowledge you needed in order to think about your circumstances. Think carefully on the questions you would ask me. Some doors once opened can never be closed again."

She had the distinct impression he was trying to scare her. "I want to understand." She bit her tongue before the word 'you' escaped.

Silence again.

When he didn't speak further, she tried to explain. "I've never understood how an entire society can be afraid of a name. No one's ever really explained."

"Muggle-born," he finally answered, as those eyes finally flickered away to resume their study of the ceiling and Hermione took in a deep, shaky breath. She wasn't sure if she should feel proud or terrified that the score was now S.N.O.R.T. 2, Snape 1.

Gathering every bit of her Gryffindor courage, she asked the next question. "How could being Muggle-born make any difference in this case? It's a name."

"No, Granger, it is not just a name. We are fools to teach you of Goblin Wars and not teach you of the time in which you live. When the Dark Lord rose to power the first time, he called himself by the name he took."

"Lord Vo-"

"Do not say it," he hissed. Pausing to take a deep breath he continued in a more normal tone. "But yes, he was called by that name. As he took more power and gathered his followers, he created his inner circle."

"The people who would become the Death Eaters."

"Eventually, yes. Many in those days that sought his favour, sought to be close to him. It was a feeling of basking in greatness, that you were at the center of something profound and earth-shattering that was going to change everything you thought you knew. Not all of those that sought the position got it. It was an earned place based on loyalty and how useful you were to him. In the end, those that proved their worth were given the Mark."

"I always thought that all of his followers carried the mark. Are you saying that we are trying to fight people who we can't even identify?"

"The world is never that simple. There are twenty-two of us, which I know about, that carry the Mark. There may be others that even I am not aware of. But there are hundreds of supporters who carry nothing but their ideology. Would you build an army and then mark every follower so that your opponents could easily identify them?"

She flushed. "No. I never thought about it. Everyone just talks about the Death Eaters. But why mark them?"

"Because they" – those eyes caught hers again – "because we were special. Our loyalty was tested and proven. We were the elite. It was a badge of honour as much as anything. It didn't become . . . more until later."

The detachment she'd heard in his voice when he'd described his torture had been replaced with a self-mocking derision that made Hermione almost wish for the indifference. Had he ever spoken of these things to anyone but Dumbledore? Even then, she had to wonder, how often would this man burden the headmaster with his thoughts? Listening to him, she resolved all over again to be the confidante – the friend – that Snape so obviously needed.

"What changed?" she asked.

"The plan in those days was different than the current course of action the Dark Lord has embarked upon. He was human the first time – charismatic, and a natural leader. There was much talk about him becoming the Minster of Magic. In such a position of authority, he would have irrevocably changed the face of the wizarding world in England. I do not doubt that had he succeeded in his plans, he would have expanded out to encompass all the wizarding enclaves around the world within a few short years."

"He was that close?" she asked in surprise. She never even considered that Voldemort could have been that near to the completion of his goals.

"Close?" He gave a soft chuff of amusement. "He was already there. He controlled many of the key members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

Completely caught up in Snape's story, Hermione forgot about the salve, her hand coming to rest lightly on Snape's calf. "But if he had such a powerbase, what happened?" she asked. "How did he fail? How did the Order get involved?"

"Dumbledore happened. He saw where the Dark Lord was going. The headmaster, while not always able to see that which is right in front of him," – Hermionedetected old bitterness in his words as he spoke – "nevertheless, has a unique gift in seeing the larger, long-range patterns forming around him. I suspect that Miranda Vector had much to do with Dumbledore recognising the threat the Dark Lord posed. To combat that threat, Dumbledore gathered together those he thought could aid him in stopping the war he saw coming and took a stand."

"So for the first time, he met opposition."

That got her a ghost of a smile. "Very good. When Dumbledore shone light on the behind-the-scenes machinations that had been going on in the Ministry, public opinion began to turn. Wizarding society began to pull back from an individual who was being exposed as a dangerous radical."

"Dumbledore forced his hand."

"Indeed. Unfortunately, Dumbledore also miscalculated."

"Miscal . . ." she began, but stopped as she started putting together the pieces of everything Snape had been saying with what she knew of Voldemort's behavior. "Dumbledore thought he'd do one thingand he did something completely different."

Snape's lips pursed. Hermione could see him debating on whether or not to say what was on his mind.

"Sir?"

"I have found over the years, Granger, that the headmaster is almost infallible. Yet when he does fail, the consequences of that failure are often unimaginable."

Scooting to the edge of her seat, Hermione leaned forward. "What happened?"

"Since the more Slytherin tactics had failed, the Dark Lord turned to more obvious methods -- the raids were born and the terror killings began."

"But how does that related to your-" she gestured towards his arm. "And why no one says the Dark Lord's name."

"The Mark isn't simply a tattoo. It is a magical link between the one who created it and the ones who wears it. It links all those who wear to each other and ultimately to him. Because of that link, the Dark Lord is gifted with several abilities. It allows him to call the wearers to him as a sort of Apparation guide. The wearer of the Mark need not have any destination in mind -- they have only to follow the pull of the Mark. It also allows the Dark Lord limited access to the wearer's magic."

"Sort of like the Affinity we share."

"Yes and no. It forces a type of Affinity where he can use our magic as almost a pool of power that he can tap into. However, to do so, those wearing the Mark must be in close proximity to him."

"Which explains why he would want to call you to his side at a moment's notice."

Precisely. And lastly, the Mark provides the most effective tool in the Dark Lord's quest to instill fear in the wizarding population. It allows him to 'hear' when his name is spoken."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It is not a listening device per se, but if you were to speak his name, the Mark on my arm would recognise it, for lack of a better word. And in turn, the Dark Lord becomes aware of being spoken about."

"So everyone became afraid of saying his name. They didn't want to draw his attention because no one knew who might be carrying the Mark. If the wrong person overheard them, it could be a death sentence. That makes so much sense now."

And then a thought occurred to her. "But . . . but . . . that means that every time Dumbledore says his name while you're around . . . he's . . . ."

"He's taunting him, yes."

Hermione's eyes grew round with the implications as her thoughts raced with that last bit of news.

"That's completely irresponsible," she finally got out, outraged all over again. "Dumbledore's not the one that has to face him. The Dark Lord could take out his anger on you."

"It is a calculated risk."

"It's cra-"

"Calculated, Granger. As so many things are," he said dryly. "Now, I do believe we are done with your history lesson. If you finished feeling me up?" he asked, pointedly looking to where her hand still rested again his leg.

Hastily snatching it back, she fought the blush she could feel rising in her cheeks. "Fine," she said, giving in somewhat less than gracefully. "But I'm not finished. I need to turn you so I can get the burns across your back."

"Have your skills at Moblicorpus improved since I last saw you dragging poor Miss Stuart through the halls of the Hogwarts?"

"I was not dragging . . . oh, you are doing it again. I will not be baited."

"As you say, Granger."

"Yes, I do say," she snapped back at him with more cheek than was probably prudent. But he did no more than raise a mocking brow at her which set her to fuming. She wanted to level a Moblicorpus at him that second but he'd raised her doubts now. If she dropped him or even set him down too hard, she could cause him a lot of pain. Damn the man.

"Rink!" she called.

Rink appeared almost immediately at her side. Flashing Snape a pleased smirk, she said, "I need to attend to Professor Snape's injuries on his back. Can you please turn him over to his stomach without jarring him?"

Snape's eyes widened and then narrowed down into slits. "Now see here, Granger. I will not be man-handled, or elf-handled, for that matter."

"Moving the Master is no problem for Rink, Miss."

He'd then turned a widen-eyed glare on Snape with the admonishment of "Miss must be taking care of Master," although Rink made that pronouncement from the rather dubious safety of her legs.

Before Snape could even begin to further his protest, he was raised, flipped, and gently set back down. Rink had vanished post-haste; probably for the safety of the kitchen if Hermione was to guess.

"Since when does my house-elf take orders from you?" Snape ground out, his tone irritated, and slightly muffled, by the pillow Snape was now speaking against. "You did not exactly mention that yesterday."

Hermione set about folding back the sheet from her shoulders and back. "It's a new development, she answered, making sure to keep any amusement out of her voice. "I asked Dumbledore and he says it's because the elves in the house see me as the head of the Granger house line."

She scowled in aggravation. "Technically, that's my mother, but since she's Muggle, it's also me in some weird sort of way. And since none of the other residents of Grimmauld Place, including Professor Dumbledore since he's only the steward for the Hogwarts line, are house-elf owners, the elves all look to me for instructions."

Snape chuckled darkly. "A fact, no doubt, that is driving Molly Weasley around the twist."

Hermione sighed in agreement. "They took over the kitchen and won't let her back in. She glares at me a lot whenever the subject comes up."

Leaning over to get a better look, Hermione traced a fingertip around the edge of one of the burns. "These are healing well, sir," Hermione told him, smoothing on a layer of the salve.

A number of older hex scars were concentrated under his right shoulder blade. She wanted to ask him about them but figured that she had used up her allotment of personal questions for the day. He'd been remarkably accommodating of her, and she didn't want to push the delicate relationship they were building.

Snape shifted, raising himself up on forearms so he could look over his shoulder at her.

"Tell me about Potter."

Hermione blinked in surprise, before grinning at her professor in excitement. He hadn't forgotten.

"You're really going to help me?"

He lowered himself back down to the pillow. "It would seem that I have nothing better to do than lie here. However, amendable as I am to fixing Mr. Potter, you and I both know that he will not listen to anything I have to say to him. This will require your intervention, and as loath as I am to suggest it, Mr. Weasley's as well."

Snape shifted again as Hermione smeared some of the salve across his ribs. Ticklish a part of noted with a grin. She was wise enough to withhold any comment on the fact though. She did say, "Ron is better with Harry than you'd imagine."

"Is he?"

"Actually, I think Ron is better with Harry than I am. Harry still listens to Ron, but I just seem to make him angrier."

"I would hazard that your involvement with me has not helped your relationship."

"I think Harry was glad in the beginning that I was being punished. But it's odd, in a way. He knows that I've been tasked with taking care of you, but he gets angry when I do things that involve taking care of you."

"And what of Mr. Weasley?"

She gave a short laugh. "Ron's been a rock. I mean, Harry seems to get mad at Ron too, but it doesn't usually last long and even then, Ron seems to be able to get Harry to snap out of it."

That seemed to catch Snape's attention. "How?" he asked.

"I'm not sure really. It's not that he really does or says anything. Mostly, I've just seen him touch him. Ron will put his hand on Harry's back or take hold of his arm. That seems to work most times. Is that significant?"

"Everything is significant and connected. Part of getting you to think is also seeing the connections between things. What did I tell you about dark magic?"

Hmm . . ." she paused, thinking back. "You said magic like the Unforgivables was hard to do and that it took great conviction of purpose and used up a lot of magical energy. You also said that dark magic was taking the easy way out. That's a bit of a contradiction, isn't it?"

"Magic is at its essence about contradiction. The strongest healing potions use the most poisonous ingredients. Charms create something out of nothing. Transfiguration modifies the very essence of one object into another."

Snape shifted again and grunted in annoyance as he tried to move. "Call back Rink and turn me to rights. I refuse to have this conversation while talking into a pillow."

It took only a few moments for Rink to get Snape properly situated again while Hermione put away the burn salve and prepared the rest of his potions. Snape eyed them with distaste when she brought two vials over to him.

Uncorking one, he tossed it back in one smooth swallow. "As I was saying, magic is about contradictions but what I meant about taking the easy way out is that certain emotions can be used to fuel the darker spells – hate, anger, revenge – these are typically more easily accessed within the human psyche. The slippery slope of dark magic is that the very part of you that generates magic is more often than not linked with your emotions. The use of Unforgivables irrevocably scars those emotions. If you are a believer, you might say that it mars your very soul. The damage done inevitably leaves traces behind."

"What kind of traces?"

He shrugged and then drank the second vial before he answered. "Emotional instability is one of the surest indicators. Megalomania, paranoia, and madness are others."

Feeling the need to defend her friend, she said, "Harry's irritable, he's not mad."

"Your body and your magic falls into the patterns you teach it. You can't Imperio without intent to control another. It's a tremendous drain on your magic. So you turn to powerful emotions in order to get that power. You pick hate because hate is easy and you hate the individual you want to control. You find it easy now. Next time around, you have another person that needs to be controlled. You don't particularly hate this person but you remember how it felt the last time. So you imagine the previous person and the hate comes boiling back up again. Soon, hate is linked with the spell. Soon, you find that even the smallest of things brings the hate back to you. Soon, it is controlling you, rather than you controlling it."

There is was again – that cold indifference. She knew that he was describing himself as much as Harry now and she shivered. "Where does Ron fit?"

"Mr. Weasley breaks the pattern. Every time he touches Potter, he is an instant reminder of positive feelings – of trust and companionship."

"And love," she added.

Snape grimaced but agreed. "And love."

"You don't believe in the power of love?"

"The headmaster will tell you that it is the greatest power."

"Don't you don't believe him?"

"While love may be a powerful, it is not necessarily kind. It also, more often than not, requires sacrifices in exchange."

"Most people would argue that the sacrifices are worth it."

"Most people are idiots and have never had to pay those consequences."

Snape leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes. "I'm tired now, Granger. Come back after lunch and we will continue."

He was dismissing her. Something about their conversation was really disturbing him, even more than the talk of Voldemort and the Dark Mark had earlier. Hermione wanted to protest and push. Six months previously, she would have. Now, she just gathered up the empty tray and promised to return at lunch.

She had a lot to think about – about Ron and Harry and herself. She had a lot to think about regarding Snape and everything she'd learned. Looking back at the man, she had to wonder, Who was your pattern breaker and what happened to them?

Well, I thought that all the talking was over and done with but it turns out that once Hermione was finally able to talk, she wouldn't stop. The whole chapter came across as one big lecture to me, but there are some lovely clues tossed in there about future chapters if you can find them.