A/N: Thanks a lot for all the reviews! I hadn't expected so many of you to still be reading after the gap… But thanks a lot! Here's another chapter, pretty late again… *Hiding my face*
Summary for the last chapter: As everyone had gone to Hogsmeade but Hermione—on Lavender's request/demand as she wanted to ask Ron out, and Hermione thought it to be good for Ron to have somebody else in his life—she instead went to see Severus. After a chat, she somehow managed to convince him to go with her to Hogsmeade, under a Notice-Me-Not Charm. They made a great day out of it.
Enjoy!
Chapter 35: An Unfortunate Incident
Hermione had initially planned to spend the entire Sunday in the Library. But right after breakfast, Ginny, Ron and Harry had insisted (demanded with something close to a pout in Ron's case) her to accompany them to their Quidditch practice. The next day was the first match of the term—Gryffindor verses Ravenclaw. Harry's first match as a captain.
Hermione moved her Chair at the end of the stands to watch the team play. She waved at Neville and Luna who were seated on the upper levels. She wondered in amusement which of the teams would they cheer for the next day.
Although she did not care for the sport, she understood the game and liked to cheer for her House. When Harry acted with authority towards his teammates, she couldn't help feeling proud of him. Ron, she observed, was a little nervous for the game though. He was a bit unsure of his moves and tended to fumble with his actions. The Slytherins didn't give him a good time last year with all their terrible teasing. Hermione showed him a thumbs up when he successfully prevented Dennis Creevey—acting as the Ravenclaw Chaser for the practices—from
scoring. Ginny was pretty confident as a Chaser. She had played Seeker as well, so she was comfortable with her stunts.
The little knowledge that she possessed of the game told her that they had a fair chance at winning. Although even the thought of flying on a broom brought her close to throwing up.
Soon, her thoughts drifted to Professor Snape. He had not come for dinner after all. She hoped he had ordered something in his quarters.
His quarters. She never gave a thought to his quarters. He had taken her to his quarters after returning from the Malfoy Manor. A blush crept on her face to recall how she had cried on his shoulder. He had been rigid initially... But his muscles had relaxed after sometime. She wasn't sure if the hand on her shoulder was her imagination or reality. But she was comforted.
His quarters, as much or little as she remembered, were in warm colours. The chaise she had sat on was comfortable but not too soft—definitely better than the hardback chair in his office. The piano—that had been a surprise. He played. She could have never imagined him to play. Maybe someday, she thought wishfully, she would ask him to play and he would comply.
And that day, the Devil will have to light a fire in the hearth of Hell. She smiled to herself.
But the smile faded when she recalled how he had stiffened when she had expressed her solicitude over his eating habits. He had been fervently defensive even when she had sent a Pain Reliever for him all those days ago. Clearly, he was not in a habit of being looked after. He had taken it to be servitude. As if, if not for duty, nobody would devote their time to look after him.
Coming from an abusive and neglectful family, it was to be expected. As much as she knew, his mother was an oppressed woman. Depressed to some extent. Caring for a child with such issues must have been hard. As for his father, she did not think he would have ever cared for his son if he could not even respect his wife.
What did he say when she had asked him about his relationships? Something about them being non-existing. He wouldn't ever have had anyone to care for him... And he probably felt like nobody was supposed to. When he had been mad at her in the Hospital Wing, it had not been anger but a defence mechanism.
To feel cared for is important. Imperative. She wanted him to realise that somebody did care. That he deserved that. That she did care.
Could she help him? Or would he take it for pity? Was she simply resorting to her old habit like she had with the house-elves? Or was her concern something deeper? It was definitely deeper. She didn't have to have a concrete reason to be concerned for a friend.
A friend?
Harry caught the snitch, against Dean, acting as the rival Seeker. Neville cheered from the stands, breaking Hermione's train of thoughts. She flashed her bespectacled friend a grin.
Things were looking normal again, almost like they were in the previous years—excluding the part with Umbridge.
Finally, things were looking normal to her.
UUUUUUU
Some people considered Sunday evenings to be a blessed time for relaxation. Like many other publicly harboured concepts, it was another concept Severus could not fathom. His Sunday evenings comprised of grading damnable essays written by dunderheads.
He cast a Tempus. It was approaching Seven. He had to meet with Albus to discuss the date of the upcoming Order meeting. He also had to meet with Granger today before the bond could react unfavourably. And he had two sets of essays to grade. And if the Dark Lord finally decided to summon him tonight- It would be a good sign actually, he conceded.
Essays could wait, he decided. Not that the dunderheads truly held their breaths to see their astonishingly low grades every Monday, anyway.
"Timmer!" He called his house-elf.
"Master calls Timmer," the said elf popped before him.
"Go check if Miss Granger is alone. If so, ask her to come to my office in the next half an hour," he ordered the elf. "If she is in somebody's company, do not approach her. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Master," the house-elf bowed.
Severus waved him off dismissively before capping his inkwell. He adjusted the sleeves of his shirt that he had rolled up to the edge of the Dark Mark, and wore his robe.
A weekend, he decided, would not be preferable for the Order meeting. The Dark Lord tended to summon him usually on weekends. Though the last time he was summoned along with Granger, it had been a Monday night. Yet, he would prefer a weekday for the said meeting. He would not like to sully a Saturday visiting the infernal House of Black.
Severus chose to walk to Albus' office instead of using the Floo. He needed to stretch his legs after remaining seated in his chair for hours.
On the way, he deducted ten points from a Seventh year Gryffindor and ten from a Sixth year Ravenclaw for cursing in the corridor. He felt better after deducting the points and releasing his annoyance in turn. Ah, the Quidditch match, he remembered. The heat was over the match. He should have deducted a twenty simply owing to his disinterest in the game.
Reaching Albus' office, he paused. What the hell was that new sweet? Ah. "Blood-flavoured lollipops." And they call me a vampire.The gargoyle opened to let him in. Severus moved up the moving staircase and knocked on Albus' door.
When he opened the door, he cursed himself inwardly for his choice of time.
"Severus," Slughorn grinned, sitting opposite Albus' chair.
"What a pleasant time to offer us your company, my boy," Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Look, Horace has brought us a bottle of exclusive oak-matured mead." He gestured towards a recently opened bottle and two goblets kept on the table. "Do join us."
"No, thank you, Headmaster," he said dryly and barely hiding his contempt. "I shall come later."
"Codswallop," Horace spoke. "Mead must always be drunk in company."
"I do not prefer liquor on most days," Severus said coldly.
"Pumpkin juice then," Albus offered. "Come now, my boy. We never know, we might not be so lucky to drink together again."
"Albus," Slughorn waved the comment off, but Severus understood the exact connotation. The manipulative old man knew his tacts well.
"A glass of apple juice for me," he relented. After having three pegs of Firewhisky the other day, he would not like to touch liquor to his lips for another month at least. Moreover, it was always dangerous for a spy to lose his better senses in public, anyway.
Severus took the vacant seat beside Slughorn, but slid it at a more comfortable distance away. He truly despised social calls.
Albus ordered his juice through his house-elf. "What an intellectually high company I find myself in, this evening."
Slughorn replied with a comment as saccharine while Severus accepted his goblet from the elf, unbothered to reciprocate.
"I formerly thought of presenting the bottle to you on Christmas, Albus. But I couldn't wait that long, you see," the man laughed.
"Good thinking, Horace, I might not be in school for Christmas," Albus informed.
"Oh?"
"I will be visiting a relative," Albus said, and Severus assumed it to be Order business.
Slughorn poured the drink in two goblets and handed one to Albus. "What must we drink to?"
"Your coming out of retirement?" Albus suggested.
"To impending death," Severus muttered under his breath.
"Yes," Slughorn flashed a toothy grin. "To rejoining my post."
The two wizards raised their goblets, and so followed Severus, albeit disinterestedly. He would have rather graded essays.
Slughorn took a sip from his goblet, while Albus again raised his goblet to Severus slightly and mouthed, "To a life long enough."
Before Severus could respond with an acerbic comment, Slughorn began choking on his drink. Severus turned to see the man clutching his throat, his eyes rolled into his head.
"Horace!" Albus cried, coming around the desk.
"For Merlin's sake," Severus muttered. He began patting the man on his back. What is he, a toddler?
"Get water, Severus," Albus said in haste, taking over patting Slughorn. Severus turned to fill one of the goblets with water when he noticed it. The colour of the mead seemed off.
He picked Slughorn's goblet up to his nose and sniffed. It was poisoned, his sensitive senses responded.
"Horace!" Albus shrieked.
Severus turned to find an unconscious Slughorn leaning against Albus' side. He helped the old Headmaster to straighten the man up. "He is poisoned."
"Poisoned?" Albus gasped.
Slughorn's lips had attained a bluish hue and his face had lost all colour. Severus stretched out his wand, "Accio Bezoar!"
From a drawer in the Headmaster's cabinet, a glowing stone came flinging. Severus caught it mid-air. "Open his mouth, Albus!"
While Albus tried and pry the man's mouth open, Severus stuffed the stone in. His tongue, he found, was stuck to the roof of his mouth in a horrible fashion.
"Is he..." Albus murmured.
Severus put two fingers on the man's neck, vaguely recalling a similar scene with Granger and shrugging the horrendous image of that night away. He pushed harder into the wrinkled skin.
Severus glanced at Albus, the twinkle in those old eyes having vanished. "We can try."
He laid Slughorn on the floor. "Call Poppy." Severus, having an informal training in CPR, started to count, meanwhile pumping the man's chest with both of his hands.
"One. Two. Three. Four..." He was aware of the Floo coming to life in the background. He concentrated on the counts. Horace Slughorn had been less than ideal a teacher and Head of House to Severus. He had favoured the wealthy and socially influential students. He had often expressed his dissatisfaction with Severus, never praised him for his wits and always supported James Potter and his cronies over Severus after an altercation.
But today while Severus tried to bring the man back to life, the only image that swirled in his mind was of an ageing man with an annoying toothy grin, standing over a cauldron and drinking from a goblet.
"Let me," Poppy's voice loomed over Severus' counting. His movements paused. He looked up to see the Medi-witch, kneeling beside him, weaving vague patterns with her wand, over Horace's body.
The magically conjured threads in the air turned a dull red. Poppy's face fell, conveying the news wordlessly.
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid we've...lost him."
Albus gasped.
Severus closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face.
"Merlin."
UUUUUUU
Kingsley Shacklebolt, along with Cornelius Fudge and his two Deputies sat in deep conversation with Albus. Slughorn's body had been retrieved and his sons were informed. Minerva and Severus sat silently whilst the others conversed. Severus, for his part, was ruminating over the incident. It had been too sudden to fathom. And whereas he was not grieving, he was astounded.
"Severus," Minerva whispered, "A word?"
He nodded. They excused themselves from the company and moved to stand in a corner, out of earshot.
"The poison was meant for Albus," Severus announced.
"Are you certain?" Minerva asked, not too shocked so Severus assumed her to have surmised the possibility.
"Horace had said that the mead was supposed to be a Christmas present," Severus told his colleague. "Moreover, why would one want to kill Horace Slughorn?"
"Could he not smell the poison, Severus?" Minerva questioned.
"Had he sniffed it, he would not have drank it," Severus replied.
"But he was a Potions Prof- Oh, Merlin," Minerva sighed resignedly.
"Snape," Fudge barked, "We need a full account of the events."
"I have already provided for it, Sir," he said acerbically.
"We need to pen your words," Fudge demanded. "As you were the only other person present in the office, besides Albus, you can be our prime suspect."
"Ah, and may I see the evidences that you so obviously have against me," Severus said silkily.
"Evidences we will find, but we need an account."
"Cornelius," Shacklebolt interrupted. "Snape, we need an account in black and white. Barone here will note it. We need a similar account from Albus, as well."
"And also your memories," Fudge added sourly.
"Cornelius, I must assure you that Severus is only as much at fault as myself," Albus pitched in. "In fact, I am more at fault for I could not even identify the drink to be poisonous, despite holding it so close."
"Blunder, Albus, blunder all of this!" Fudge slammed the desk. "A teacher poisoned in a school full of children. A school where Harry Potter goes. It will look so foul on the Ministry's part!"
Of course, Severus thought bitterly, the reason Fudge himself was here had little to do with the students, but his own reputation.
"Can you tell what poison he was given?" One of the deputies questioned him.
"A variant of Angel's Trumpet," Severus answered.
"And you know without testing the liquor?" Fudge asked accusingly.
"I am a qualified Potions Master, Mr. Fudge, in case you did not notice," he responded sardonically.
That had Fudge abashed. Albus said calmly, "Severus, please tell them all that had occurred since your arrival."
"Of course, Headmaster," Severus' lips curled unpleasantly.
"I shall give my memories meanwhile," Albus offered.
"Hages, collect the memories," Shacklebolt ordered.
The Deputy, Barone, fished out a parchment and quill from his briefcase. "Please, begin from entering the room."
Severus complied. The sooner it was over, the better. "I had stepped in through the door. Horace was already present, conversing with the Headmaster. The mead—what should be your prime evidence—was uncorked. I was offered to-" he broke with a feigned cough when the band on his ring vibrated with a single signal.
He had ignored the time. Severus had asked Granger to see him in half an hour. When she sent him a signal an hour later, he decided to let her return for now and surreptitiously sent two signals back.
Severus' distress was only hidden behind his tightly erected Shields. To keep his face impassive, he had to struggle.
It was nearing midnight and the investigation was not even close to termination. Granger had sent him one more signal a few minutes ago. He could understand her plight, but with Fudge's wary eyes stuck on him, he could not escape.
He cursed mentally. Why does it have to be a fucking Sunday! Why did I not meet her earlier in the day!
"As I was saying, I was offered to join..."
UUUUUUU
Had Hermione's legs been unharmed, she would have been pacing around her room. She kept glancing at the watch on her wrist. It was quickly approaching half-past Eleven. Professor Snape had still to contact her. If he did not call her before Eleven-Thirty, they would not be able to spend thirty minutes together before the date changed. She did not want to imagine how the bond would react.
Was he summoned? But again, she was not aware of any burning in his arm. That depicted that he was not. There was no Order meeting today. She had waited outside his office for more than half an hour before sending him a signal. She was sent back.
Hermione had even sent Karly to look for him in his quarters, but she had returned after finding the rooms empty.
He was not in any physical danger, she could tell. But other than that, Hermione found herself clueless. She could feel her breathing shortening in anxiety.
Where was he!
Hermione was on the verge of hyperventilating when she heard a brisk knock on her door. She sighed with relief. Hermione moved her Chair and opened the door. "My God, Sir, where were you- Professor?"
He looked haggard, for the lack of a better word. "Were you summoned?" Though she had not felt anything.
"That would have been the last straw," he muttered. "Did your band react due to the delay?"
"No," she replied. "Please, do come in." Hermione moved her Chair aside and closed the door behind him. He took the armchair by her desk.
He had a headache, she could tell, and not only by his telltale rubbing of temples. Hermione moved to her bedside cabinet to retrieve a clean goblet. He would never accept a potion, but she could at least offer water.
"Here." She handed him the goblet. Hermione kept her features neutral, like one did when offering something out of mere courtesy. She marked something akin to surprise on his face that he quickly concealed. Something in her heart stung to see how such a small gesture could mean anything so strong to someone.
He accepted the proffered goblet and drank from it. "Thank you." He kept the goblet on her desk.
"What happened?" She asked softly. She could see his distress and it frightened her. All sorts of vile assumptions began claiming her mind.
"Horace Slughorn is dead." His monotonous voice caught her with shock.
"What?" Out of everything, she was least expecting something like that. She had seen the man at dinner, only hours ago. "How?" Had there been a Death Eater attack? A heart failure? An accident? Was it a late-effect of her dark spell?! She gasped.
"Poison." That was all he said.
"Poison? But how come?" She was unable to fathom it. She had had a class with him two days back! She had hypnotised him only a day ago! "I just saw him in the Great Hall!"
He sighed and laid his head back. His headache was worsening, he usually took a potion till now. "It happened after dinner, in the Headmaster's office. Horace had bought liquor for the Headmaster," he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "It was poisonous."
"And...and the Headmaster?" She gasped.
"He was on the verge of drinking when Horace fell," he said. He had narrated the story many times before, she could tell.
"Were you there?" She asked.
"Yes."
"My God, you didn't consume it, did you?" She blabbered, then realised what a foolish question that was. "Of course, you didn't," she mumbled. Thank God for that.
"Fudge and Shacklebolt kept us occupied," he informed rather bitterly.
"Pro...Professor Slughorn...who's there in his family?" She could not keep from asking.
"Two sons," he replied. "His wife, I believe, had passed away a few years ago."
"How old? His sons, I mean..."
"They are both married, if I recall correctly."
Old enough to handle the loss, at least. She closed her eyes. Hermione would not call Professor Slughorn an ideal teacher, but he was a good man. She had known him for a very brief period but his demise came as a shock.
"How could have his liquor been poisoned?" Hermione thought aloud.
"Horace gifted a bottle of liquor to Albus every Christmas," he said. "The poison was-"
"-meant for Professor Dumbledore," she finished in horror. "Somebody wants to...kill Professor Dumbledore."
"Many of them want to," he amended. "The culprit failed to realise that Albus Dumbledore holds an immunity to most poisons."
"This somebody was one who was also aware that the bottle was for the Headmaster," she bit her lip in contemplation. "A member of his Slug Club?" Hermione suggested.
"A student, you mean?" He frowned.
"Why not," she shrugged. "This person did not think that the Great Sorcerer, Albus Dumbledore, would not simply be killed by poison. Death Eaters are not so shortsighted, mostly."
"Or perhaps," he leaned forward, his expressions darkening, "This student was one shortsighted Death Eater, indeed."
"Malfoy?"
"Yes."
"Malfoy is trying to kill the Headmaster?"
"How did I never realise it!" He hissed. "The Dark Lord has given Draco a task! This is his task!"
"My God," Hermione covered her gapping mouth with her hand. "You must tell him before something else happens."
"I have to aid Draco in his task," he said almost mechanically.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "You...what?"
He looked up at her, his eyes almost opaque, like she had witnessed that night in his house. The lack of light terrified her. His Occlumency Shields purloined all life from his eyes...
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't do this. Please."
He blinked and looked away. What he was trying to conceal took too much strength. "What do you mean, you have to aid him?" She asked carefully.
"I have sworn an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy," he said. His voice giving away nothing. "To aid Draco in his task."
She gaped. "Does the Headmaster know?"
"Yes."
Hermione's breaths were coming in harshly, all of a sudden. "Why did you swear to her?" She whispered.
"I had no choice."
He'd have to help kill the Headmaster? And he, too, was realising it suddenly. An image of the Professor kneeling before Voldemort flashed before her eyes. Her heart sank. How it would contort his soul to bow before a wizard who had killed someone close to the Professor... And now...to aid Draco in killing the Headmaster... What burdens does he bear more...
In that moment, she wanted to hold his hand into hers and tell him they would find a way out, that he would not have to kill Albus Dumbledore. But all she could manage to do was to sit in silence while he contemplated his future, and she his past.
UUUUUUU
Next morning, Professor Dumbledore walked into the Great Hall quite late for breakfast. Professor Snape and McGonagall did not attend at all. The rest of the staff looked visibly grave. Hermione did not reveal what she knew for all the questions that were to follow.
"Are you even planning on eating?" Ginny kept her fork down and looked at Harry.
"I can't stomach anything before the match," Harry replied.
"You're nervous as if it's your first match, Mate," Ron laughed.
"It is my first match as a captain," Harry said irritably.
"Okay," Ginny said slowly. "But if you pass out of hunger in the middle of the sky and break your neck, I'm not visiting you in the Hospital Wing."
"That's so encouraging, Ginny," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Shut up and eat this!" She shoved a sandwich on his plate.
"Merlin, she's becoming more and more like Mum," Ron muttered.
Ginny punched his arm with satisfaction, eliciting an angry curse from the redhead.
"What's up with you, Hermione? Nervous, too?" Ginny asked after a while.
"Huh?" Hermione blinked. "I'm just...a little tired."
"Couldn't sleep?" Ron asked.
"I...yes, I couldn't sleep much," she shrugged.
Harry gave her a questioning look, to which she responded with a small smile to relieve him.
"Hello, Ron," Lavender came to stand behind him. Her braid was adorned with a pink ribbon that had small, blue feathers attached to the tips. Her lips were a shade darker than natural and her eyes looked brighter with her lashes set with mascara. She was looking pretty, Hermione decided, if one overlooked the hideous ribbon.
Ron turned to look at Lavender. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he could speak. "Hey."
"I came to wish you best of luck for your match," she grinned. Hermione's parents would have been quite appreciative of Lavender's teeth.
"Uh, thanks," Ron grinned a little awkwardly.
Lavender bent down and planted a kiss on Ron's cheek. "I'll cheer for you." She went back to her seat, leaving Ron's face matching his hair.
Hermione's face fell, but before anyone could notice, she picked up an apple from the basket and started nibbling on it.
When Ron turned to look at Hermione, she pushed the small spark of hurt under her Shields and gave him a friendly smile to indicate she was absolutely cool with his blossoming relationship with Lavender, whatever it was. She reminded herself why it would be better for him to move on with his life and not hope for what Hermione could never give him.
"That...Hermione, that was..." He started uncomfortably.
"That's sweet pf her," Hermione smiled and went back to her meal. Lavender was not exactly sweet, but she was also not villainous. She was a bit immature, but if Ron did come to like her, it would not matter.
"You okay?" Ginny whispered to her.
"Yes," Hermione said casually.
"You're not, you know, annoyed with Lavender?" Ginny herself looked disgusted.
"No, it's alright," Hermione shrugged, taking a big bite of the apple to avoid this lime of conversation with Ginny.
"My apologies to disturb your breakfast, students," Professor Dumbledore's voice pervaded through the Great Hall. "But I am afraid, I have a sad news to convey."
"Shit," Harry muttered. "Did anyone check the Prophet today?"
"Hush," Ginny hissed.
"Last evening, in an unfortunate accident, one of our very dear Professors passed away," the Headmaster continued.
Everyone stiffened at the announcement and turned a wary eye at the Headmaster.
"Tell me he's talking about Snape," Ron murmured.
"Shut up, Ron!" Harry surpassed Hermione in spitting that out. Perhaps because Harry understood the implication of Professor Snape's demise—both in terms of the war and Hermione's life.
"Last evening, students, our dear Professor Slughorn left us," the Headmaster said quietly.
Some students around them hissed, some gasped. Some could be instantly heard whispering to one another.
"No shit," Seamus muttered.
"How?" Neville questioned.
"Potion accident?" Dean suggested.
"How old was he?" Parvati asked.
"Younger than Dumbledore," Colin Creevey answered.
"Shit, could it be because of that memory he had?" Harry whispered in horror. "What if the Death Eaters are behind this?"
"Possible," Ron nodded.
"He might have died of natural cause," Ginny suggested.
Harry shook his head. "Wizards don't really die of natural causes as far as I know. What do you think, Hermione?"
"I...don't know," she said in a low voice. She could hear the murmuring from all four Houses. It had been a tragedy. The students belonging to the Slug Club were especially shaken by the news. If she knew correctly, there was supposed to be a Christmas party that Professor Slughorn was planning to throw...
"On that account, students," the Headmaster continued, "Today will be observed as a Black Holiday. The Quidditch match stands cancelled until further notice."
Stealthy, Hermione turned to see Malfoy on the Slytherin table. The boy looked paler than usual. He appeared to have realised his folly. A folly that killed an innocent.
Malfoy disgusted her, but not surprised her. If he were upto killing the Headmaster, Hermione was not shocked. What she was shocked over was Professor Snape's involuntary involvement in the gruesome task. As for the Headmaster, he was too clever for a petty Death Eater rogue like Malfoy to come to harm.
"Merlin, may Professor Slughorn rest in peace," one of them said. Hermione mentally said an Amen.
A/N: This chapter was mostly about plot-building. I'm setting up the board, basically, and for that, Slughorn needed to die. Please let me know how you find this chapter. :)