Not A Paradise

by TheOneWithAQuill

A perfectly happy life took a turn for the dark for Hermione Granger; a perfectly chaotic life of one reclusive Severus Snape became more chaotic with the arrival of a certain young witch in his house. Not a tale of love, but loathe is what you're going to step into. A story that discovers hope, resilience and love in the darkest creases of destiny.

30. Chapter 30

A/N: If I say sorry, will you guys cut me some slack? Please? I know, I know, I haven't updated in a long while, but my new job is prerty crap when it comes to my free time... But you lovely people had kept my spirits up with your reviews. So here it is, a new chapter. Hope you enjoy it! :)

As I'm updating after a month almost, I am including a little summary here to remind you what had happened in the last two or so chapters.

Summary: Hermione is shifted to the private room in the Hospital Wing and would be staying there until she could walk again. A day before she has to join classes, Snape comes to pay a visit, Polyjuiced as Harry so nobody suspects. They agree for Snape to charm Hermione's wand so he'll know if she did any self-harming spells. Before Snape could leave, Harry barges in, carrying the Marauders Map, which had Hermione's name changed to Hermione Granger-Snape. They have a confrontation where Harry brandishes his wand at Snape and yada yada. But Hermione stops him and eventually reveals that she had jumped off the Tower and Snape had no role to play. That leads to a heart-to-heart between Hermione and Harry, where she tells him about the bond, minus the awful details about all the terms and the consummation. Harry supports his friend. Next day, Hermione starts school. Also, she decides to come up with a charm to help Snape with frequent headaches. Lastly, the three friends sit in the library while Hermione goes through with them about a potentially dark spell called Mentis Imperium, found in the Half-blood Prince's book, to manipulate Slughorn into giving his memory of Tom Riddle to Harry.

Here we go! Enjoy and please leave a small, little, well-craved-for review. :)

Chapter 30: Acting Our Parts

Wednesday evening saw Hermione in the dungeons with a very quite Harry in tow.

They had left the Great Hall right after dinner. The Slytherins were still eating when they had left so as not to run into any of the students on their way to Professor Snape's office. Before leaving the Great Hall, Hermione had signalled the Professor—through her ring—who was sitting at the Head Table. It was only after she had received a signal back that she had come to the dungeons. Ron and Ginny were told that Harry had to retrieve some books from the Library that the Headmaster had asked him to read in their private lesson the day before. And who could help in the errand if not their personal bookworm? The Library excuse had worked well for none of the Weasleys bothered to follow them.

Harry had talked to Professor Dumbledore on Tuesday about what he knew of the bonding ceremony. On returning to the common room last night, he had been disgruntled and his eyes were red. Hermione had carefully ceased to comment on that. She could only imagine how far the Headmaster had gone with the explanation.

Harry had insisted upon escorting Hermione back to the Hospital Wing for the night. It was while they were alone in the corridor that he had spoken.

"Consummation?" His voice had been brittle.

The word had sent chills down Hermione's spine. She mentally berated the old Headmaster for revealing such details! It was simply not his place to. Shouldn't he have practised discretion?

"I would have died; it would have been considered as disobeying the bond," she had said clearly.

"He ra- He violated you, Hermione!"

She had winced at the sharp tone. "We were both compelled to, Harry."

"How can you even defend that bastard after what he's done to you!" Harry had exclaimed with disgust and disbelief.

"Because he was as much at fault as I was!" There had been some raised voices.

"You were not at fault." And declarations.

"Exactly!" And sardonicism.

Then, silence—that still remained. They had not talked the entire day, even partnered with different people in DADA and Potions.

Hermione had scribbled in her diary furiously last night. After a good cry, she had chided herself for having argued with a friend who was merely concerned about her.

Standing outside the Professor's locked office door, Hermione stole a glance at her friend. He was still angry. But she highly appreciated that he had not pounced upon the Professor or did anything to arise suspicions. Whoever had noticed Harry avoiding to look at the Professor in DADA must have assumed it to be a consequence of their usual rivalry. And if someone did spot the tension between the two friends, nothing had been said. Though throughout the day, Hermione had been longing to talk to Harry. His reaction was only natural and expected—she wouldn't have reacted any differently if placed in his shoes.

"Harry?" Hermione bit her lip in apprehension. Harry fixed his gaze on her but did not speak. "I'm sorry. I should not have been so rude to you yesterday. You were only concerned."

He blinked. "You think I care about you being rude?" He huffed in disbelief. "I can't understand why you'd take his side after all this! He has...violated you, Hermione!"

There was that word again. Though he had whispered for the most part, Hermione looked around to check their vicinity. She sighed, "Harry, do you really think so low of me that I'd have silently endured had he treated me like you think he did? Do you really think I'm so weak?"

"You're not weak." He said clearly. "But I can't wrap my head around this. Why would you take the side of your...abuser?"

"Because he did not abuse me or his position," she said simply but firmly.

"I have read the terms, Hermione," he told her in a steely voice. "Dumbledore showed me."

The Headmaster is certainly going senile! "Professor Snape provided a respite for every term. He found a way to manipulate each term. Didn't Professor Dumbledore care to tell you that?" She didn't even attempt to keep the bitterness out of her tone when referring to the Headmaster.

"He told me everything," he said. "But what about...the last term? The... You know what the last bloody term is about!"

Hermione recalled the last term, she had forgotten about it, in truth. It briefed about the sexual relationship between the two in bond. According to the wretched term, the man in the bond could demand the woman to provide for his 'desires' anytime he liked.

"That last two terms of the bond are only applicable if the man demands them," she explained. It clearly took Harry a moment to recall the second last term—about the woman 'caring' for the man's well-being. "He's not a pervert, Harry. He will never demand such of me, he has made that very clear."

"He couldn't find a trick for the bloody...consummation, though," he said accusingly.

"Voldemort is our bonder, he would have known that Professor Snape was not adhering to the terms," she explained. "His cover would have been blown and I would have probably died."

He ran a hand through his hair. The messy hair sat flat on his scalp for a second before jumping to retake their haphazard position, sticking out. "It's just wrong! It's so damn wrong in so many ways. And I hate to think how you'd have taken this all alone."

"Yes, it is very wrong," she said calmly. "But it was not his fault."

"But he's anyway less affected," he complained. "He's free to do as he likes. And what if he slipped, what if he suddenly decided that...he'll take advantage of the situation?"

"He's not insane or unstable, Harry," she stated. "He will never take advantage."

"How can you be so sure?" He asked in exasperation.

"He has never so much as...touched me, even casually I think," she said seriously, lowering her voice. "One day, I started cleaning a windowsill in his house, he became almost angry at me for thinking it was my job at all. I made jam for him to take at every meal for the fulfilment of the first term. It was so horrid that when I tasted it, I threw up. But he ate that same jam for weeks, without a single complaint. Why? Because he does not think, even for a moment, that this is something to take advantage from."

Harry was staring at her with wide eyes.

"He took me to my parents' graves," she said, still uncomfortable to relive the memory. "You know what all I said to him? I told him not to darken their graves with his presence. I asked him if murdering people sates him, if he sleeps peacefully remembering their screams. I was so horrible to him. But he never really retorted. Can you imagine why? Because he still thinks that he deserved what I said."

For a moment, Hermione was sure he'd make a comment about how the Professor did deserve what she had said to him. But Harry plucked off his glasses to rub his face, choosing to stay silent.

"You know, Harry," she debated with herself whether to release the next information or not. A part of her just wanted to, for once, speak about the developments in her life openly. And if the information that she revealed played to help Harry see the picture with more clarity, why would she not? "He has put a Charm on my wand that would tell him if I use any...self-harming spells. And we have established a signal that I could send him if I ever feel...too overwhelmed again."

Harry stared at her, providing trying to determine how how much veracity her pronouncements held. "Snape did that?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes," she gave a sad smile. "Why would a man who's of a perverse mindset care about my well-being? He's a good person, even if he hides that side of himself under the garb of a loathsome, heartless man."

Harry released a slow breath and slightly turned away to peer into the dark corridor ahead. He remained silently contemplating what Hermione had told him. She hoped her words would help him see beyond his prejudices against the Professor. That was the most she could hope for, as she knew that the Professor will be his usually nasty self to Harry, which would do little to change his image in Harry's mind.

"I don't think I can...really trust him," he finally said, studying his worn trainers that reminded Hermione what a good Christmas gift a pair of new, wearable, Charmed -to-endure-Harry's-rough-treatment shoes would make for him. "I've thought about this a lot since that conversation in the Hospital Wing with you. I know better than to go confronting him, but I can't...I can't trust him, not after what Dumbledore told me. Hell, I never want to trust him with you!" He raised his eyes to look at her. "But there's nothing I can do to...to..." He trailed off with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "There's nothing I can do to help you..."

"You are helping," she stated, placing a hand on his arm, but not overdoing it for she knew how Harry despised sentimentality. "I won't expect you to suddenly start liking him, Harry." Harry snorted with some disdain at even the idea of him liking the Professor. "But if you want to work with us, there needs to be a basic level of civility. That's all I ask of you."

"I'll do whatever helps you in this," he said promisingly, his eyes gleaming with determination. "But it's only for your sake, Hermione. Never his."

She slowly nodded as the impact of the statement seeped in. Harry couldn't just put past him the hatred that he had cultivated for the man over the years. And vice versa. But as long as they worked in civility, they'd be fine. And perhaps, some day in future, Harry would start seeing the Professor in a better light. But that day wasn't today, and Hermione could see how unlikely it was to even hope for the day to arrive anytime soon.

"And I still need your word on this—if he ever—ever—mistreats you, Hermione, you will tell me," he demanded solemnly.

She smiled at him. "I promise." Even though she had known the Professor closely for only a few months, she could say with certainty that he wouldn't ever willingly mistreat her.

Harry slumped against the wall as they waited for the man. Hermione could see how his eyes were gazing a a spot on the floor, his mind still going over what he had discovered about the Potions Master in the last couple of days. With their long-standing history, exacerbated by his failed Occlumency lessons and Sirius' demise, not to mention years of mistrust and bad blood.

Hermione ceased to comment upon it further. Harry was entitled to make his own opinions of people, after all. There was only so much she could do to present a better image of the Professor to him. She would keep the two sides of her life—her friendships with her close ones and the unnamed, indeterminable relationship with the Professor—as separate as possible.

It did not take long before they could hear the said Professor's boots clicking on the stone floor. With one last glance at Harry, Hermione prepared herself for the meeting.

UIUUUUU

"Good evening, Sir," Granger greeted. The Potter boy had the grace to nod. He looked positively vindictive, on his sleeve as he tended to carry his heart. Severus returned the greetings with a terse nod of his own. He unlocked his office with a touch of his wand and led the two students in.

"I am assuming that you were not sighted while coming here." He sat behind his desk and gestured the Potter boy to sit opposite to him. Granger moved her Chair beside the boy's, having shifted the other straight back chair out of the way.

"No, Sir, nobody saw us," she replied.

He could feel Potter's gaze on him. He wondered if the boy would be daft enough to risk a confrontation with him. The little disputation in the Hospital Wing was still fresh, afrer all. He could have deducted points for Potter's attempt at attacking a Professor, but it had simply not seemed... moral, he gulped. Since when was he bothered about virtues such as morality. But that issue was clearly out of the realm of a simple classroom disagreement.

"Mr. Potter," he turned to look at the boy, "It was brought to my attention that you are willing to provide your assistance in our endeavour."

"I am," he said bluntly.

He caught Potter's acerbic tone but ignored it. "In what capacity are you willing to help us?"

"In whatever capacity I'm needed," he shrugged. "Whatever makes Hermione's task easy." Granger shot her friend a grateful smile. A silent understanding passed between the Gryffindors that Severus ceased to remark upon.

"Then I must elaborate on what the said task entails," he said.

He explained the boy, at length, what the Dark Lord expected Potter's mental state to be, and what kind of memories Granger was expected to provide. He gave a brief on how the subterfuge worked and hoped the boy understood enough not to impede it.

"Maybe we can show Harry the memories we created?" Granger suggested.

"The idea does have merits," he agreed. Severus summoned his Pensieve to the table. Potter flushed slightly, probably recalling the last time he had found himself in the presence of the basin. Recalling that calamitous day now would only disrupt any feeble chance they might still have to build a delicate truce, Severus decided, but he couldn't deny feeling smug watching Potter's discomfort at the prospect to use the Pensieve.

Granger retrieved a string of memories from her temple and let it swirl into the Pensieve solution, not having noticed the exchange. Severus wondered how much had Potter revealed to her about his little visit to Severus' past. Immediately, he knew he didn't want to know hoe much Granger knew of that harrowing day.

"There are two memories, Harry."

Potter dragged the Pensieve towards himself and sat up. Before he could put his head in, Granger said, "These are...dark, Harry. Don't let the dialogues affect you."

Potter gave her a slightly confused frown. "It's okay, Hermione," he said callously and dived his head in.

Granger kept her eyes trained on the half-submerged body with apprehension. The nature of those memories was indeed angsty. The kind of words she had spoken—or was rather made to speak, for the words were not hers—invoked a morbid tendency in the listener.

She sighed and looked away after a long moment. "Maybe he shouldn't have seen these..." She murmured.

"As much as the Gryffindors tend to carry their maudlin hearts on their flimsy sleeves, I doubt Potter would be quite so affected as you are presuming," he replied.

"I hope so." Her shoulders slumped, her wand still being fiddled in her inattentive fingers.

"Do you know how many accidents does that simple whim cause per year?" Severus nodded towards her hand.

"Oh!" She paused the motion. "I...I know. I have read all about it in The Healer's Gazette." When she slipped her sleeve up to stow her wand away, Severus caught sight of her wearing his wrist watch, the one that he had given her as a Portkey.

Why is she still wearing it?

But before he could question her, she suddenly spoke, "Why are some spells identified as dark spells whereas the others that should be considered dark are simply not?"

Severus frowned at the lack of preamble. "I would ask you to elaborate, Miss Granger."

"There are Unforgivables that are inherently dark, but there are also variations to such spells, but they're not dark. How?" She asked.

"Variations?" Severus muttered, recalling how many variations he had created of the darkest of the Charms in his days as a Death Eater.

"For example," she continued, "The Killing Curse can kill the victim, but so can...Incendio, couldn't it? Or what if I come up with a spell that can cause grievous injury to one, but don't get it registered under the Ministry. There'll be practically no laws governing my use of that spell."

"They are two differet questions," Severus said. "Do you know what constitutes as dark magic, Miss Granger?"

"The spells that cause harm to the victim, and that drains the caster's powers more than a usual spell could," she replied.

"Precisely," he conceded. "But dark magic leaves a residue in the caster's core, a residue that is as addictive as Muggle drungs. Thus, once the usage of dark magic becomes habit-forming, the caster cannot walk away with ease. But when one casts a spell like Incendio, a light spell, the caster does not experience any lingering residue of the magic.

"As for the variations, as you put it, yes, naturally the Ministry cannot put sanctions on using a spell that, in their opinion, does not even exist. The problem is alike to unregistered Animagus. But as not many wizards or witches are qualified to invent spells of such dark nature—or any spells at all in most cases, the question has not been put to review by the Ministry. Yet."

"Oh..." She mumbled, keeping to her habit and chewing on her lower lip. She seemed deep in thought, then spoke again, "How long...does it take for dark magic to become...a habit?"

Severus studied her closely. As expected, she was Occluding. Though he doubted Granger would ever choose the path that he had in his moronic moment of pathetic weakness, he couldn't help but suspect. "If you have a natural draw to the field, not long." A natural pull, like he had felt back in those days. His adolescent mind sought peace in the darkness and relished the residue dark magic left. The news of the Dark Lord's scheme for Lily and hers was the firm jolt that he needed to refrain himself and control his unnatural hunger. In his—unsuccessful—quest to protect Lily, he had not even realised exactly when he was sobered from the enticing charms of dark magic.

"And if one's not drawn towards it in the first place but...say, starts using dark spells..." She asked.

Severus leaned forward, now genuinely curious and certain her questions were raised from a personal dilemma than a bookish riddle. "If one is not innately drawn to the darkness, the addiction can take longer to manifest."

"Oh, alright then," his am answer had somehow worked to wave her worries away. But Severus was still curious. He could openly ask her, but heeded his own advice not to meddle. He trusted Granger's abilities enough to know she wouldn't drag herself into an undesirable situation.

"How well can Potter act?" He asked, effectively changing the course of the conversation.

"Probably better than I can," she chuckled softly.

"Then, we can manage," he hid his smirk behind two fingers in the guise of rubbing beneath his nose. She gave a sheepish smile.

He had not seen Granger in private since Sunday, only seeing her in class. The short conversation on Monday had ended on an awkward note. For some vague reason, he found a small flicker of comfort talking to her under their easy truce.

"Has the Order come up with a plan yet? To prove Riddle of your loyalty?" She asked.

"I am still waiting to be summoned," he informed her. "We want to wait until I'm called next in order to asses where exactly do I stand in the Dark Lord's ranks."

"When was the last time you were summoned?"

"The night of your fall," he said. Then wondered if 'fall' was putting it bluntly. But Granger took no notice. "I was not summoned. I went to deliver the news on my own."

"Oh," she bit her lip again and Severus suppressed his urge to berate her habit. "Do you think it's because he's losing his trust in you that he's not calling you?"

"That is one plausible reason, yes." He sat back comfortably, contrary to how he felt about the issue. If he was rendered useless to the Dark Lord... No, he couldn't draw his own conclusions yet.

"And what about Malfoy?" She said, jumping to a different topic altogether. She seemed distracted today. Could it be because of resuming classes? Or whatever she was planning with dark spells.

"What about him?"

"I understand Malfoy does not fully trust that I'm on your side. because of our confrontations..." She said hesitantly.

"I would suggest you avoid Mr. Malfoy and company to be on safe grounds," he told her. "Though the Malfoys are not held in high regards currently due to Lucius' failure at the Ministry. The Dark Lord will not pay Draco much heed for now."

"A glaring error a leader can commit," she remarked. "Not giving weightage to everyone."

"Correct."

"I am able to keep the selected memories above my Shields now," she said with a smile of triumph, switching the topic abruptly again. "But if you could once Legilimize me before Riddle does..."

"Yes, we can keep that for the weekend," he suggested. He had already planned out her course, that had slowed down since her...fall.

"When do you think he would call me?"

"I would still put my money on the week leading to Halloween," he said pensively.

"I still have two weeks that means," she mumbled to herself.

"Precisely." Two weeks, if things worked according to his plan, two weeks would easily suffice to prepare her.

Granger got prevented from saying whatever she was going to by Potter who finally returned from the Pensieve and gulped mouthfuls of air, as if the Pensieve had suffocated him. Melodrama, Severus reflected with a mental eye-roll.

Granger put her hand on his arm, concernsed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he ruffled his hair, reminding Severus strongly of Potter senior. Even though it made him feel petty, Severus couldn't help comparing the two men and resenting his own self for doing the same—not because he had any intentions to change his perspective of the boy, but because it simply affected his own peace of mind.

"Whatever I had said there-" Granger was cut off by the boy. "I know it was just acting, Hermione."

"Mr. Potter," he interrupted the annoying theatrics, "Do you find yourself capable enough to work in that capacity?"

"Yes," he nodded immediately, as if watching the memories was little more than a formality for him to agree. "I basically have to be myself, with a pinch of Moaning Myrtle."

Granger snorted, looking relieved at his unexpected nonchalance.

"Along with the creation of false memories, it might be beneficial to our story if you, Potter, pretend to be slipping away, in front of Mr. Malfoy," he said.

"Slipping away? What'll I have to do?" The boy asked.

"You have to appear to be hysterical and unstable," he instructed.

"Like attack Malfoy in the hallways?" Granger said with amusement.

"And lose infinite House points?" Severus raised a brow. "Absolutely."

She chucked while Potter gawked at them in disbelief. Severus chided himself to maintain his formidable character before the boy. It would not do him any good if Potter, too, ceased to be intimidated by him, like Granger.

"Your acting has to be flawless, Potter," he said firmly. "One slip and Mr. Malfoy will see right through our fragile subterfuge."

"He isn't so perceptive," the boy said casually.

"Never underestimate your enemy, Potter," he said darkly. "Draco Malfoy has grown up around people who have more layers to their personality than the layers to their skin. He is an accomplished Legilimence, if not an Occlumens."

"Does he have the Dark Mark?" Potter asked suddenly.

"Yes." Severus had no qualms about revealing the information. The boy needed to know his enemies to fight his battles. Albus should have revealed that to him already, in his opinion.

"I knew it!" He huffed.

"Congratulations," he sais dryly.

"I saw him in Knockturn Alley when I went to purchase my books," he said. "In Borgin and Burkes."

"Did you?" Severus straightened up with a frown. "What was he doing?"

"I couldn't see much but he was showing the shopkeeper something on his forearm," Potter said. "It was easy to guess what it could be."

"Maybe," Granger said, "Malfoy was invoking fear in the shopkeeper to get favours in Riddle's name."

"Yes, that could be a possibility," Severus agreed. The task that was given to the boy had to do something with a dark artefact. An artefact that Borgin and Burkes could alone provide, because had that artefact been common, Draco would have ordered it from their illegal sources aboard, rather than risking his plan by himself visiting the notorious shop, that too when his father was locked in Azkaban. Either that or he was simply not seeking out unreliable sources.

"So when do we do it?" Potter asked. "I mean when do we create another memory?"

"Miss Granger is scheduled to meet me next on Saturday," Severus said.

"I have Quidditch practices on Saturday," Potter objected. Then quickly looking at Granger, he amended. "No. Of course, Saturday it is. This is more important."

Severus hadn't expected the reaction for nothing about Potter suggested maturity. But a small voice reminded him that the boy had, indeed, kept quiet about the bond.

"I have an idea!" Granger perked up. "If Professor could assign the pitch to the Slytherins on Saturday when you will practice, you can have your first argument with Malfoy. That way, it will also not look suspicious that you're playing Quidditch despite your unstability."

"But, Hermione, the Gryffindors don't have to think me going mad," he pointed. "I can't have such an argument before them."

"The confusion over the allotment of the Quidditch pitch can provide to be a strong topic for an altercation, Potter," Severus elaborated. "You can see to a confrontation later, when the Gryffindors have retreated from the pitch, only in front of the Slytherin team."

"But that could be dangerous," Granger pointed out. "One against seven."

"I will be in the vicinity, in case it does go out of hand," Severus offered.

Potter muttered something under his breath that Severus ignored but it made Granger elbow him disapprovingly.

"So Saturday evening?" She asked.

"Yeah, okay," Potter shrugged. "Where will we do it?"

"The Come and Go Room would be apt," Severus suggested.

"The what?" Potter blinked.

"Room of Requirement," Granger told him.

Severus cast a Tempus. It had been exactly thirty minutes. "You are dismissed."

While leaving his office, Potter wore an express that indicated he would have liked to stay for a private conversation—one none of the man would do well with—but Granger practically held his arm to refrain him from. staying behind.

If the insolent boy didn't come to confront him in the next two days—probably again with his wand brandished, Severus would likely see Trelawney on a mug of extra-sweetened hot cocoa.

UUUUUUUU

"It didn't go as bad as I had thought," Harry said flatly.

"What did you think would happen?" She asked as they left the dungeons.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Like a fight, ending in a duel? Leading us to Azkaban, maybe. Or St. Mungo's if one of us were too excited."

Catching the jest in his tone, Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed him. "I get the idea."

"I hate not telling Ron and Ginny," he said after some time.

"Me, too," she sighed. "But we can't... Not yet."

"Yeah, I get it. Ron won't take it well," he admitted. "And Ginny... She'll be more understanding but I don't think you'd want to tell her anything about this."

"No, not yet," she repeated. "She will understand but I'm not comfortable telling anyone."

"How long would you have gone without telling me, as well, had I not figured it out myself?"

"Until it was absolutely necessary," she said honestly. "But now, I'm glad that I told you."

"Why didn't you want to tell anyone?" He asked as they took a turn leading to the marble staircase.

"I was not even ready to accept this myself," she said quietly. "In fact, I'm still trying to accept it... I just couldn't face someone else's reaction, too, along with managing my own."

Harry leaned against the banister. "You know you can confide in me, don't you?"

She smiled and nodded. "I know."

"It was actually quite fishy when they claimed to have kept you in some random safe-house in Wales rather than letting you stay with us," he said. "But I never suspected something like this. I thought maybe you were injured in the attack, too. And you weren't exactly in contact with us all the time. But I was relieved to see you well."

"I just...couldn't come to tell you all half truths or entire lies," she sighed. "Lying about it, about my parents, broke me. But I could also not tell you the truth. I needed space and an escape from the Professor's house."

"Who else was there in his house?" He asked out of curiosity.

"Nobody," she replied. "Just the two of us. The house is in a Muggle neighbourhood. I started a summer job at a bakery to give myself a respite."

"What did you do there, in the house, I mean?"

"Nothing. I just kept to my room—the guest room—and that's it," she told him. "The initial days before I started working were a living hell... I can't recall properly how they passed. I used to sit and go through albums and cry myself to sleep... Every dream that I had was a nightmare because they featured my Mum and Dad... It was...bad."

When her voice trembled, Harry kept a tentative hand on hers. "I know how that feels." He said very quietly.

"Do you still dream of Sirius?" She asked in a whisper.

"I have seem him falling through the veil more times that I bother to count," he averted his eyes down.

Hermione clutched his hands reassuringly. "We'll find our way through this, too."

"Yeah, we can only hope..." Harry ran a hand down his face, composing himself after the unexpected turn their conversation had suddenly taken. "There's still an hour before curfew, will you come to the common room?"

"No, I have to get some books issued. I'll head to the Library." She excused herself.

"Your cat will not be pleased," he joked lightly.

"I really have to sort things with Crooks," she laughed. Her familiar had became too protective of her witch since Hermione had returned from the Hospital Wing. But Hermione enjoyed her cuddly companion after two long weeks of separation.

"See you tomorrow, then," Harry went on to the Gryffindor Tower and Hermione turned her Chair around to the Library. She had an extensive research to work on.

After all, it was not a piece of cake to create Healing Charms to permanently cure the Professor's frequent headaches.

But what was Hermione, if not assiduous?

UUUUUUUU

By Saturday evening, Hogwarts was buzzing with galloping gossips and rumours about the ugly brawl between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. There were talks of nasty curses being fired from both wands and of three of the Slytherins caught in crossfire. now supposedly residing at the Hospital Wing.

Although most of it were rumours, both the Houses had fifty points docked each. The Potions Master and the Deputy Headmistress were 'coincidentally' walking by the pitch when the said altercation was taking place.

One of the participants of the brawl was currently on his way to the Seventh floor, along with his bushy-haired friend. The boy had a triumphant smirk on his face which matched that of his friend's.

"Now Dumbledore will have all the more pressure to take me in the Order!" Harry said without preamble. "As well as Ron."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. Her Chair rose and ascended the stairs while Harry followed.

"That day, I asked Dumbledore to let me be an official Order member," Harry said. "He was still reluctant. But now that I'm actually doing something worth, he'll understand that I'm not a child. And Ron, too."

"The Headmaster is really being unreasonable if he is still not permitting you both to join the Order," Hermione said with a hint of annoyance. "If he expects you to fulfil the Prophecy—which I'm sure you will—he needs to let you in."

"Exactly!"

Hermione was glad to see the confidence in her friend when they referred to the Prophecy. Harry often took to brooding when the said Prophecy was brought in a conversation.

When they reached where the door to the Room of Requirement was hidden, it was Harry who did the customary pacing to find the door.

"Snape's in?" Harry asked when the door appeared.

"Professor Snape," Hermione said almost unconsciously. "And, yes."

Harry held the door open for her. She gave him a smile and took her Chair in. Good thing that he was in a light mood today, she decided.

They again had to conveniently lie to Ron and Ginny to make them not follow their friends. That, and it had taken a lot of convincing to make a very disgruntled Crookshanks leave Hermione's lap.

As they entered, they found themselves in a dorm room in Gryffindor colours.

"It's my dorm," Harry supplied.

The colours were similar to Hermione's own dormitory, but due to this one consisting five beds, instead of just three, the dorm room seemed crammed to Hermione. Two of the beds were untidily unmade, the tables between the beds held far too many things than there should be. One of the trunks at the end of the beds had a piece of clothing peeking out, its lid carelessly unfitted. In a corner, a small heap of clothing, provable unwashed, made Hermione screw her face in disapproval. She suspected at least one of the garments seemed like a pair of boxers, the realisation caused her to look away from that corner instantly. Clearly, the essence of the boy's' dormitory was captured well by the Room of Requirement.

"Step judging!" Harry said uncomfortably. His colouring ears seemed comical to her. "That's how blokes are..."

"Indeed." Professor Snape's sarcastic voice from the quiet corner made the two jump.

"What the-"

"Good evening, Sir," Hermione cut her friend sharply before he could deliver the cuss word of his choosing.

The Professor nodded. He looked entirely out of place in a room decorated in red and gold. The scowl on his face was a telltale to his own similar thoughts. Without wasting time in formalities, he simply handed them two parchments that Hermione recognised as their script. "Memorise them, word to word."

Hermione's head shot up at the words that could be taken for an order by the bond. The man seemed to have realised his mistake for he quickly amended his statement. "If you are able to."

Harry, who was reading the dialogues, looked from the Professor to Hermione in confusion, but said nothing. If he understood the implication, he did not show. Hermione found herself hoping he did.

"Is Malfoy convinced?" Hermione asked.

"I am surmising so," the Professor said plainly. He did not elaborate further and Hermione ceased to question further for now. Harry, on the other hand, seemed more interested to know the results of his morning activities. The Gryffindors had literally cheered him for tackling Malfoy. Ron had been especially proud. Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have given both boys a long lecture, but it was only a subterfuge, after all.

She worked on leaning the dialogues, dark and atrocious as the words were. Sharp as daggers they hurt her to think that this time, it would be actual Harry she would deliver them to. The idea itself made her queasy. To think that she'd have to subject Harry to-

"I get the gist," Harry kept the parchment down. "I'll say my own words. That'll be more realistic."

"Do keep it natural, Potter," Professor said.

"I did pretty good with Malfoy today," Harry said smugly, obviously still recalling the stunt that he had pulled with smooth ease. Although the brawl had been controlled before too much could pass before wands were unsheathed, the spells had been nasty. Malfoy's, as much as Harry had told her, were bordering of dark. It had clearly been far too dangerous in Hermione's opinion. But it seemed to have had the desired effect. Yet, that didn't mean she had to like it.

"That was a mediocre performance," the Professor commented. "The hubbub of the Slytherin team members covered the loopholes in the plot."

"Too much to ask from him to appreciate where appreciation is due," Harry muttered.

"Would you care to repeat that, Mr. Potter?" A neatly arched eyebrow accompanied the question.

"No." Harry paused deliberately before adding a terse, "Sir."

Hermione bit her lips behind her parchment. She moved her Chair closer to the two scowling men to prevent a full-blown, heared argument to break. At least her close proximity would keep Harry from retorting. She memorised the dialogue word to word. She was not a natural by any means. She would do well to stick to the exact words.

"Wait. Can girls even enter our dorm?" Harry asked.

"How exceptionally quick to pick up on your surroundings, Potter," the Potions Master said dryly.

Before the baseless argument could escalate, Hermione answered. "Only the boys cannot enter our dormitories. The rule does not apply the other way around."

"Why?"

"Because when Hogwarts was built and the Charms were placed, the society had a very orthodox point of view," she explained. "It was assumed that a male student could exploit a female student. Vice versa did not exist in their perspective. So female students alone were 'protected' under such wards."

"And you read that in..."

"That's a general idea," she pursed her lips.

That seemed to have satisfied Harry, for Hermione was not disturbed after that as she learnt from the parchment. When she was done, Hermione kept the parchment in her pocket, feeling as if the brazen words were physically heavy to carry.

"I'm ready," she declared.

Harry took his place on his bed and Hermione hers by the door. The Professor crept into the shadows, well away from her line of sight.

Harry laid on his bed and covered his eyes with his arm. In that empty and silent dorm room, he seemed to be sulking hard. Such silence threatened Hermione to take her mind into the territory of dangerous thoughts.

But it was not about her. She had to believe that it was Harry who was trying to find answers in the solitary silence of the room to run his wilder thoughts. Hermione erected her Shields up.

"Harry," she approached him from the door. He did not stir. "Are you asleep?"

"You are being too blunt about the question, Miss Granger," the Professor said from his corner. "The monotone will not serve the role. When asking someone if they are asleep, we feel hesitant."

"Oh, right," she agreed. It wasn't news to her that she was already messing this up. She went back to the door and delivered the dialogue again, this time with sufficient hesitance.

"No." Harry replied tersely, but did not remove his arm. Hermione vaguely noticed how the sleeve of his robe held a fresh stain from the gravy they had had at lunch.

Hermione took her Chair beside his bed. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm," he gave a noncommittal reply. His voice suddenly sounded hoarse and she wondered just how he could bring that kind of effect to his tone.

"Harry," she said in a quiet tone, "What happened?"

"I'm fine, Hermione!" He huffed. Hermione realised that her friend was really natural. But with that, she was forced to think how many times he had acted to appear fine while he wasn't. No, no, this wouldn't work! She needed to keep her actual thoughts below the Shields for it to work.

"No you're not you are upset what is it?"

"Are you reciting or reading, Granger!" The Professor sounded annoyed. "One has to break the sentences when they end before beginning a new one. Must I teach you how to speak?"

"Right. Sorry." She mumbled. "Again?"

"Obviously," he drawled.

Harry threw a sharp look at the man, "She is trying-"

"Harry," she shushed him. She really did not have it in her today to deal with them. The acting part always left her feeling drained.

Annoyed, he stayed silent. Their resentful glares at each other clearly announced how likely it was for the truce to shatter, unnerving her.

The entire scene was repeated. Hermione made sure to distance her sentence with appropriate pauses, and keep her own thoughts at bay.

"No, you're not." She said decidedly. "You are upset. What is it?" That sounded well.

"Nothing," Harry groaned.

"You had a lesson with H-" She coughed to hide the slip. It would only make it more realistic. "You had a meeting with Dumbledore, didn't you? How did it go?"

"How do you suppose anything can go with Dumbledore?" Harry bolted up and looked disgusted. Harry spitting the Headmaster's name with such disdain chilled Hermione. It was an unsaid understanding that Harry was extremely deferential towards the Headmaster, excluding his occasional annoyances with his mentor.

Hermione quite admired his flawlessness. "What did he say? Anything about strategy?"

"He doesn't have any strategy. He expects me to come up with something," he rolled his eyes. "I'm sick and tired of this, of his useless counselling! Why can't he bloody understand, I don't want to FIGHT HIS RUDDY BATTLES!"

It came out so naturally that Hermione was compelled to wonder if it was even acting. What if Harry truly believed so? What if he really wanted to quit fighting? Where would that leave them? How pitiful it was for them to depend on a teenager for their victory. Admittedly, over the years, even Hermione had come to think it would obviously be Harry to rid them of the evil. But no, he wouldn't be alone in his battles. She pushed those thoughts under her Shields for the time being.

"Then just tell him that, Harry," she made herself sound convincing. "Tell Dumbledore that this is not what you want to do. Tell him that you don't want to fight more battles. That you have already lost far too much!"

"I tell him every fucking time!" Harry shouted in supposed frustration. "But that bastard does not listen!"

"Oh, Harry," she placed her hand on his knees, surreptitiously searching his eyes for the truth. "I know it hurts. You have lost everyone you loved in this war. You deserve a respite, a way out... You deserve a break, Harry."

"I just want to go away from this hell of a place!" Harry picked the lamp on the bedside table and flung it across the room. The loud crash reverberatedin the quiet room, making her jump. "I want to run away, Hermione. But I have no other place to go to. I want to...I want to DIE!"

That hit too close to heart. Hermione strengthened her Shields when Harry buried his face in his hands. She suppressed her urge to wrap her arms around her distraught friend like he had at her weakest. But she could not afford to commit another mistake and react the scene.

What she did was what she was told to. Hermione rubbed Harry's arm. But instead of offering comfort or dissuading him from such notions, she only fuelled the fire and felt sick. "I know, Harry. I know. It's alright to want a way out. It's alright."

It was the most horrible thing she had done, she decided. She feared that someday, it would become more than acting and she would start finding ease in speaking such wretched words.

"That is enough," the Professor's voice interrupted her train of thoughts. Harry looked up, and instead of tears, there was a sly grin on his face.

It had been act. Yes.

"That went well!" He looked triumphant.

"It was horrible," she mumbled, letting her Shields slip.

"No, you acted pretty good this time," he stood up.

"Practice keeping that memory above your Occlumency Shields, as well, Miss Granger," the Professor said.

No one other than Hermione looked affected by the scene at all. Maybe, she was only overthinking. But she truly despised acting such scenes out. Those words always worked like a trigger to relinquish the more morose part of her mind which she did not like to explore.

The undefined sadness liked to crept in from the corner. Sadness and hopelessness that she could not fight, that bound her like the slick, dark and thick tendrils of the Devil's Snare. A cloud of glumness descended upon her, blocking all the light with its shadow. Hermione was left cold.

It had a name now—depression. She hated to be in its throes just as it often liked to engulf her. She feared that she would never come out of that dullness that was bone-deep.

"Hermione?"

Hermione realised the other two occupants of the room were staring at her. She erected her Shields again. "I was thinking..."

She was still being targeted by two sets of gazes. "May I be excused, Sir?" She asked the Professor.

He looked hesitant, but he nodded, nevertheless. "Yes."

Hermione left the Room of Requirement with Harry following behind. But a quick excuse of needing a Library book had her alone. She was glad he didn't pick on her dolor and questioned him. Either that or he simply knew how the constant questions rattled one. She herself was guilty of grilling Harry with such at times.

She made a beeline for the Infirmary. All she wanted was to have an early night before her mind could take a dangerous turn of its own. Nodding to the Medi-witch, she made it to her room without encountering anyone.

If one were to keep a wary ear on her door, frantic scratches of a pen on parchment could be heard, with soft sniffling at intervals.

UUUUUUUU

Severus did not know why exactly he was here, at the Astronomy Tower. But nevertheless, he was. It was way after curfew and Granger would probably be asleep. But still, he failed at quelling his wild and absurd imagination.

The sky, though darkened, harboured clouds that threatened to pour. The breeze smelt of wer mud. He had no intentions to find himself drenched, yet here he was.

He had waited, pacing in his office and debating with himself why exactly he was bothered if she wasn't sending a signal on her own. Well, he knew why. He had seen exactly when her Shields went up, concealing the myriad of emotions he knew she felt after creating one of those abject memories.

The correct question to ask himself would be—why was he bothered at all?

Surely, the girl wouldn't be be able to harm herself again—even if she was tempted to, now that he had Charmed her wand. Also, a number of Charms were warding the parapet. But a very daft and dim part of him had begun to accuse him for his laxness. And that trail had led him to check the top of the Tower personally.

"What absurdities..." He muttered. But instead of walking back to his Chambers, he withdrew his wand.

Into the farrago of Charms, he added one of his own, too. One that would notify him if Granger was close enough to the parapet.

He was doing it only so he would not be bothered with keeping a wary eye on the wayward witch—or so he told himself.

UUUUUUU

Hermione was frustrated. She had tried five different equations—FIVE!

And not one was working!

It was so, so, so gruelling to create a Healing Charm!

Seven books and a stack of notes, and yet she had five failed attempts! Not to mention ten days worth of work.

Hermione noted the keywords down again. She was missing something...

Headache

Temples and forehead

Extensive Cruciatus

Nerve damage and shock

What was she missing?

Stress? She noted. He had more stressors in his daily life that her whole life.

What else? What was impeding her success?

The Headaches were infrequent and never abated without the aid of potions. Muscle spasms seldom sparked them. But not vice versa.

They were mostly triggered after dinner. She assumed he either graded essays then or looked after detentions. But students in detention could not be the cause, no. Or he would have experienced more headaches while teaching classes. That took more efforts.

So checking essays. His eyes could be week, but she had never seen him wearing glasses. But the eye muscles could have gone infirm due to the Cruciatus.

Week eye muscles, she jotted down.

Hermione went over her notes. They seemed complete. Maybe some amendments to the Charm she had come up with could do the trick.

She glanced at her wrist watch. It was nearing curfew. Hermione collected her books from the table and put them in her bag. She took the Library books and put them neatly on their respective shelves. She sent two books to the higher shelves with her wand. Some students tended to leave the tombs haphazardly on the tables, Hermione was never one of them. She respected books like one respected one's Gods.

She closed her bag after checking again if she had all her notes. She nodded a polite Goodnight to Madam Pince, who was herself buried in a Muggle romance novel that looked suspiciously like the one Lavender was reading the other day in the Library—before exiting the Library.

UUUUUUUU

"Four out of five witches died a virgin in the Eighteenth Century," Ginny put the latest edition of Witch Weakly down from where it was hovering over her face as she laid on a couch in the common room.

Crookshanks purred with satisfaction on his witch's lap while Hermione's hand unconsciously ran gently through his fur. "No wonder the Wizarding World is so sparsely populated in comparison to the Muggle world. Also, the men in the Pureblood families who believed in inbreeding eventually developed impotency, sort of."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I really don't give a damn about Malfoy's inability to produce heirs. What I mean is—they died virgins! Why would they remain virgins?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "Choice." But she secretly knew their reason was more orthodox than liberal. They simply wanted to remain chaste which was tantamount to pure back then.

"Would you choose to lay on your deathbed, remaining a virgin?" She asked in disbelief. "That would be my greatest regret."

"Are we really discussing this?" Hermione muttered, adjusting Crookshanks more comfortably on her lap. That particular topic had been disconcerting her greatly since the fateful summer. Practically, she wasn't counted as a virgin, was she? Merlin, she would have rather died a 'virgin' than...whatever she was now.

No, she couldn't even think around that.

It was necessary to remain alive. That's it.

"What will be your greatest regret if you were to die tomorrow?" The red-head asked. "I mean, Merlin forbid. But still, tell me?"

"It definitely won't be anywhere concerned with the status of my hymen," Hermione mocked, keeping the terrifying reminder of the abject Consummation out of her mind. "Maybe it would be that I couldn't see a free Wizarding Britain. Free of Voldemort's terror. Or that I couldn't see a free and satisfied Harry."

"Right," Ginny sighed, though some of the colour left her face on Hermione's free use of the dark wizard's name. "But what about a personal something that you might regret?"

"That there was so much knowledge I couldn't gain," Hermione said almost sadly. "That I couldn't become a Healer, that I couldn't travel the world, that I couldn't read so many books, learn languages, give my articles and books for publishing, attend seminars, meet people, make contacts, gain an identity of my own."

"Woah, your ambitions are never ending," Ginny laughed.

"As they should be," Hermione said with a smile.

"Anything else?"

Hermione's eyes travelled to Ron, who was playing chess with Dean. Then on Lavender who was perched on the arm of Ron's chair, one of her hand resting of his shoulder. "That I never knew how it was to love someone, and be loved with that passion."

"If it's my dumb brother you are falling for, you might have to carry that regret to your grave, even if that happens after a century," Ginny huffed. "He is taking ages to initiate."

But Hermione knew that even if he did, she could never reciprocate. It would be better if Ron never initiated at all. Hermione was not blind to his flaws, his temperament, yet he occupied a soft corner in her heart. "Anyway, anything else interesting in this edition?"

UUUUUUU

He was an absolute idiot!

Severus Snape always thought he was fairly intelligent, more than any average wizard. To corroborate the idea, his early completion of Mastery served as an evidence. Add his inventions to the list and the idea would only be strengthened.

He was a Potions Master, a spy, a double agent, a partial Medi-wizard. But not a strategist—or so he was compelled to think when a gauzy thought in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness had caught him right out of the blissful trail to the land of no-dreams.

It was the Seventeenth of October. The Dark Lord could call Granger any day. Even that very night, and he would have no other option but to oblige. Granger was prepared—she was an Occlumens, accomplished enough to trick the mad wizard; they had created a slew of believable memories to present to the said wizard; Granger had the flawless ability of keeping those memories above the smooth surface of water that were her Shields.

In the eyes of the megalomaniac, Granger would be perceived as a weapon. A weapon against Potter, and against Albus in the grand scheme of thoughts. Her recorded conversations with Potter would prove her loyalty, her will to do the mad wizard's bidding.

But an aspect that they had not explored, that was pricking at his mind was—how was she so willing to betray her friend, the friend she had fought for and alongside, against that very dark wizard for whom she was supposedly working, after he ordered her parents to be killed and bound her in a morbid bond from which she would only attain freedom upon her death?

Why was Hermione Granger willing? They had no false memories to cover that question. They needed more memories of such events that would provide an answer to the question.

It would be nasty business, he already knew. It would threaten to push Granger too far if they did not handle it with the delicacy it deserved and demanded.

He looked at his duvet that was pooling on his lap. There would be no sleep for him until he could manage to shape the ideas that were running wild in his mind. They had to take action quick, as soon as the very morning that he was sure to see without taking a break from jotting down notes.

UUUUUUUU

"Miss Granger, wait after class."

"What's his problem!"

Hermione ignored her red-head friend who was muttering obscenities under his breath and glanced at the man who was standing in front of his desk and watching over the class of Sixth years as they practised Non-verbal stunners on their partners. Professor Snape had his eyes fixed upon the other side of the room where his Slytherins were practising, but he was aware of her attention on him.

"Maybe it's about my essay," Hermione shrugged. She turned back to her partner, Ron. "Again?"

"Yeah," he threw a glare at their Professor's form before retaking his position.

Harry, while watching Hermione questioningly, had been caught by Neville's stunner, sending the glasses of the bespectacled boy flying down a moment before the boy himself. Neville looked triumphant and nervous at his first success of the day. Hermione, who had sent Ron unconscious on her third attempt gave Neville an encouraging smile.

"Blimey," Ron muttered looking at Harry, but gave Neville a grin of his own.

While Neville revived Harry, Hermione decided that it was her turn to put up the Protego shield while Ron had a chance to brush up on his stunner. "Go for it."

"You sure?" He asked tentatively.

"Yes," she said simply and moved her Chair back a step or two.

"What if you...fall off your Chair?" He was rubbing the back of his neck. Hermione assumed it to be nerves—either due to the genuine concern of hurting his friend or recalling the last time she had put the Protego up.

"My Chair has a mild Sticking Charm," she told him to ease his nerves. "I won't budge until intentionally picked up." She did not add 'intentionally stood up' because she was not going to stand up anytime soon. She still had no sensation from waist down, and with that thought she thanked Karly inwardly for being of so much assistance.

She was thinking about buying a little something—that was not cloth—as a thank-you-gift for the very helpful house-elf on their Hogsmeade weekend scheduled on the Saturday following Halloween. From waking up to going to bed at night, Karly helped her like a godsend. Hermione would have never been able to be so comfortable had it been another witch assigned to her assistance, rather than the kind and uncritical house-elf.

"Okay, then," Ron held his wand out, and so did Hermione. As he waved his wand in the required motion, Hermione conjured her Shield. But the encounter was rather anticlimactic as Ron's Non-verbal had no effect. But then again, it was his first attempt.

While he struggled to stun her, Hermione focused on honing her Protego. With the kind of power her Shield Charm exuded, there was little need to manually move to defend herself. She surmised she would manage just as well with her Chair.

She kept her eyes and focus well away from the Slytherins. The fact that Malfoy, himself, looked disgruntled and half-asleep, adding up to the number of stunners he was catching from Nott's wand, only seemed to help.

On his—she had lost count—attempt, Ron's wand finally emitted red, but as it collided with Hermione's Protego, it spread on the invisible covering like a layer of amber. It was almost mesmerising to watch. Behind her Shield, Hermione remained unaffected.

"Well done, Ron!" She smiled widely.

"Didn't stun you, though," he said sheepishly.

"But it was strong enough," she said in an attempt to cheer him up. The Stupefy was not that powerful, but she knew Ron too well to discourage him. Ron needed somebody to cheer his spirits up, even satisfy his ego at times, to perform better. He did not do well with the philosophy of 'learning from failures'.

They practised some more, exchanging the roles. By the end of the lesson, Ron had managed to partially penetrate Hermione's Protego, but could not stun her, because after colliding with her Shield Charm, the stunner had lost its potency. All Hermione felt was a brush on air against her covered torso.

On the other hand, Ron was rubbing a bump at the side of his head. Hermione felt proud of herself as a witch but guilty as a friend...

"Let me see," she beckoned her friend closer. "I can heal that bump."

"Already?" Ron asked with eyes wide.

"It's an easy spell," she said simply. "Bend closer."

Ron glanced at the Slytherins who were packing their bags to leave the class. "No, let it be."

"I know the spell, really," she said with confidence. "It will heal in a jiffy."

"No, I'll go to Pomfrey later," he picked his bag up.

"I know you, you won't go to Madam Pomfrey for this," she insisted. As she was getting more and more familiar with the delicate beauty of the magic of Healing, Hermione was getting more and more enticed into its charms. Now she understood what Madam Pomfrey had meant when she told Hermione that Healing was way more that spells. It was a feeling, the wish to help, to cure, to heal. It was not addictive by any means, unlike dark spells were supposed to be, 'addictive' would be a very gruesome connotation to add to such pristine form of magic. As Hermione collected the magic in her deft hands and moved her adroit wrist to make the wand movements, she felt more alive.

"No, I don't want you to cure me in front of them," Ron said bitterly, stealing another glance at the Slytherins.

"Excuse me?" She frowned.

"Don't you get it, Hermione!" He whispered with annoyance.

"No, I don't." She said bluntly. "So what if I heal your wound?"

"It's not a wound!" He said firmly. "And I don't need you to help me in front of them."

Harry and Neville, too, had gathered around. Neville was fingering the rough strap on his satchel, clearly nervous to leave the Professor's vicinity quickly. Harry seemed to carry a basic understanding of what Ron was on about. But they remained silent to the argument.

"Fine, whatever it is, then." Now, she knew she was only nagging. But the fact that Ron was refusing her help did not bode well with her.

"Ron, it really doesn't matter," Neville said lightly. "Let her heal it."

"No," he held up his hand. "I'm not getting help from a g- from her—in front of all the Slytherins."

But Hermione had caught the slip of tongue. Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, and Neville shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"You are unbelievably dense, Ron," she said in disgust.

"You don't get it, Hermione," he tried to sound convincing but she was not buying it.

"I don't even want to get it," she said bitterly, but in an icy voice.

Ron stood dumbstruck. She threw a glare at him before moving her Chair away from him and the other two boys. Almost all the students had left the classroom and she felt the Professor's eyes on her. He must have watched the altercation, but she was not sure if he had heard them from the distance. She hoped not. Ron already carried a petty impression in his eyes, she would not like to disgrace her friend further—not that the Professor's opinion mattered to Ron... Oh, why was she even thinking about Ron and his impression when she was cleared so irked by him!

"That was really stupid, Mate." She heard Harry whisper to the red-head.

"If the three of you so cherish to remain in this particular classroom, do not feel hesitant to spend your evenings scrubbing the floor, as well," Professor Snape said silkily.

Hermione half expected to hear a scathing comeback from Harry or something muttered by Ron. But to her surprise and relief, the three left the classroom quietly. Harry, though, glanced at her once before leaving.

He had heen increasingly involved in their subterfuge. And since the Headmaster had given permission for Ron and him to join the Order officially, along with Hermione, she could see a positive change in him. While Ron acted smug and relished in his air of self-importance, Harry acted more mature and responsible. Hermione liked to keep him up to date with any developments they might make. It seemed to also quell his concern whenever Hermione went to the Professor's office for Occlumency.

A wave of magic shut the door behind the boys. Hermione turned her attention to the man. She guided her Chair to sit opposite him. "You wanted me to stay, Sir?"

"Yes." From the time she had spent with him, Hermione had gotten the hang of catching subtle signs of his mood which were usually hidden behind his Occlumency and carefully crafted persona of impassiveness. "Before we begin, Miss Granger, you are free to leave the classroom whenever you feel like." He negated his order.

To that, she nodded, only because he had paused.

"Which is your next class?" He asked.

"Transfiguration, Sir," she told him.

"I will write you a note for your delay," he granted. "Now, to the point." He stood up wrapped his robes around himself tightly.

"Will we be called today?" She asked the first thing that crossed her mind over the critical tone of the man.

"If we would be, I do not know of it, yet," he dismissed her concern. "But I should hope that the Dark Lord does not call us today, in any case."

"But I'm prepared now," she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. She had finally started feeling ready to face Voldemort, but he did not look confident in the least. That scared her just as much as it irked her.

"It seems," he said, "We have failed to evaluate some serious aspects while we built our subterfuge."

She had a bad feeling about where the discussing was leading to.

UUUUUUU

Hermione had been excused from doing her Prefect rounds since her fall. In all honesty, the charm of being a Prefect had taken not more than a couple of weeks to fade away. Checking unruly students and having her head in the clouds to have an authority had become rather banal quickly. The only part she liked about her duty was to comfort frightened and homesick Firsties.

But due to their extended plan in their mission to make Voldemort dance to their tune, Hermione had to make a small sacrifice—resume her Prefect duties by choice.

Not much time was left before they were summoned. Her illusion of being prepared was broken harshly and startlingly. They had overlooked a very imperative aspect. But thanks to the Professor's presence of mind, they had been saved from landing themselves into a very grisly situation. The glaring loophole would have caused them their lives and the war.

It had been mutually decided that as Hermione only saw him outside of class on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday—which would not suffice if they were summoned as soon as they were presuming, they needed more time to work together and form memories to justify Hermione's sudden change of loyalties.

For that, she had resumed her Prefect rounds after curfew, that would provide for a valid excuse for her extended absence from her room in the Infirmary after curfew. Other than that, she could spare no time from her day without sparking suspicions.

She went around a few corridors in the guise of taking rounds. Her counterpart for the week was a Hufflepuff Fifth year, Earl Pitcher, whom she asked to inspect the West wing. But she did encounter Mrs. Norris on her way around. Hermione loved animals, especially cats. But Mrs. Norris took too much after her creepy human for Hermione to be fond of.

But she was not interrupted, anyway. When she was certain neither Pitcher nor the caretaker and his familiar were watching her, she took a turn for the Seventh floor.

She did not face anyone but a couple on the Fifth floor, behind the Suit of Armour. Hermione recognised them to be Ravenclaws, junior to her but she did not remember their years. She delivered a customary stern speech, none of which comprised of the drawbacks of 'making out'. She did not like to barge into anyone's private affairs, unlike the other Prefects. She dismissed them after deducting five points each for not respecting the curfew. She always felt like a hypocrite scolding the students for breaking curfews when she had broken numerous school rules along with Harry and Ron, none of which were as innocuous as disobeying a curfew for meeting one's partner.

She finally went up to the Seventh floor. The Professor was waiting for her outside the already visible door. "Professor," she nodded.

He opened the door for her after replying with his characteristic nod. Hermione found herself at Spinner's End, at the Professor's house, in the living room. Each detail was minutely copied, from the shade of colours to the titles of books, and she again found herself flabbergasted by the wonders of the Wizarding World.

"As you can imagine, my first attempt at pulling you to the Dark Lord's side should ideally have been closely followed by the night of the bonding," he said. He was quite uncomfortable, she could see.

She, herself, was apprehensive to some degree. Each memory that they had created had left her bereft and dreary. But writing had helped immensely. Jotting down what she held deep within, the bottled up, boiling emotions flowed on paper ravishingly. She could only imagine what impact would tonight have on her psyche. She despised feeling out of control when the worst edge of depression stole her. Her senses would get overshadowed by the cloud of moroseness that she could not fight to catch the light. But writing was cathartic, it helped her to regain some semblance of contact with her real self.

She would fight through it, she kept telling herself. It was her mantra.

"My script, Sir?" She turned to him.

"I would prefer you not depend upon a script today," he said. "I have the outline of the scene ready. I will explain that to you. You can base your choice of words and actions on that."

"But, Sir, I'm not good at forming extempore dialogues," she reasoned.

"When you face the Dark Lord, Miss Granger, you will not have a script in hand," he said firmly. "Your reflexes and presence of mind will be tested thoroughly."

Hermione pursed her lips together in disapproval. But the trouble was that he was right. She had to prepare herself for the inevitable. "What do I have to do?" She asked, keeping the annoyance out of her tone.

"We will act in a way suggesting that the ordeal at the Malfoy Manor is fresh in your mind," he said. "Let us assume that this particular incident took place less that week from the attack."

She vaguely wondered what she was originally doing a week after the attack. Those days had faded in a haze. She cried mostly and mourned. No, she was still mourning her parents, but she had been mourning them actively so.

"And what will I say, Sir?" She asked, worrying her lip with her teeth.

"You could pretend to be frightened," he instructed. "Behave as you would when absolutely terrorised and hysterical."

When she had been terrorised, she had called Voldemort a bastard. No, she had to act terrified of the Professor. That would be hard, she suddenly realised. She was not afraid of him.

He must have recognised the confusion on her face, for he asked, "What are you most afraid of, Miss Granger?"

Who was she afraid of?

Her Boggart in the Third year had been so ridiculous that it was ludicrous to her now. Getting expelled did not even begun to narrate her fears. Hermione was afraid to lose her friends, lose the people she loved, just like she had lost her parents.

But she did not perceive fear as a person. She was not frightened of a living, breathing body, but her wild imaginations.

"I am afraid of losing the war and losing my friends," she said directly.

"Try and feel the fear that you would, had it been Potter at stake," he said gravely.

Isn't Harry at stake, already? She blanched.

"I do understand, Sir, but I don't know how much I can do it without the dialogues..." She said truthfully.

"I will give you leads to respond within the scope of the scene," he granted. "Also, Miss Granger, it will not be a pleasant experience. My actions and words might prove to discomfit you—greatly."

She recalled how she had felt when Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy had paid a visit. She had been humiliated and disgusted with herself. She imagined the Professor would have to play a role on those lines. "I understand, Sir," she repeated.

"I can ask your Head of House to be present while we are here," he offered. "She will oblige."

A month before, she would have called Professor McGonagall without waiting for his approval. But she did not find the need to disturb the lady. Of course, her Head of House would stay with them as long as the memory or memories were created, without complaining. But Hermione was comfortable with him.

"No, Sir, that won't be necessary," she replied.

He gave his eyebrow a delicate flex."Very well, then." She wondered if her response surprised him. "Please, take a seat on this here," he pointed towards an armchair. Hermione noted with some amusement that he had not assigned her his favourite armchair, though. "We shall hide your Chair from the view."

"If all my memories are of me sitting, won't it develop suspicion?" She asked.

"A valid concern, but we can only hope that the Dark Lord does not look into minutiae," he said.

"Can't I stand using some Charm or indivisible crutches?" She suggested.

"Absolutely not," he refused. "I will not allow to take such liberties with your injuries without the approval from a Healer."

Hermione suppressed her urge to pout, which was followed by the suppression of a chuckle at her own reaction. "Fine, then..."

"Settle on the armchair while I make certain arrangements." He stepped away.

Hermione called Karly to help her into the armchair. She also asked her to spell her into a long skirt and blouse instead of her school robe. Karly took her Charmed-Chair away along with herself. The Professor returned wearing a pair of black trousers and a button-down white shirt that she had seen him wearing at his house. They both looked like being in a casual setting.

"Ready?"

"Yes." She said although she had little idea where this was going.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "We might have to...place a Glamour on your sca- face."

Severus Snape was sounding uncertain, hesitant even. For the second time, she suppressed a chuckle. "Yes, of course." He seemed relieved at her lack of reaction. Hermione placed her wand over her head and murmured the Charm, hiding her scars from the fall. She looked at him in question, to which he nodded.

If only Ron were this discreet...

"Try to seep the fear into your mind," he instructed.

Hermione took a deep breath and readied herself for whatever the session would entail. A strong feeling whispered to her it wouldn't be good. Yet, she donned a brave front and obliged.

UUUUUUU

Severus absolutely despised what was to come next. In a nutshell, he was to enact his Father, the deplorable, alcoholic of a man.

With that thought, a rush of memories came to him. All those times when he had spectated his pathetic Father maltreating his Mother flashed before his eyes and taunted him. Even if this was an act, the notion that it was expected of him, to subject a woman to the atrocities his Father subjected his Mother to, disconcerted him more than he let on.

"Start?" Granger asked.

"Yes." He constructed his Shields and watcher her irises attain a subtle firmness. Severus mustered the darkness that he had once revelled in, the darkness he mustered each time when the Dark Lord called. He recalled his hatred for his Father, the humiliation at the hands of the self-proclaimed 'Marauders', the pain of losing Lily and the guilt of killing the only woman he had loved all his life. Along with that, his guilt doubled up on recalling killing the Doctors Granger and hurting their daughter in ways that made his stomach churn. He mustered his anger on recalling the Dark Lord's sent Cruciatus and Albus' manipulative schemes.

The Death Eater was ready.

"I feel I have given you enough time to decide for yourself, girl." He said darkly. The tone of his voice cold and carrying a tacit threat. The shock and horror at the sudden change in his personality was reflecting on Granger's face.

"Yes, I have decided," she said with summoned insolence.

"And what might that decision be?" He said slowly.

"I will never do what you want, Snape!" She declared. Severus was impressed at her quick taking to the character. She suddenly seemed to do better without a script.

"No?" He said mockingly. "Are you certain, girl?"

"You are a terrible man!" She shrieked. Severus wondered if she, too, had to muster the hatred that she felt for the man she had assumed to be the cold-blooded murderer of her parents. He was the murderer, but not cold-blooded, and she knew that now.

"Yes, I get that a lot," he snorted in derision. "But you will have plenty of time for my character assassination." He took slow and deliberate steps towards her and she visibly flinched. The flinch was not enacted and it sickened him. "After all," he remained in character, "I am all you will ever ruminate over."

Her eyes widened in what could be called revulsion—she was not acting. For some reason he could not understand, the fact that he had that kind of effect on her brought him close to self-loathing.

"You disgust me." She spat.

The truce they had come to form was shattering, he was certain. His actions would remind her of her aversion to him... "Whatsoever the case be, you will do as I say, or regret you will."

"I will not." As she spat the words out, she hissed and clutched her ring-hand with the other.

Instead of providing her aid, he smirked. "I will tame you—and soon."

"You DISGUST me!" She cried, cradling her hand to her chest.

It nauseated him. "Enough." That much would suffice for a memory. "Miss Granger, you can do as you will-"

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him.

"What?"

"I was acting," she grinned smugly. "Was I so good that even you couldn't catch?"

Acting? She was not in pain, certainly. "Did your ring not burn?"

"No, it didn't," she said. "I think it's because we had a prior understanding that it was pretence."

Now that he realised, his band, too, did not emit the heat it did when Granger's was punishing her. "Indeed."

She was still grinning at her performance. A part of him was relieved that she did not consider it anything beyond the act that it was.

Why am I even concerned what impression the girl holds of me! Let her think of me the Devil from Hell for all I care.

"Another memory?" She asked.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"We don't have much time..."

"Yes, that we do not," he agreed. "Alright, then. We must change the location."

"The guest room?"

"Yes."

The Come and Go Room picked up on their requirement. Their surroundings transformed from that of the living room to the room where Granger had stayed. It was the exact same room that even possessed her trunk.

"Change of clothes?"

"Yes."

Severus stepped away to spell himself into a different set of Muggle clothing, and to give the girl her privacy while she called the house-elf. He had recalled how bluntly the Weasley boy had rebuked her for having scars. Thus, he had been careful while addressing the topic. Severus could never fathom the idea of 'flawless appearance'. Neither was he too gifted in that area nor did he have any reservations regarding one's physical appearance. Those ideas were too shallow for him.

When he returned to Granger's side, the girl was dressed in a long- What was that thing even called? It was a long frock? It was a joint garment, covering her legs and feet, just as the sleeves covered her arms. Her injuries were well-concealed. The Dark Lord could not see anything out of place, except that she was sitting.

"You'll take the lead?" She asked.

"Do you have any ideas?" Because he could see that she was bubbling to blabber what was brewing in her mind.

"Yes," she smirked. "So... Well, I saw your memories..."

"Yes, I am aware."

"So although I don't remember much from that night, I remember that Vol- Tom Riddle condones physical violence and so on," she said and Severus was already averse to her idea. "Why don't we portray something on those lines? What better way to compel someone than the fear of pain?"

"I will not-"

"Let me show you!" She put her wand to her head, just like she had when casting the Glamour on her scars. A shimmer of blue and green magic encompassed her face, before washing down in layers. The incantation that she recited was in Latin and one that he had never heard of—which baffled him for he had an extensive knowledge of Latin spells.

"Miss Granger, what are you planning to accomplish?" He frowned, unable to see through the shimmering magic yet.

She did not validate his question with a response and he wondered if she could even hear him behind the humming of magic. So he waited impatiently.

A hand mirror appeared on the arm of her chair without a verbal command given. Severus was still exploring the eccentricities of the Room. Granger picked up the mirror and hid behind it when the spell ceased.

"Perfect!" She proclaimed before finally revealing herself.

A split lip, a bruise and a black eye. Severus was in a dilemma—whether to express his discomfort and refusal to the insane scheme or to appreciate her for her handiwork and the idea. Domestic violence, use of force. The Dark Lord would be convinced. He knew Severus' background, he would find the idea of torturing the girl in Muggle ways entirely plausible.

But Granger's resemblance to his Mother's condition was too profound for him to ignore. The black eye, the split lip, the purplish bruise... They reminded him of his childhood and of her Mother's helplessness. Of his own helplessness... To think that he was expected to administer the same treatment on the girl was bizarre...

His eyes averted in shame of their own accord.

"I think we shall continue on a later date," he said.

"What...?"

"Not now."

"Sir... What happened?" She asked in confusion.

Of course, how would she understand the depth of preposterousness involved. She belonged to a family that had been happy and well-functional. Granger's father did not hit her mother, he cooked with his wife, for Merlin's sake! The buckle of her father's belt did not fall on her back when she had performed Accidental Magic, she was instead consoled. She had not been rebuked when she sought comfort, she was comforted. She grieved the loss of support that were her parents, unlike him who had felt close to nothing but anger on the death of his Mother and relieved on his Father's. She would not understand and he was glad that wouldn't. She did not deserve to.

He turned away. "Please see yourself back to the Hospital Wing. I will inform you when next we shall meet." While he said that, he did realise that it was callousness, that the Dark Lord might not wait another day to call them. But he did not trust himself to hold his composure any longer.

"Karly!" He called Granger's house-elf. "Please see that Miss Granger reaches the Infirmary without interruptions."

"Sir-" He walked away, ignoring whatever Granger was saying.

Severus needed two fingers of Firewhisky. And a Headache Reliever.

A/N: A long chapter to be a little more convincing in my apology. I'll try to update sooner this time, I promise. Maybe by Friday.

Please, please, please review. This chapter was quite an experiment honestly, I am not sure how the last scene will be received. I hope I haven't gone totally insane and I'm still keeping them realistic. I low-key feel nobody will be reading this now after the long gap. Anyway, if you are still reading, please tell me how you find the chapter. :)