Equipping Hermione for her evening descent into Hogwarts' dungeons was personally handled by Harry Potter, therefore she was calm. According to Harry, in such dangerous ventures anything could have happened even in the old days, and now… better not to think about it. So Hermione didn't, totally relying on her friend who had an unrivalled experience in this respect. Only the most drowsy and apathetic ghost in the castle didn't know that most of Snape's (Professor Snape's, Potter!) detentions had been given to the Boy-Who-Lived. He got them easily and casually, and almost with the same inevitability as a Snitch. On this subject jokes were invented in Slytherin, legends in Gryffindor, horror stories in Hufflepuff and scientific theories in Ravenclaw. Potter seemed to know everything about the standard arsenal of harassment – from scrubbing the cauldrons and clearing out manual files, to scraping the floor and the desks from unsuccessfully brewed potions…
At the twenty-second point even the conscientious Hermione stopped writing them down. All the same, it was impossible to find ways to deal with all the fruits of Professor Snape's devilish ingenuity, and to guess what he would come up with this time. The image of Stephen O'Leary rose persistently in front of her eyes, but Hermione tossed it away. After all, she had seen so much in her life, especially this week, that it wouldn't be easy to drive her crazy.
She thought she would feel even calmer if Ron stopped incessantly trying to cheer her up, while looking at her as if at a condemned person, and Harry no longer told her 'chillers' about their headmaster. Snape was perfectly capable of putting chills up anyone's spine without Potter's help. Although, to Hermione's shame, she knew only a little about it, less than all the others in the school. Nobody would say that Miss Granger was one of the professor's favourite students – she didn't belong to the Malfoy family after all – but she was a good student, and, as Ron had always warned her, this finally did her more harm than good.
Until now Hermione had managed to avoid detentions in the dungeons, moreover, even in the lessons the worst that Snape had done to her was taking points for prompting, not giving them for her correct answers, and ignoring her raised hand during a whole class. And about the little soul-sharing session that he had held with the Boy-Who-Lived she knew only from Harry. In fact, all the additional information about the enemy she had learnt from Harry, and practically didn't have any personal experience of communication with Snape. Apart from the lessons, when she had stubbornly insisted on giving an answer, but had been firmly rebuffed; random encounters at the evening patrolling duties ("Don't forget to check the corridor in front of the library, Miss Granger, in case I missed something"); and annoying clashes in the wrong place with a wrong thing in their hands after midnight, when Ron and her had remained silent because Potter and Snape had been usually yelling at each other so relentlessly that nobody else had a chance to edge in a word.
However, despite her sheer lack of experience, Hermione was now a knowing old owl and no longer trusted the innocent word 'detention'. She categorically removed all her parchments and school books from her bag and instead, as Harry had advised her, loaded it with a handbook on defensive spells, a bezoar, Slughorn's phial of painkiller potion, a Never-Blunt Quill, a couple of large sandwiches and Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Since it had always been devilishly freezing in the dungeons, especially in dank weather, which was now every day, the girl dressed up respectively: thick tights, heavy jeans, warm polo-neck sweater and sneakers (their laces tied with a double-knot and tucked inside). No more robes and heels – she couldn't afford even one unsuccessful attempt to dodge an 'Avada Kedavra'. Though Hermione was actually rather interested in what ingenious ideas would come to Snape's fertile imagination. How many surprises for the students were left in the Death Eaters' arsenal? Yet interest was purely theoretical. When, at exactly eight o'clock, Miss Granger knocked at Professor Slughorn's former office, now re-occupied by Snape, the last thing she wanted was to be a guinea pig for testing potions or a target for practising offensive spells.
Severus Snape, however, had no need to brush up on his Potions or combat magic. Unexpectedly approaching the girl from behind, he greeted her with a sour look on his face, told her he had a lot of work related to his moving, and commanded her to follow him to the laboratory. When they reached it, Hermione had almost recovered from his sudden appearance. She had expected the office door to open, but the professor had sneaked up on her, emerging from the classroom. The reason for such a manoeuvre was revealed quite soon. Only the class and the laboratory attached to it were at the disposal of Miss Granger. The teacher's office was tightly locked with a key and quite a few powerful spells. Hermione's task became more complicated.
With her usual sensible habit of looking for the pros inside the cons, the girl hoped to turn her obviously dangerous detention with the headmaster to the advantage of their cause. To learn something about Snape's dark activities and somehow prevent them (within the last program of the DA), as well as search for the Pensieve in order to see the memories that Harry had found. Of course, it was difficult to do all these things in one evening, but when would there be a second chance? Maybe Snape would get so fed up with her tonight that he wouldn't put her in detention tomorrow. Hermione understood that she should try her best so he would, but she wasn't confident (a rare case) in her strength.
As soon as Snape opened the laboratory door the girl's heart sank: an utter shambles predominated in there, the Pensieve wasn't anywhere to be seen and it was generally difficult to say what was sitting where. At this rate, she wouldn't be able to find even ordinary stuff, let alone anything suspicious. Most likely the terrible secrets, if they did exist, were hidden further – in the depth of the Potions Master's office or in his private quarters, but how could she slip in there? Right now Hermione didn't even know where to put her foot to enter his laboratory.
"The order established here by Professor Slughorn is not entirely convenient for me," the headmaster clarified from behind her back. "I've already started some permutations and I hope you will finish them today, so I can work normally. The principle is simple," he raised his wand and drew it along the storage racks that lined the laboratory walls. "All the ingredients you see in front of you should be put on the shelves in alphabetical order. I'll be especially grateful to you, Miss Granger, if at the same time you separate all the liquids on the shelves, let's say, to the left and everything solid to the right. I'm not expecting from you a more nuanced analysis of magical substances."
Hermione nodded, watching as the new tags appeared on the shelves, obeying the professor's wand. Whatever kept him happy! He could have arranged all the pots and jars by means of magic but preferred to occupy her until the morning with a pointless waste of time and energy. Then so be it. For the time being Hermione saw no pitfalls – of course to arrange everything in its place was long and tedious, but… where's the humiliation in that? In the old days it would have probably upset her – she, Hermione Granger, was, for some reason, put on detention, moreover on such a mundane and protracted one, but now the girl just shrugged.
"Yes, sir."
All the better that sorting out the ingredients would take her ages – more time to keep an eye on Snape. Besides, if he had to step out for a while she might get a chance to break into his office.
"Can you see that table?" with a fresh wave of his wand the headmaster cleared a small horizontal surface in the western corner of the rubbish, and Hermione saw that there really was a table. "You can make yourself at home there – put a Gryffindor flag, a picture of Potter – whatever you wish… Where is he, by the way?"
Hermione shuddered and emerged from her trance. What the hell were these shoddy provocations between two serious wizards for?
"What, Professor?" she asked perplexedly, and almost immediately sensed a tenacious and quite strong thrust on her consciousness. Without pronouncing a spell or performing a wand movement… What a bastard!
"Not 'what' but 'who', Miss Granger. As far as I remember, your friend Potter is still an animate object."
Had she thought anything about Harry or not? No, she seemed to be sincerely focused on sorting the ingredients and hadn't switched in time. An invisible magical lasso continued to twine around her mind viciously, increasing the pressure. The girl unwittingly backed away, especially since the headmaster looked at her in a quite unkind way. Hard to believe that less than a year ago it had been forbidden to use Legilimency on students.
"Everybody knows it, Professor," Hermione begun cautiously, "Harry is under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. However, even if I took Veritaserum, I couldn't tell you more. Harry doesn't tell me anything on purpose. It's highly unreliable to entrust your secrets to your friends, you know? Remember how terribly it went with Pettigrew?"
Perhaps she shouldn't have said the last sentence.
But the extraneous will retreated abruptly, releasing her consciousness. Snape stopped piercing her with his gaze, walked away into the classroom's depths and settled himself behind the teacher's desk. Hermione took a deep breath. That's it, from now on she was going to maintain her mental defence until she left the dungeons.
"So, you do know something of protective magic, Miss Granger. Maybe you carry your wand with you as well?" the headmaster asked her in a casual tone.
Well, if Occlumency is something… Hermione's face flushed with a sudden heat, as often happened in the lessons when she had made progress which his Slytherins couldn't even dream of, but he had never given her any type of credit for it. Snape, even now, was looking at her with no interest, as if he were solving an equation with a long-known answer. Hermione was almost pleased to get an opportunity to lower her face while pulling her wand out of the bag hanging over her shoulder. Why of course, if anyone didn't know anything about magic, it must be her...
"And what if I do this?" the professor finally deigned to use his wand.
Hermione felt as if she had been electrocuted, and in the next moment she realised she was lying on the floor. The pain disappeared, but her own wand had slipped out of her hand. Perhaps she should tie it to her arm before the detentions.
Professor Snape sat in his chair, resting his chin on his palm, and looked at her thoughtfully, running his finger over his contemptuously pursed lips.
"Pretty bad," he said at last, "in fact, it couldn't have been worse."
Oh, boy! Here we go… And what about cleaning the laboratory?
Hermione blinked tears from her eyes and sat up cautiously, although she wasn't sure if it was worth it.
"Sir, but I already said… I really don't know where Harry is. However, I think that when he appears –"
Professor Snape brushed her off irritably and abruptly rose from his seat:
"When he appears, Miss Granger, he will demonstrate even less impressive results, as I understand. As far as I remember, this school considers you to be its best student."
Hermione wrinkled her forehead, trying to figure out what he was driving at and to retain the defensive barrier in her mind. Though, there was no new attempt on her consciousness. Very carefully (what was she losing after all?) the girl reached her hand out, picking up her dropped wand. Snape carefully followed her movement but didn't interfere.
"And what do you need your wand for, Miss Granger?" he asked mockingly. "If you have finally remembered some shield charms, for your information, you were killed a few minutes ago."
So nice to hear that from a teacher! Hermione was practically shaking with indignation, but she knew she'd better not cross the headmaster. Nobody. Ever. Had. Better. Cross. Snape.
"I know the protective charms, Professor. I'm just not used to being attacked by my teachers," she uttered quietly.
The headmaster looked at her with his usual expression, which meant – you are an idiot, and no magic can fix that.
"The protective charms are called 'protective' for a reason, Miss Granger," he said in his teaching voice. "You have to be able to use them regardless of who attacks you and when. Even if you can't see your opponent."
Hermione thought of an answer, but only came up with "Yes, sir."
"What 'yes, sir'?" Snape mimicked her with annoyance, circling her.
That's bad – that meant she had made him angry. He always began to circle around the room when something put him out of temper. Well, not exactly a rare case. Now he'd yell at her and throw her out the door, and then like hell she'd find the Pensieve. She had failed her task, completely failed. She had had a chance, and she had screwed it up. Let down Dumbledore's Army, let down Harry. Surrendered without a fight, indeed. Maybe she should cast a 'Stupefy' on him to convince him in the appropriateness of detention for her? What did he want, really? Yet Hermione hesitated. She wasn't sure that to stupefy the headmaster was a very wise decision. Besides, she knew almost certainly that Professor Snape would easily repulse her attack.
"If you truly understand what I'm talking about," there was an irritation in Snape's voice, but a restrained one for the time being, "explain to me, for example, why did you maim Mr Malfoy with a 'Stupefy' yesterday? It's not a great achievement to know this spell even in the first year. Especially since you were given the task of defeating the Inferi. Don't you know that outside the classroom a master of an Inferius, as a rule, doesn't show themselves? Or can't you distinguish an Inferius from your classmate?"
One, two, three… Hermione squeezed her wand so hard that the pattern of its handle imprinted on her palm. She just had to sit and be silent, wait until he finished his unplanned rebuke.
"The teachers and your beloved books won't always be around, Miss Granger," the professor continued dully. "It's a bit troublesome for me personally to put you in order after another educational failure."
Four, five, six… She must say something at least.
"Sir, I wasn't aware that I was giving you so much trouble," mumbled Hermione. "Nor did I have any idea that you paid so much attention to my academic achievements…"
The professor finally stopped and looked at her gloomily.
"The responsibilities of the headmaster include monitoring the attainment rates of the students, especially in their final year," he explained kindly. "And it's next to impossible not to pay special attention to you. You're either throwing yourself at me in the Great Hall, or blowing the entire class to smithereens in my lesson… while doing so you either have your head pummelled or your hands pierced. I'm just wondering what you were doing in my classes for the whole of last year? Protective magic, for your information, was created to shield oneself from the effects of malevolent spells. There are not so many of them, by the way. Fortunately, an 'Avada Kedavra' has never struck you. What other similar spells do we know?"
The headmaster looked at her, patiently waiting for an answer. Only the sound of water, dripping from the mouth of the stone gargoyle in the corner of the classroom, broke the silence.
Seven, eight, nine... Just don't snap at him, Hermione, it's pointless – he can do it as well.
"You mean only attacking spells, Professor, or forbidden as well?" the girl asked politely, still not understanding what this first year examination was for. "If the latter, there are also 'Crucio' and 'Imperius'… 'Sectumsempra' could possibly be among them… I guess –"
"You cannot resist 'Crucio' or 'Imperius'. Neither 'Sectumsempra', no doubt," the headmaster said without changing the expression on his face. "Continue! What did Carrow use against you? 'Stupefy'?"
"'Incarcerous'," Hermione sighed heavily.
"And even 'Incarcerous'. All these spells don't appear to trigger any defensive reaction from you, and it's perplexing. Do you like their effects?"
Ten… Patience and patience alone.
Hermione shook her head silently.
"If even you acquire only a passing knowledge in the lessons, then what about the rest of the students? And with such mastery you are planning to defeat the greatest of the dark wizards ever born? Or are you not anymore?" now he was openly mocking her, this Death Eater.
Hermione squeezed her wand with both hands, risking breaking it in half. She gazed at the headmaster with seething hatred. And where was the joy for him to deride her, didn't he mind wasting time on this stupid spectacle? A traitor and a murderer. Harry was right – he was not human but a monster. A very dangerous one. An extremely good wizard, and an equally huge scoundrel.
Professor Snape glimpsed at her and instantly lost interest.
"And what next? Are you intending to repose there for the rest of the evening?" he asked crossly. "I believe I requested you to sit behind the table, not on the floor in the middle of the classroom."
Without saying a word Hermione got to her feet and trudged back into the laboratory. Nothing surprised her any more. Thank Merlin, the stern reprimand about her declining academic achievements had come to an end. Never mind. She'd had worse. But less frequently.
"Tonight you are going to need the table for updating the tags," the professor clarified patiently when they finally reached the farthest corner of the laboratory. "I wish the vessels with the same components to not only be appropriately labelled – that was done without you – but also numbered. And not how Professor Slughorn had it – in sequence, but with a letter designation as well. If there are two jars with dragon blood, they should be labelled as ten 'A' and ten 'B'. 'Ten' was an example."
"Yes, sir."
Why, of course, she's a complete idiot! 'Ten was an example'!
Hermione had to remind herself that she was an infiltrator behind enemy lines and she came here to extract the Pensieve, therefore she shouldn't snap at the headmaster over nothing. 'Yes, sir' or 'no, sir' would do just fine. Simple and beyond hyper-criticism. But what's true is true, conduction of physical inventories must be done manually – no wand could implement Snape's wishes…
The professor's black robes slipped behind the door to the inaccessible office, and Hermione exhaustingly collapsed onto a chair. Now she finally understood what Harry had been talking about. Fifteen minutes at most had passed from three hours of her detention, and she was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She wanted to cry and to sleep at the same time, and her head felt like an anvil had been dropped on it. It was necessary, however, to start sorting the ingredients. She had endured all these sufferings not to be kicked out of here. Okay, just another couple of minutes… Hermione didn't notice that she remained sitting on the chair, staring at the wall in shock, digesting the eloquent start of her detention.
"An excellent way to fulfil my assignment," Snape drawled over her, manifesting silently as usual. "Take this," a thin black leather book was placed on the dusty table in front of the girl, "it explains how to fight Inferi. Learn it by tomorrow and return the book to me. Don't underline anything and don't bend the pages."
Great! It's already almost tomorrow!
"'Moritas more' – I remember," Hermione said automatically. And then wished she hadn't. Snape smiled quite maliciously.
"All that remains now is to wave your wand, isn't it, Miss Know-it-all?" he uttered in a hatefully mocking tone, lowering his pale face right to Hermione's confused eyes. "'Moritas more' is very dark magic. Mastering this spell requires long and unpleasant preparation. To revive something dead, not endowing it with a soul and mind, is relatively easy. Although this too is dark magic. To kill what is already dead, to make sure that nobody will ever be able to control the corpse, is much more difficult. You can take my word for it. Therefore learn this. Attentively," he pushed the book closer to Hermione.
The girl moved away as far as she could within the confines of the chair, looking with disgust at the black letterless cover.
"Thank you, sir, but... I'd rather not study dark magic. Especially, very dark."
For a couple of seconds the headmaster looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face, then his smile became even more poisoned.
"To. Study. Dark. Magic. You?" he asked and continued, deliberately stretching the words. "You are unable to study it. The meaningless pulling of the Inferi-marionette strings that your friends," Hermione winced, "performed yesterday, I wouldn't call studying. It will be enough if you finally learn, at least in very general terms, to protect yourself from the effects of the Dark Arts. Because, Miss Granger..." Snape lowered his voice, as if he intended to tell her a secret, "there are wizards who, unlike you, have an understanding in them. And they know that Fiendfyre, oddly enough, is just a borderline between white and dark magic. The real darkness cannot be destroyed with anything less powerful. Professor Dumbledore mastered this spell very well, if it makes you feel any better."
Hermione blinked. She especially liked the casual mention of the previous headmaster – as if he were safely enjoying his merited retirement or, at the very least, had peacefully passed away in his bed.
"I've… heard about Fiendfyre, sir," the girl managed to say with a great effort, "but I thought only a very powerful and skilled wizard can subdue it…"
Snape's mouth twisted into a wry grin.
"So go ahead, Miss Granger. Only without self-training, for now," he quickly stepped back from her, returning to his office. "I don't want you to burn Hogwarts down, since you couldn't blow it up."
"Thank you… Professor," Hermione shouted after a moment of hesitation, but the door was already slammed shut.
What was all that about?
Hermione tarried in indecision, but quite soon her curiosity won and she reached out for the educational aid offered by the headmaster. The book seemed to lie quietly – it didn't bite or spit with poison. After the raids into the Restricted Section she was almost ready for anything. Hermione felt the presence of protective charms, but they had been securely suppressed. The first thing that caught her eye was the familiar scrolls in the calligraphic inscription on the front flyleaf. In the hand of the ingloriously escaped Professor Slughorn there was written: 'To the best of my students with the wish of prudence' and just below sat his complex hieroglyphical signature. Strange kind of wish...
Hermione shrugged. Slughorn, actually, liked such things, although after the return of Voldemort he preferred to give only entirely harmless prizes. She, for example, possessed half a dozen speaking Esteem Certificates, a badge stating 'Honour Student of Potions' (Snape would be green, though there's no way of knowing that he hadn't been given such a badge too), a couple of magic wand stands and his, Slughorn's, textbook for sixth-years published approximately when the current headmaster had been studying it. The book in the black leather cover was much older. Cautiously turning over a few pages, Hermione found out that it was handwritten, and, according to the styles, by three different people. A real pleasure to study such a book. Pictures and diagrams describing the invisible magical streams that controlled the movement of a bewitched flame didn't promise her an easy life. In short, it meant another sleepless night. Unfortunately, Hermione hadn't had a proper sleep for such a long time that she was now practically falling off her chair. And she had to clean the laboratory as well… The girl sighed heavily and, putting the book aside with regret, set to work. Half past eight in the evening – the night was still young.
Okay, what do we have here? Oh, boy, we have the whole of everything… squared.
She didn't make note of the time, but she had definitely been working for more than an hour. Professor Snape hadn't come out of his office and hadn't shown any signs of life at all. Hermione even opened the door to the corridor in order to hear, or to see, if he had gone somewhere, but everything was quiet. Monotonously wiping the shelves, placing on them dried, conserved in formaldehyde, or squealing abominations, Hermione didn't forget to keep an eye on the exit.
Climbed the ladder up to the ceiling, looked back, wiped a jar, looked back, stuck a new tag, looked back, caught a… what's this devil's name, put it back into its cage, sucked her bitten finger, looked back. Approached the office door, listened. It was quiet, but he was still there, no doubt. Would he sleep in the dungeons then? By all appearances, Snape had really decided to return to his former quarters. Felt uncomfortable in the rooms of Professor Dumbledore whom he had killed? Giving up the hope that the headmaster would leave his office tonight, Hermione sat down to categorize the first rack.
It was almost impossible to work while sitting. She constantly rubbed her eyes, pinched herself, and slapped her cheeks, but still kept falling asleep. She wouldn't mind dozing off in these creepy, icy dungeons, even cuddling the professor – she really didn't care anymore. And totally didn't want to think about the extra homework of studying Fiendfyre until the morning. She tried to line up the accounting log in parallel with reading Snape's additional literature, but it didn't go well. Her thoughts were all jumbled together. The Never-Blunt Quill, guided by her wand, called the columns of the log with words from the gift 'to the best student'. Her eyes slipped from the same line for the tenth time. 'The curse of Fiendfyre is one of the most complex in Advanced Magic, it requires a great concentration of will and substantial internal strength from a wizard…' Hermione felt like a bewitched flame was dancing in front of her eyes and buzzing in her ears. That was the last straw. Cast Avada, cast Kedavra… nothing mattered to her at this point.
Hermione dropped her head onto her arms. The Dark Lord himself wouldn't be able to force her to open her eyelids now. Fiendfyre continued to thrash about before her eyes, but in a dream. Out of the flames appeared alternately the immobilized Muggle-child sitting in the cage with an 'Incendio' seeping over him, the Dementors, surrounded by hot steam from the laundry, the charred Inferi, a chuckling Draco Malfoy, directing his wand at her against the backdrop of the inferno in the Great Hall, the green flare of Avada Kedavra, flying through the darkness...
"Miss Granger, wake up. Voldemort won!"
Hermione squealed and opened her eyes.
"I repeat," Professor Snape said, "Miss Granger, bring me some roots of this plant from Madam Sprout. Ten samples. I wrote it down for you… 'Pulmonaria obscura Du mort'. Make sure you've got the right one."
Hermione stared at the headmaster with horror for a couple of seconds, then for a few more, with confusion, at the sheet of paper stretched out to her. To bring lungwort roots? Phew, what a peculiar dream she had! The girl quickly ran her hand over her eyes.
"Yes, sir, right away…" it didn't even occur to her that looking for Madame Sprout to go to the greenhouses together at such a time was slightly abnormal. She couldn't argue with the headmaster, could she?!
Hermione was more concerned by the question of how to take her bag with her. She didn't intend to leave all her tools at Snape's mercy, but understood that carrying it around wherever she went could be suspicious. Having no other option, she placed the strap of the bag over her shoulder as a matter of course and slipped sideways towards the door. By inertia Hermione ran almost to the stairs – Snape's orders always had a great motivating force. But at the sight of the first steps the girl stopped abruptly. She wasn't really going to leave the dungeons right now, was she? After all her main goal was not a voyage into a greenhouse. She turned sharply and hurried back. If only the professor hadn't returned to his office yet, maybe… could she… really be that lucky on the very first day? Her heart was beating like crazy. To deceive Severus Snape, now the headmaster of Hogwarts and the Dark Lord's favourite servant in one person, wasn't the safest thing to do. Yet she had all the necessary equipment with her. And, according to Professor Dumbledore, no dark magic could see through such a disguise. She just needed to be extremely careful.
Cautiously looking around (the greenish glow of the dungeons awakened suspiciousness), Hermione sat down on the floor, with difficulty peeled off the sneakers tightly attached to her feet, thrust them into her bag, and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of it. Next she put the bag over her head, around her neck, so it wasn't in the way, and donned the cloak on top. Tucked her hair in, checked the hood – if it slid off, everything would be lost. Wand in hand. Okay, here she goes.
In some aspects she was lucky straight away – the doors to the classroom and laboratory remained open after she had shot out of them a minute ago. And Professor Snape hadn't returned to his office yet. It would be nice if he went back in there before her absence begun to seem suspiciously long. Or, at least, went out for a minute so she could check what spells he used to lock his office. Holding her breath, Hermione carefully crept closer to the desired door. Thanks to her efforts, the laboratory now had a floor and it was possible to tiptoe across it without making a noise. The main point was not to step on shards of glass – who knew what had been contained in those vials. Hermione wasn't a novice in moving under the Invisibility Cloak, she used to do it with Harry and Ron. It was one thing, however, to skulk along the school corridors, fearing a hypothetical bumping into Filch, and another – to sneak into Snape's office in his presence. Though, in his absence, she had done it back in her second year. Of course, his doors hadn't been so tightly covered with spells back then. The tasks have clearly grown more and more complicated over the years.
At this moment the headmaster, fortunately, stood at the other end of the laboratory and didn't pose a threat to her. But he didn't stay there for long. He looked across the rack from 'A' to 'E' already completed by Hermione, swapped a couple of bottles, guided by a logic known only to him, checked the log on her table, waved his wand casually, putting the columns in order. Now the hardest part – Hermione stepped back from the door a little – Snape always burst out of and disappeared into his office so swiftly, that to slip in behind him was not going to be a picnic.
The girl got lucky again: without witnesses the headmaster didn't slam the door as hastily. From his point of view, the lock clicked only with a slight delay. Done? As soon as she crossed the threshold, Hermione froze, afraid even to breathe, let alone move. From this moment if she were caught, there'd be hell to pay. But she hadn't been yet. Snape's black eyes looked through her without any glint or expression for a few seconds – he had either felt or heard something – then the professor went to a folding screen behind his desk, and the girl finally got a tiny jolt of air.
The black screen was an innovation. Attentive to details Hermione didn't remember such an item in Slughorn's office. No words could express how curious she was, but to poke her head behind it straight away would be a dreadful mistake. The most sensible thing to do was to sit down on the floor in the farthest corner, catch her breath and wait. And so she did. She practically froze to death, sitting on the stone floor for twenty minutes, but stubbornly remained in her place, clasping her ice-cold feet with her hands. She'd better not doze off again. The fear, however, seemed to drive away the desire to sleep. Shame she hadn't brought the book with her. And the Pensieve wasn't here after all. Where was it then?
The minutes were ticking by; Snape was rustling with something bubbling behind the screen. Once he went out into the laboratory, but not for long; twice stepped to the table and scribbled a couple of lines in a notebook. At last! Someone insistently and straight away even more insistently knocked on the door. Snape got out of his shelter, rubbed his eyes at the same time as the falling-asleep Hermione, and half-opened the door, not even asking who it was and what they wanted.
"Minerva…" he took half a step back.
McGonagall? What a surprise!
"Don't worry, Severus, I have no intention of crossing your threshold," the Head of Gryffindor reassured him. "On the contrary, I need you to come with me immediately."
Professor McGonagall spoke rather hostilely and was certainly agitated by something.
"I'll get my wand," dashing past Hermione, who, out of curiosity, had tiptoed closer, Snape brushed her with the edge of his robes. "What's happened?"
Yes, Hermione wanted to know too... Had the guys from the DA been caught? Had Harry given himself away? No, then McGonagall would be in a much worse condition. Though, she could barely contain herself, impatiently waiting for the headmaster on the border between the light pouring out of the corridor and the semi-darkness of his office.
"What should have been expected," the Head of Gryffindor snapped, "a big fight between students, and it's already the third one this week. A terrific din all over the school, only in your dungeons it can't be heard…"
"And who is fighting?" Snape had the decency to inquire, returning with his wand.
Minerva raised her eyebrows.
"Do you really need to ask? Slytherin got into a fight with Hufflepuff. More precisely, the seventh and sixth years of Slytherin are beating the fifth years of Hufflepuff. Madam Sprout is trying to calm them down, but Malfoy is completely out of control. You know, they obey only you… you have your own… hierarchy in there," she continued in a temperate manner, while the headmaster was hastily casting a few additional protective spells onto the laboratory door. "And your Carrow, in my opinion, only provokes the children. Half the school is there already. I locked the Gryffindorians in their tower, but there are some persistent kids among them, and if they join the fight –"
"I understand, Minerva, let's go…"
"Aren't you going to lock the classroom?" McGonagall queried. "In times like these –"
"No, Miss Granger has to return from the greenhouses. If, of course, she didn't join the fight. She is meant to be looking for Madam Sprout."
"I think Miss Granger wasn't there," McGonagall froze, "but why –"
"At least something good! If she and Draco face each other again, we won't be able to put Hogwarts back together…" Snape grunted out. "Shall we go, Professor?"
Yet McGonagall didn't move, not letting him close the door.
"No, I would like to clarify something first," she said, frowning. "Miss Granger is already in an extremely dire situation. Draco Malfoy played a trick on her in the most inexcusable way, and the detention, as I see, was given to the girl again."
"These two events are not related –" since the Head of Gryffindor didn't want to leave his threshold, the headmaster had to stop as well, although with visible impatience. Clearly, he'd prefer to solve the problem of the evening scuffle rather than to talk about Hermione.
"Really?" ice sparks flashed in McGonagall's eyes. "Frankly speaking, Miss Granger is to be blamed a priori not only for her origin, but also for her friendship with Harry Potter, isn't she?"
Professor Snape winced as if he had toothache.
"Minerva, let's not –"
"Severus, you know I stayed here only because of the children," McGonagall's voice trembled with tension. "I have nothing to lose. And while I remain in this school, I will not let you turn studying at Hogwarts into a living hell. For your information, Miss Granger was supposed to sort the books in the library today. I presume this is no less important than cleaning cauldrons. May I take her from you right away?"
"No. You may not," Snape said stiffly. "And your patronage will not help her."
"Naturally!" Minerva exclaimed bitterly. "Nevertheless, don't expect me to let you drive the girl out of here as you did with the students of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. I'd love to know if Draco Malfoy is going to get a detention and a deduction of points?"
"He rarely attends the school," Snape spat out, no longer hiding his irritation. "However, rest assured – justice will be served. Draco acted disgustingly, so he'll end up in the Hospital Wing. Neither I nor you are able to prevent it. And mark my words, it's going to be your vaunted Gryffindorians who'll give it to him. They, probably, have already made it out of their tower and are now throwing 'Sectumsempra' at Slytherins. Many thanks to Potter."
As a precaution, Hermione took a step towards the Head of her House – the expression on Snape's face triggered her fear that the headmaster wouldn't mind casting an Unforgivable Curse on Minerva McGonagall at this very moment. His wand was still in his hand, and Minerva stood just a couple steps away from him. The Professor of Transfiguration also held her wand in her palm and, at Snape's last words, immediately raised it up, without moving from her spot. Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth. For a few seconds Snape and McGonagall were piercing each other with their eyes, but neither of them waved their wands.
"One day you will bitterly regret what you are doing now, Severus," Professor McGonagall said quietly.
"Highly unlikely," Snape sneered. "However, let's not stage another battle of Gryffindor against Slytherin just yet. Can we finally go? Where are they fighting?"
Minerva nodded and stepped back into the corridor wearily.
"On the first floor," she said almost calmly. "I dread to think what will happen if the Ministry finds out about it…"
"We have to make sure that they never do…"
The exterior door closed shut and there was no doubt that a series of security charms dropped straight over it.
Hermione breathed out and lowered her wand. Professor McGonagall impressed yet frightened her. To risk so much due to your student being sent for the umpteenth detention? Most likely poor Minerva didn't know even half of what was going on in those detentions. Hermione reminded herself that they must be careful so McGonagall continued to receive as little information as possible about the unenviable fate of Mudbloods. Otherwise, Gryffindor risked losing its Head, as had already happened with Slytherin today. Hermione would never forgive herself if something happened to Professor McGonagall because of her, and her House lost their last defender in these terrible times. Sadly, Snape was right: the patronage of her Head would not help Hermione one bit. And she wasn't going to hole up in McGonagall's office until Voldemort came for both of them. Waiting for death was worse than death itself…
Using this line of reasoning, the girl looked through the papers on Snape's table. She tried the drawers as well, but they were locked as were all the cabinets in his office and the door to his bedroom. There was no time to search for the keys and deal with his security spells – it was unlikely that the headmaster required long to bring the boisterous schoolkids to their senses. Memorising what was placed where, Hermione riffled the pages of several books (one of them vengefully hissed at her and ran into a corner), then turned to the notebook. Have any of you ever tried to wade through the draft notes of an alchemist? The girl flipped to the last page, where the professor had added something before leaving – the ink had barely managed to dry. Also, not too clear. A recipe for some sort of potion, written in Latin and contractions, was spread over the whole page. Hermione knew Latin, and even most of the mentioned ingredients, although they didn't study them at school. However, even Neville Longbottom wouldn't risk following this recipe and he was generally indifferent to what he was given to brew.
Hermione looked behind the screen – she was right. Another laboratory, much smaller than the first one. Cauldrons, test tubes resting in their racks, bottles with liquors and extracts. Some of the ingredients were surrounded by restrictive spells, some were placed under a magic dome. By all appearances, it was unpleasant for Snape to keep so much dangerous magic behind his back. Pity there was still no sign of the Pensieve. Trying not to touch anything in the narrow space, Hermione cautiously approached the large cauldron, the content of which was ripening on a slow fire. A bored hinkypunk, sitting in a sealed tank located nearby, reached out for her greedily, but the girl cast a 'Silencio' on it before it started its soporific rigmarole.
Thinking logically, the recipe on the table should be related to the cauldron with the incomprehensible concoction. Nothing else seemed to be brewing. The cauldron was also protected, so it would be impossible to lift it up and throw it away. Hermione didn't intend to act so indiscreetly. Professor Snape would certainly notice its disappearance. However, barely glancing at the viscous poison-green brew, she immediately wanted to do just that. Carefully picking up the spoon with the longest handle (even Snape wouldn't jinx such a trifle), Hermione slowly stirred the liquid, then pulled the spoon out and attentively investigated the thinnest trickle flowing back down into the concoction. As she presumed – it was the same abomination that Carrow had given to her. A whole cauldron! Exactly the same colour, exactly the same consistency and… the same strange smell. Hermione decided not to check its taste. This alone should be enough for the Ministry to send the headmaster to Azkaban. Though, half the Ministry belonged there themselves.
Still holding the spoon in her hand, the girl returned to the table, not knowing what she was going to do next. No, the last page of the notebook didn't describe this potion, but after some thought, Hermione came to the conclusion that the recipe for the antidote was written on it. That stood to reason. She had drunk the antidote as well. So experiments were continuing. Hermione bit her lip.
Let's see, Professor, whether I'm so pathetic at magic, as you like to think…
She looked through the column of the components once more. An antidote was a pretty complicated thing if a person had already taken a poison. It was much easier, however, to ruin the poison itself. So… what magical substance had he chosen in order to neutralize the venom? It seemed to be the eyes of swamp ghouls… four units… so many! Almost the limit of safety! Or had he counted not by gallons, as it was supposed to be done, but by cauldron? Hermione scratched her forehead, peering at the last line scribbled at the end of the recipe. '3 – 1-tm ffct.' And a pointer to the eyes of swamp ghouls. Well, this was understandable. Yet she didn't need this potion to work its effect even once. So, by gallons or by cauldron? Hermione listened carefully. She thought she was taking too long with the potion, and the owner of the office could return any minute now. No, everything seemed to be quiet, only the cauldron was simmering and the mute hinkypunk once scratched its tank.
Hermione shifted from one frozen foot to the other and climbed into the professor's armchair, folding her legs under her. Moving her lips, she read the recipe once again. From what she managed to decipher only 'armadillo bile' really grabbed her attention – one hundred drops mixed with rat saliva in a proportion of one to ten. No point to mix it in a whole cauldron. Then it was by gallons… Hermione shuddered. It was frightening, but she must continue. Once decided, the girl began to translate her intentions into actions. She hurried back into the laboratory, propping the office door open with a chair (if it slammed, she wouldn't be able to return – highly unlikely she'd make short work of Snape's reinforced charms.) Then things went even faster. Estimating in the process how many gallons in the cauldron, Hermione dragged the mobile ladder to the already filled shelves, flew up it as good as a dashing sailor and, diving inside the rack almost up to half her body, fished out from there a large green jar with the eyes of swamp ghouls. Descended to the floor, straightened the skew-whiff hood. Nobody? Nobody. Back into the office, prised open the top of the jar, counted the desired number of eyes. There was no time to look for tweezers so her bare hands would have to do. The main thing was to add carefully, stirring constantly. Galloping gargoyles! She had used almost half the jar! It's going to explode again, Hermione thought sadly, adding the last eye. But nothing happened. The potion rippled, fleetingly changed its colour to soft blue and returned to its previous state. Done! Fifty points to Gryffindor.
It was time to run for 'Pulmonaria obscura Du mort' – one mustn't overdo a good thing in one day. She was extremely lucky that Madam Sprout had been breaking up the fight on the first floor and, therefore, it hadn't been easy to find her. Hermione counted to five, checked the position of the papers on the table, removed the spell from the hinkypunk, rinsed the spoon thoroughly, wiped it and returned it to its place, left the office and shut the door. Then she added to the jar with eyes a few new ones from an adjacent jar and restored order on the laboratory shelf. All right, she hadn't been caught in the act, and Voldemort wouldn't make anyone else writhe in pain, watching the thorns break through their skin. That was something. The girl put her shoes on hurriedly, took the Invisibility Cloak off and hid it at the bottom of her bag. Quickly ran for lungwort roots, not even looking for Madam Sprout – opened the simple greenhouse lock with 'Alohomora' and took what she'd been told. Returning to Snape's, she was really surprised to find him still not there. She fondly laid the roots out on the table, lining a sheet of clean paper underneath, took a sandwich out of her bag and sat to fill the accounting log. Snape appeared only about fifteen minutes later, closer to the end of her detention, when Hermione had managed to eat and even get bored. He was as mad as… always. "Go back to your dormitory, Miss Granger" sounded like an unforgivable curse. Hermione jumped off her seat.
"Yes, sir. Good ni–"
The door to his office slammed shut.
May you toss and turn in bed all night…
Hermione hastily began to shovel the sandwich box and the Fiendfyre book into her bag. When the girl was about to leave the laboratory Professor Snape suddenly sprang out, nearly knocking her off her feet.
"The eyes of swamp ghouls start with 'S'? 'Swamp, ghouls, eyes of'?" he muttered gibberish and begun to fumble among the unsorted ingredients on the floor.
Hermione, strangely enough, understood him perfectly well, but answered only a few seconds later – her lips didn't obey her.
"N-no… with 'E'. 'Eyes of, ghouls, swamp', 'eyes of, termites', 'eyes of, spiders"… Sorry, spiders' eyes before termites' –"
"Thank you, Miss Granger," Snape also made out her babbling correctly, and switched to the rack.
Hermione became paler than the professor. He had realised… or got suspicious and was going to realise any moment now… What was she thinking about? Probably some dark arts trick told him that somebody had touched his cauldron… Why didn't she leave the sandwich box behind? She could already be out of here, but now the headmaster blocked the way to the exit, and it was only possible for her to retreat to the wall. Hermione stepped back a little, put her hand into her bag and found her wand… Stupefy? Impedimenta? Levicorpus? Then, at least, she'd be able to slip under him…
The professor jumped off the ladder and, not even looking at Hermione, disappeared into the depths of his office with the coveted jar.
Hermione thought she'd definitely turn grey by the end of this day. She must run. From the dungeons, from Hogwarts… straight into the Forbidden Forest. She'd send an owl to Harry and Ron later. Pity, of course, but it was no minor achievement. Surely, it would take Snape at least a month to brew a new potion… Hermione, almost reaching the door of the classroom, was prepared to hear a bloodcurdling shrill or see a blinding flash of Avada Kedavra any second now. She did hear the shrill – a yell of real pain and horror. Afraid to believe her hunch, Hermione rushed back.
"Alohomora! Bombarda! Bombarda maxima!" her wand sent one spell after the other at the bewitched office door, but only the third one managed to force it out… along with the jamb. The door to the professor's bedroom, situated on the same trajectory, was also demolished. Stone debris poured down, bottles fell from the shelves, and a heavy dust hung suspended in the air. Hermione, nearly deafened by the effects produced by her wand, leapt into the breach. The office, surprisingly, had been relatively untouched. Only the screen had collapsed onto the table, although not due to Hermione. Tellingly, the potion was no longer in the big cauldron – it had turned entirely into bluish-green flames and had spread to Professor Snape, mostly on his hands, yet some of it on his face. This living torch looked so horrendous that Hermione screamed too.
"Aguamenti, aguamenti, aguamenti!" the triple charm had a strong effect again: the professor was thrown back by a watery squall; books from the table and the cauldrons from the small laboratory were swept away by practically an ocean wave.
Hermione was petrified with horror. She had no doubts that she had killed the headmaster. Permanently.
The professor sat up, coughing and gasping for breath, feverishly shaking the sparks of the magical flame off his hair. Despite the water, the blaze was unwilling to retreat and continued to cling to his fingers, rapidly charring his skin. Hermione raised her wand once more, estimating what spell she could use next, but Snape had already put his hands into the water that flooded the floor. The flames hissed and were extinguished, turning into a green steam.
"I'll b-be right b-back…" Hermione sobbed.
Back to the racks… she remembered she'd seen it somewhere here… 'Accio'! Something thundered on the nearest shelf. Hermione, hurling aside some more bottles and phials, grabbed a slippery tin container…
Please don't be dead…
"Professor, Professor Snape, here… let me help you," she mumbled, kneeling next to her teacher.
The professor said nothing. Crying from the pain, he tried to pull his wand out from his pocket, but immediately rejected the idea. His hands disobeyed him; blood was oozing from under his melted nails. Hermione, teeth chattering, began to lubricate the burns with a viscous, fragrant-with-herbs ointment. The smell of burnt flesh dissipated a little.
She had almost killed a man, almost killed… But why, in the name of Merlin, had he…
"Here, drink this," the girl, suddenly recollecting, dived into her bag and extracted Professor Slughorn's farewell gift.
"What is it?" Snape tried to translate his moan into articulate speech and simultaneously focus his eyes on the vial. "Ah! Very well…"
Hermione crawled closer and hand-fed him a third of the bottle, then the professor shook his head: that's enough. He kept his own hands raised, his fingers couldn't feel anything and didn't bend. The ointment began its healing effect, but the burns from the bewitched fire were quite deep; his skin was almost completely peeled off. What vile potions you brew, Professor! Hermione should have been pleased – surely the author of ingenious potions now felt as bad as she had yesterday. Yet the girl wasn't happy one tiny bit – only disgusted to see that magic could do such hideous things. In general, it didn't turn out too bad – it could have been worse. His hands would heal – the burns were not enchanted spikes, after all. Most likely, the professor wouldn't even lose his peculiar beauty. Hermione wiped her eyes with a sleeve of her robes and tried to salve the burns on the headmaster's face, but Snape pulled away from her.
"I can take it from here," he hissed, snatching the container from her hand. The painkiller seemed to have begun working.
"Sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to –" poor Hermione muttered.
"You didn't mean to do what?"
"To get you hurt… to make the door fall and you hit the wall."
Snape pierced her with a fierce look from beneath his scorched eyebrows, but didn't answer.
"I'll go get Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said hoarsely, rising from her numb knees.
"Sit!" Hermione splashed back into the puddle. "No need to go for anyone. Or to call for anyone. Is that understood?"
Hermione gave an uncertain nod.
"Then go to bed. I thought I had dismissed you a while ago."
Hermione looked apprehensively at the headmaster's burned face, but didn't dare leave. Besides, what's the point? Now he'd definitely kill her. Would make her deader than dead. 'Moritas more'... Or perhaps Voldemort himself would want to take part… for her attempt on his beloved servant's life. She had almost killed a man…
Snape remained ominously silent, carefully rubbing the ointment on his scorched fingers. His movements were getting better each time, but his soaking wet figure in the drenched robes with its charred sleeves still looked utterly deplorable.
"Did you not hear me?" he asked irritably after a minute. "Stop hypnotizing me with your gaze and don't sit in that puddle, it's poisonous. Though, I'm not sure any more –"
He suddenly yelled, not finishing his sentence, and jerked his hand applying the ointment away from his mutilated wrist.
"I think it might be better if I do it, Professor," Hermione said compassionately.
Apparently the painkiller potion was not strong enough.
"Apparate to the Dark Lord instead of me?" Snape asked stiffly. "Go ahead."
Hermione shuddered. Now she noticed that too – in the dim light of the few surviving candles, through a fresh burn, squeezing the lymph and the blood out, the Dark Mark was materialising. Hell. McGonagall was right – they lived in hell.
"Let me, at least, clean up in here," Hermione offered torpidly.
"I'll manage without your help, Miss Granger."
Was he embarrassed to disapparate in front of her? Serving the proprieties? What was there to be shy of – everyone in the school had already seen how the Death Eaters disapparated, in broad daylight, to their Lord straight from Hogwarts. Ah! He probably didn't want her to peep at something in here. Besides, he needed to get himself in order – to go to his master, looking like that, might not be comme il faut. Hermione suddenly grinned. On the other hand, Professor Snape had already washed his hair. For once. For some reason the girl was unhealthily amused by this thought, and began to giggle, leaning her back against a table leg.
Snape didn't interfere with her fun – absent-mindedly observing his student's hysteria, he cradled his torn-by-the-Dark-Mark arm to his chest. The one-legged hinkypunk plashed from the darkness through the water spreading around the floor, rocked hither and thither, rattling with its lantern, and nestled its head against the professor's shoulder.
"Need to sleep, sleep, sleep… Need to sleep, you all need to sleep… Follow me, follow me… I know where you can sleep… I know, I know, I know such a place…"
Hermione forced herself not to look at the magical creature – the last thing she wanted was to fall asleep here. She glanced around the room – lopsided arch leading to the laboratory, splinters of glass glistening in black water, books scattered in the corners. A large basin of moon-white marble faintly glowed in the dense darkness behind the broken door to Snape's bedroom. Hermione had found the Pensieve.