Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, followed, and favourited so far!
I wanted to get this chapter up over the weekend, but it was giving me some trouble. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I've already been over it so many times my brain feels a little frazzled at this point. Sorry for being a day late. I hope I can make up for it by giving you the longest chapter so far ;)
Severus grunted in discomfort as he rolled onto his side to face the window.
A light drizzle had started to fall outside, and the leaves of the large oak at the end of the garden swayed in the gentle breeze. He could hear the sound of buses breaking in the street outside, black cabs honking their horns. He took comfort in those sounds. He thought of all the thousands of Muggles going about their daily lives, without a care, oblivious to the horrors that had torn through the wizarding world, and for the first time in his life he actually envied them.
He'd been in a wretched mood all morning. Potter's passionate words of defence of his friend seemed to have seared into his brain. As his brain repeated them over and over, he was hit with a familiar gnawing sensation in his gut – he'd felt enough guilt in his life to be able to recognise it now.
He sighed, and rubbed his temple in a hopeless attempt to stem the oncoming migraine.
He'd been unforgivably harsh with her earlier, he knew that. After five days steeped in his own miserable, bitter thoughts, silently raging against the situation he found himself in, something in him had just snapped.
She hadn't deserved it.
Merlin, how it pained him to admit Potter was right.
He flipped over onto his back and let his thoughts wander.
He had thought about Granger often during the last year. It had been no surprise to learn she had gone on the run with Potter and Weasley; The three had been inseparable since their first year. And he'd been glad for it – despite the faith Albus had always placed in the boy, Severus knew Potter didn't stand a hope of a chance without Granger at his side.
When he'd learned the girl had Phineas Black's portrait in her possession, he'd been half expecting the old headmaster to come to him bearing some message of Granger's. He could think of no other reason she'd have carried the portrait with her; she must have known Black's other portrait hung in the headmaster's study. Perhaps Albus had left her some clue to decipher at Grimmauld Place? It would be just like him to plan some alliance between the two of them and not tell Severus anything about it. For if anyone were to figure out the truth behind Dumbledore's death it would be Granger, he was certain of that. This was the girl who had solved his riddle guarding the philosopher's stone (oh, how that had rankled him – he'd spent ages coming up with it), successfully brewed a NEWT-level potion at the age of twelve and unravelled the mystery of the Basilisk, and had been the only student to figure out the secret of Lupin's monthly disappearances in her third year. Even Severus had to admit the girl was gifted with more brains than her two best friends combined, and probably more.
On his more morose nights during his reign of terror as headmaster, after having endured days of sour looks and harsh words from his fellow professors, he found himself patrolling the castle wondering when the girl would figure him out.
He'd almost written to her once – a short, anonymous note, hastily scribbled one night after several glasses of firewhisky, after several weeks of Phineas Black reporting back nothing but strained silence and the girl weeping, and his frustration at being cut off from everyone had simply grown too much to bear. He was sick to death of Dumbledore's insistent refusal to tell him what Potter and his friends were up to, sick of being stuck at Hogwarts blindly following the orders of two masters, neither one of whom saw fit to confide their secrets to him. It would be safe enough to write to Granger, he'd reasoned. Just a few cryptic lines to help her put two and two together. Stuff Dumbledore and his fucking plans – the war might be over within a month if they could just work together.
Except he'd bottled it the next morning when he'd sobered up and realised even that small act could jeopardise the entire war mission should his message be intercepted somehow. Best to wait. His faith he'd hear from her was dwindling, but it was still there. Surely Dumbledore had left some clue. Surely he hadn't meant to leave Severus totally alone …
But the months wore on and the message never came.
His disappointment in Granger had been nothing to his disappointment in Albus once he'd come to the inevitable and crushing realisation that the old man had never intended for him to have an ally after all.
An ally …
It would have made all the difference in the world this past year to have had someone who knew the truth. To have had one person who did not believe him a cold-blooded killer. He had always been a solitary man, caring little for the opinions of others, but what he would have given for a look, a nod, a word, from someone who knew his true intentions, even if that someone had been Hermione Granger, a young witch he cared nothing for and, frankly, found rather irritating.
Well, he could have had her as an ally now, if he'd wanted. Which he didn't … obviously. But still, she'd been the first person in the five days he'd been here to show the remotest interest in talking to him. She'd come back for his body when no one else had bothered to do so, had fought to rescue the life that was still in him, had thought he, Severus Snape, was worth saving.
'I wanted to give a good man a chance at life.'
She was wrong about that of course. Had not his actions this morning proved he was anything but a good man? And what use was a chance at life for a man like Severus Snape? He'd already sampled enough of what life had to offer, and he'd found it wanting, to say the least. He had earned his peace, hadn't he? His freedom? Neither of which were to be found in the mortal world, that was for certain.
Perhaps it was too much to expect an eighteen-year-old girl to understand.
What he couldn't fathom was why Hermione Granger would care at all whether he lived or died. As far as he knew, she had hated him as much as any of his other students. But then, he reasoned, Granger had always been a bleeding heart. Fuck, she'd probably put him in the same camp as her precious house elves … as the hapless Longbottom. He shuddered at that thought; he certainly didn't want her pity.
Anyway, he concluded, it was all moot now; whatever her reasons for caring, he'd surely quashed them once and for all. Whatever compassion – however misplaced – she'd felt for him, he'd torn to shreds with his own bare hands.
Just as he had done with Lily …
oOo
When Hermione awoke hours later, Ron was gone – she was grateful for that, as she wasn't in the mood for answering his inevitable questions. After the emotional rollercoaster of this morning she needed some time to herself to clear her head.
Slipping out of her now rumpled cardigan and vest, she quickly changed into a fresh shirt before heading to the bathroom across the hall. She was suddenly thankful that the Black household didn't make use of enchanted mirrors as she inspected her reflection, all red, puffed eyes and out-of-control hair. In a flash of self-consciousness, she saw herself as Snape undoubtedly saw her – a silly, emotional schoolgirl – and she cringed as the memory of their earlier conversation pushed itself to the forefront of her mind.
Six years he'd been her professor, and for six years she'd longed for the slightest hint he'd noticed her efforts. He'd been the only teacher not to slather her with praise on a regular basis and so, naturally, he was the one she'd craved it from the most. As the years had gone on and they'd begun to suspect Snape's position as undercover Death Eater and all that entailed – that even a hint of preferential treatment to a Muggleborn student would have blown his cover, or worse – she'd consoled herself that even if he did think well of her he could never have admitted to it. It had taken some of the sting out of his comments and allowed her to view his snarky remarks in a different light. If Voldemort hadn't been in the picture, she'd reasoned, perhaps he'd have treated her differently.
She'd been deluding herself though, she knew that now; he'd told her this morning, in no uncertain terms, what he thought of her.
Strangely, she couldn't even summon up the will to be angry at him anymore – it seemed it had all been expunged along with her tears. A large part of her couldn't blame him for reacting the way he had. The man had given so much of himself to a war that had been going on since before she'd even been born; no doubt he'd seen horrors the rest of them – Harry included – couldn't even begin to imagine. Then to have been forced to kill the only man who ever truly trusted him, left completed isolated … she couldn't even imagine what it had been like for him, or how anyone could be expected to come out of that emotionally unscathed.
She splashed her face with cold water and combed her fingers through her hair, then took care of the rest of her ablutions and, after one final deep, calming breath, headed downstairs. Walking into the kitchen, she felt a strange sense of déjà vu when she saw Harry once again sitting at the table.
'All right?' he said as she closed the door behind her.
She smiled at her friend and nodded. 'A little better.'
'Good,' he muttered, before looking away. Visibly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat. 'So I went to see Snape.'
Her nap-fogged brain took a moment to process this. 'Harry, you didn't!'
'I had to find out what happened, and since you weren't saying anything …' He shrugged. 'Sorry.'
She could only imagine how that meeting had gone. 'He told you then?'
'The gist of it.'
She slumped down onto the bench next to him. 'He's completely convinced he's going to Azkaban. I tried to make him see that his chances are better than he thinks, but … oh Harry, I'm starting to think maybe he's right. Maybe he's right and by saving him I've actually condemned him to a life in that awful place.' Her hands flew to cover her eyes. 'Oh, I'm so stupid! It never even occurred to me that—'
'It'll be all right, Hermione.'
'But what if isn't? He was so sure, Harry, and—'
'Hermione, stop!' Harry said, placing steady hands on her shoulders. 'Calm down, all right. Breathe.'
She took a steadying breath and traced the patterns in the wooden table with her finger – a habit she'd had since childhood that never failed to calm her – as she counted slowly to ten in her mind.
'Sorry,' she muttered. 'God, I'm all over the place at the moment.'
'I think we all are a bit,' Harry said, giving her shoulder a squeeze, and they sat in silence for a few minutes.
'You know,' she said eventually, 'I never really gave much thought to what would happen after the war was over. Everything over the last few years was leading up to that one battle. I assumed once Voldemort was gone all our problems would be over. That we could finally live in a world where justice reigned and truth would prevail. This feels like the opposite of that.' She gestured to the nearby copy of the Prophet, the front page of which was emblazoned with a menacing headshot of the professor, with the headline: Severus Snape Charged with War Crimes.
'I have to do something,' she said solemnly.
'Hermione, it's not your responsibility.'
'But it is,' she said, willing him to understand. 'If it wasn't for me the wizarding world would probably have proclaimed him a hero by now.'
'How'd you work that out?'
'I saved his life – and it's far easier to forgive a dead man than a living one.'
Harry frowned thoughtfully. 'That sounds like something Dumbledore would have said.'
'It does, doesn't it?' she replied, a touch of acidity in her tone that she hoped Harry wouldn't pick up on. Since the battle she'd had a hard time reconciling her memory of the great, wise headmaster she'd known and admired with the knowledge that he'd been playing a ruthless game of chess with so many peoples' lives; she was sure Snape's and Harry's were just the tip of the iceberg.
'But Hermione,' Harry said, 'you don't owe Snape anything, especially after the way he just treated you. He's the one in your debt.'
'I don't care about some stupid life debt!' she said. 'This is about doing the right thing, Harry, can't you see? I won't be able to live with myself if …' She couldn't even bring herself to say it.
Next to her, Harry sighed and laid a warm hand over hers. 'I get it. I do. But what can you do?'
Her jaw set in determination as the beginnings of a plan formed in her mind. 'I don't know. But first and foremost, I think we need to know what we're up against.'
'Yeah, I agree,' Harry said. 'Do you fancy a trip to the Ministry?'
oOo
They didn't even have to use the visitor's entrance when they arrived at the Ministry; apparently the saviour of the wizarding world didn't need to abide by the normal rules. Normally, Hermione would have disapproved of such a thing of course, but for their purposes today she had to admit it was quite convenient to be able to simply Floo in like regular Ministry workers.
It took forever for them to get through the Atrium (currently decorated on every surface with gaudy victory bunting) due to the sheer number of people who stopped to thank them for their service. They paid their dues, smiling and exchanging a few words here and there, but she drew the line when a middle-aged witch flashed a roll of parchment at Harry and asked for his autograph. She dragged him towards the golden gates that led to the offices, where they were stopped by a short, balding wizard in official-looking robes.
'We're here to see the Minister,' said Harry.
The man peered at them, and out the corner of her eye she noticed Harry flicking his hair back – all the better to show off his scar. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
'Do you have an appointment?' the man said in an bureaucratic tone, looking between them.
'Um, well, no,' said Hermione. 'But—'
'There's no seeing the Minister without an appointment.'
'But he knows us,' Hermione said.
'We just need to talk to him for five minutes,' said Harry. 'It's very important. It's about—'
'I'm very sorry, young man, but it's completely out of the question.'
'Look, sir, I'm Harry Potter and—'
'I don't care if you're the second coming of Merlin himself. No appointment, no entry.' He made an impatient shooing motion with his hands, and the two of them had no choice but to fall back.
'Great. What now?' muttered Harry.
'I don't know,' she said, and shot him an annoyed look. 'Did you really have to namedrop yourself like that? Ugh, that was so embarrassing, honestly. I'm Harry Potter,' she mimicked.
'Oi, I did not say it like that! And anyway,' he shrugged, 'what's the point in being the saviour of the wizarding world if I can't reap the benefits.'
She slapped him playfully on the arm.
'You are awful!'
'Harry? Hermione? Is that you?'
They spun around and came face to face with a familiar red-headed man, dressed in shabby robes, and looking as though he hadn't slept in days. Arthur Weasley walked up to them and clasped them both by the shoulders.
'I thought it was you. What are you both doing here?' He gave them a wide smile but Hermione noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes the way it always had done before the battle.
'Hi Mr Weasley,' said Hermione. 'We need to see Kingsley.'
'They have no appointment, Arthur. I cannot let them through,' said the guard, who had apparently been listening in on them.
'You do know who they are, Gibbons?' said Mr Weasley. 'This is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, even you must have heard of them. If they wish to see the Minister for whatever reason, they may see the Minister. In fact, since I was just on my way to see him myself, you two, why don't you tag along with me?'
'But they aren't even Ministry employees!' Gibbons protested. 'It's totally out of the question!'
Mr Weasley and Gibbons locked eyes in a battle of wills. Suddenly Mr Weasley pulled a thick wad of parchment from a satchel over his shoulder and thrust it at Hermione, then took off his hat and handed it to a bemused-looking Harry.
'They are now. As head of a department, I have the right to hire my own personal assistants, and as of this very moment it just so happens I'm in need of someone to carry my paperwork and my hat. Come along you two.' And stepping past Gibbons, he held the door open for Hermione and Harry to proceed him.
'This is most irregular!' called Gibbons after them as the door swung shut behind them. Hermione let out a laugh as the echo of the Ministry employee's protestations withered away.
'That was great! Thanks, Mr Weasley,' said Harry.
He smiled warmly as the three of them fell in step. 'Not at all, Harry. Now, what is it you need to see Kingsley about?'
She and Harry glanced at one another before answering together, 'Professor Snape.'
If Mr Weasley was startled he didn't show it, he merely nodded seriously.
'Do you actually have business with Kingsley?' asked Hermione.
'Ah, nothing that can't wait. You two can go in ahead of me.'
They thanked him profusely as he led them to the end of the long corridor.
'Here you are,' he said after he led them up a set of stairs and through a set of double doors guarded by an elderly wizard who simply waved them through with a nod at Mr Weasley. 'Good to see you both. I'd invite you to the Burrow for supper, but … well, Molly's not quite up to visitors yet.'
'Of course,' said Hermione sadly. 'Send her our love, will you?'
He nodded, his eyes glistening a little, and turned abruptly away from them. Hermione watched as the older man disappeared around the corner, wondering if any of the Weasleys would ever feel anything close to normal again.
Harry knocked on the door, and a booming voice bade them enter. Harry pushed the door open.
'Harry Potter! And Hermione Granger!' said Kingsley, looking every inch the commanding leader in his purple robes. He gestured for them to take a seat in front of his desk. 'You're both well, I take it? How may I help you?'
She settled in the chair before answering. 'It's about Professor Snape.'
'Has something happened?' Kingsley asked, dark eyes darting between her and Harry. 'Tell me he's still at Grimmauld Place.'
Hermione shook her head. 'It's fine. It's nothing like that.'
'Thank Merlin for that,' he said with a sigh of relief. 'You almost gave me a heart attack.'
'Sorry.'
He waved a hand. 'What is it then?'
Hermione took a moment to collect her thoughts before saying, 'I had a chat with the professor this morning and … well, let's just say he isn't feeling very optimistic about his upcoming trial. I came to you because I want your opinion, your honest opinion.' She took a steadying breath. 'What do you think his chances are?'
There was a prolonged silence as Kingsley leaned back in his chair and observed her with large, compassionate eyes.
'Honestly, Hermione, with the way things are at the moment, I'd say not good. The Wizengamot are keen to put as many Death Eaters behind bars as possible – it's all about making the public feel secure. I wouldn't want to put a percentage on it, but, well … Snape's fears aren't entirely unfounded.'
She tried to ignore the sinking feeling at Kingsley's words. 'Thank you for your honesty, Minister.'
'I wish I could do more, but I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. If I do nothing, I risk sending an innocent man to Azkaban, and if I interfere directly in proceedings I'll be accused of corruption and pushed out within weeks. The Ministry is in urgent need of reform as you well know, but the Wizengamot is slow to change. Many of them remember Snape from his last trial – it was a narrow enough escape for him then, and they're eager to see him go down this time.'
'Even with all the evidence? The memories?'
'I'm afraid a lot of them will be blind to it. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, they say. Snape doesn't help himself, mind you – do you know what a struggle it was to get him to agree to hand over his memories?'
'He didn't want you to see them?' asked Hermione, frowning. 'No … no, of course he wouldn't. They were meant for Harry's eyes only. He's a private man – he'd be mortified by the idea of a court of judges watching the very worst moments of his life.'
'Exactly. And how do you think it looks to the Wizengamot that Snape was so reluctant to hand over the very thing that should prove his innocence?'
'Bloody suspicious, I'd imagine,' said Harry darkly.
'Precisely,' said Kingsley. 'They'll argue Snape has been playing the field all along, pulling the wool over both Voldemort and Dumbledore's eyes, waiting to see who would come out victorious, that he tampered with his own memories to make it seem as though he's been loyal to the light the entire time.'
'But that's ludicrous!' said Hermione. 'No one could be that good of an Occlumens.'
'I know, but that's what the Interrogators will argue.'
'Hold on,' said Harry. 'You're not going to be heading the trial?'
Kingsley leaned back in his seat and shook his head. 'It's been ruled I'm too close to the case, being an Order member. That I won't be able to be objective.'
Hermione looked at the Minister in horror. 'Who then?'
'That has yet to be decided.'
'I don't suppose you have the power to appoint someone in your stead?'
'Not in this case, no,' he said sadly. 'That'll be down to a vote. I'm truly sorry, but speaking purely as Minister for Magic, there's nothing I can do.'
'And speaking as an Order member?'
'Speaking as an Order member,' he said, lowering his voice, 'I'd say there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep Severus from going to Azkaban. But I am no longer an Order member. I relinquished that role when I took office.'
'But surely you have a duty to do the right thing,' Hermione urged, getting a little desperate now. If they couldn't turn to the Minister for Magic, who could they turn to?
'My duty has to be to the Ministry, Hermione. I've been in the job mere weeks, and I've already made enough enemies letting Snape remain at Grimmauld Place instead of having him carted straight off to Azkaban the second he woke up. Half the Wizengamot were calling for a trial in absentia when he was still in a bloody coma.'
Hermione gasped. 'But that's illegal! Even in the wizarding world!'
Kingsley have a half-hearted shrug, and Hermione slumped in her seat, hardly believing what she was hearing. She'd been a fool to come here hoping to find an ally in Kingsley.
'So there's nothing we can do?' said Hermione glumly.
'I wouldn't quite say that,' muttered Kingsley.
'But—'
'Like I said,' the Minister continued, 'I am no longer an Order member, Hermione. But you are.' He looked pointedly at both of them.
She blinked at him several times. Kingsley flickered an eye to the glass window that separated his office from the rest of the department. He flicked his wand and the blinds came clattering down. When he spoke again his voice was lowered, conspiratorial, and Hermione found herself leaning in.
'The Wizengamot aren't as cloistered an institution as they might appear. They can be heavily influenced by public opinion, and right now their primary objective is keeping the masses happy. The Ministry didn't exactly have a great reputation when Fudge was in charge, and they were completely humiliated when it turned out, after months of him denying it, that Voldemort had returned. There are many who, rightly, see this as a chance to rebuild public faith in the Ministry, and if they perhaps overcompensate by throwing an innocent man behind bars in exchange for restoring public confidence, they'll have no qualms about doing so.'
By the time he was done, Hermione was fuming.
'So all this tosh about cleaning house, about getting rid of corruption, it's all just a farce! All the Ministry really cares about is saving face.'
Kingsley looked genuinely taken aback. 'No, Hermione,' he said a little sternly. 'I care very much about changing things around here and so do a lot of people. But one can't just wave a wand and change an entire culture overnight, these things take time.'
'So what's the solution?' said Harry. 'How do we get Snape free?'
Kingsley smiled. 'I already told you,' he said with a wink.
'Did you?' said Harry, looking confused. 'I don't remember.'
Hermione rolled her eyes; Harry had always been a little slow on the uptake. 'He's telling us that if we want the Wizengamot to budge we're going to have to change the public's mind first.'
Kingsley waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. 'I'm not telling you to do anything,' he answered with an unmistakable wink before interlocking his fingers on his stomach and leaning back in his chair. 'As Minister for Magic, such a thing would be highly unethical of course. But I suspect that if someone were to cause enough, ah … ruckus … then the old farts at the Wizengamot would have to sit up and take notice.'
oOo
Word seemed to have gotten out that Harry Potter was at the Ministry, so Harry resorted to using a temporary hair-dying charm – or rather getting Hermione to perform one for him – so they could sneak out quietly. Walking down Diagon Alley without being hounded by press and scores of grateful witches and wizards was quite a novelty, so the two hung around a while, deciding to stop for a late lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.
They were tucking into their sandwiches, and Hermione was thinking out loud. '… So if what Kingsley said is true then the Wizengamot are going to do everything in their power to make the evidence seem illegitimate. You know, I wouldn't be surprised if they've been leaning on the Daily Prophet to keep quiet about the evidence in Snape's favour – it would explain why there haven't been any stories about him and your mum yet.'
'Yeah, I'd wondered about that. I really thought someone would have blabbed by now,' said Harry.
'Exactly. There were loads of us there who heard you shouting about it. It's the only explanation.'
Harry nodded thoughtfully. 'So,' he said, 'what's the plan? You do have a plan, right? You've always got one.'
Hermione smiled slightly at her friend's confidence in her. 'Well, all we've got to do is to create an environment that means they can't ignore the evidence.'
'What've you got in mind?' asked Harry.
'It's simple; we just have to tell the world what we know. We can start with leaflets, posters, petitioning, that sort of thing. Maybe we can ask Luna's dad to print something in the Quibbler. It worked well the last time,' she added, referring to the time she'd blackmailed Rita Skeeter into interviewing Harry about Voldemort's return.
'He'd do it. He sort of owes us a favour.'
Hermione made a face. 'Well, yes, I did think of that,' she said uncomfortably.
'It'll be like spew all over again,' said Harry after a thoughtful silence.
'S.P.—'
'E.W. Yeah, I know,' said Harry, grinning. 'You know, I really think this could work. If we make a big enough noise the Wizengamot will have to take notice.'
Hermione had a horrible feeling it wasn't going to be quite as simple as that, but she nodded anyway. 'I really hope so,' she said.
Harry gave her a weak smile. 'Yeah. You know, I doubt I'm ever going to like him,' he said. 'But the man's been saving my life ever since I stepped foot in Hogwarts, and we'd never have won the war without him. He doesn't deserve to go to Azkaban.'
'No, he doesn't,' she agreed, struggling to ignore the knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.
oOo
Harry had offered to come with her for moral support – and to defend her if Snape decided to kick off again, which she fully expected him to.
They approached the fourth floor and she knocked twice. There was an even longer delay than this morning before he called them in.
The early evening light cast a warm glow over his features, and he looked a little less sickly than he had this morning, but that really wasn't saying much. She placed his dinner tray down on the side table and peered at him through her curls; he didn't seem at all surprised to see Harry with her.
'I see you've enlisted security, Granger,' Snape said stiffly with a cursory glance at Harry.
Was that remorse in his eyes? Was this his roundabout way of offering her an apology or was he mocking her? She swallowed and summoned her courage for the second time that day.
'Harry and I have come to talk to you, sir. We've come up with a plan, and we thought you might like to hear it.'
'A plan?' he repeated, a suspicious glint in his eyes. 'What are you talking about?'
She gave him the rundown of everything they had talked about with the Minister and her and Harry's subsequent conversation in the Leaky Cauldron.
'So,' he said slowly once she had finished, a crease forming between his eyes, 'you're going to attempt to rehabilitate me in the public eye?'
Hermione flushed. 'I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but … yes, I suppose.'
'Wonderful,' he drawled, and turned away from them. She glanced back at Harry, who was leaning back against the wall, his wand gripped tightly in his hand as he watched Snape with a steely expression. A painful minute followed, during which Snape simply stared out the window, the only movement he made the slight rise and fall of his chest. Hermione stared at the spot where his right hand rested tensely on the bed cover, the magical handcuff he wore reflecting a little of the light streaming in the window. She did not dare breathe until he spoke.
At length, Snape turned back to them. 'Fine,' he said, his voice gruff and resigned. 'I have two stipulations, however.'
'Of course,' Hermione said as her heart leapt in her chest. He wasn't saying no!
'I want no mention of …' He stopped and his eyes flicked to Harry behind her. She immediately understood.
'Lily?' she offered, barely a whisper, and Snape nodded stiffly. 'It'll make the job harder, but if that's what you want then fine. And the second?'
Snape's pale face was inscrutable as he said, 'No acronyms.' A brow lifted. 'Or badges for that matter.'
Harry made a sound almost like a laugh. Hermione whipped her head around to glare at him.
'Sorry,' he muttered, looking embarrassed.
She turned back to Snape. He had obviously not forgotten her previous failed campaign; no doubt it didn't inspire him about her abilities with this one. At least he knew about S.P.E.W. – she'd assumed none of the Hogwarts professors had even noticed her efforts – and she tried to take comfort in that.
'I wasn't going to …' she said, flustered, then sighed. 'Fine.'
Snape gave a jerky assent of his head, and an awkward silence ensued; none of them, it seemed, were able to think of anything to say at this juncture.
'Well, if that's everything,' she said when she couldn't tolerate the silence any longer, 'we'll leave you to it.'
She turned to go, but stilled when she heard Snape say, in a rather strained voice, 'Would you stay behind a moment, Miss Granger?'
Harry gave Snape an odd look. She could almost see the risk assessment being carried out in his mind before he gave her the smallest of nods. She turned back to the man in the bed, her throat at risk of closing up.
'Okay.'
Shooting her one last protective glance, Harry left the room and she and Snape were alone once more. She waited, eyes averted, focusing on the faded, patterned rug beneath her feet. Snape shifted in bed, and when she finally looked at him it was obvious that he was as uncomfortable as her; the realisation almost floored her.
'I believe I … owe you an apology, Miss Granger,' he said, and she had the urge to clean out her ears just to check whether she'd heard him correctly. The words had been hesitant but, as far as she could make out, sincere. Still, she wondered …
'Harry asked you to apologise, didn't he?'
His mouth twisted into a grimace. 'He may have mentioned it. Something about throwing me out of his house if I refused.'
Ah, that would explain it.
'He wouldn't do that.'
'I know that,' he said. 'Gryffindors often forget that if one's threats are to hold any weight, they actually have to carry them out once in a while.'
'Then why—'
'Enough questions, Granger,' he said, cutting her off, but for once he didn't seem angry with her, merely uneasy. 'Let's just say I am not doing this for Potter.'
She couldn't help it – she stared. 'Oh.'
'You did what you thought best at the time. You didn't deserve my scorn and I should not have said the things I did.'
His voice was strangely tight, as though it caused him actual physical discomfort to admit he had been wrong. She imagined Severus Snape wasn't a man who offered apologies often, and never when he didn't really mean them.
Once she was done gaping at him, she shook her head. 'You meant what you said, though. And after some thought, I can see why you reacted the way you did. I'd rather you say what you really think than lie to me to spare my feelings.'
'Still,' he said quietly, 'I … regret speaking to you so harshly. You were trying to help. I am not … I am not used to being on the receiving end of …' He couldn't seem to find the right word, but she nodded in understanding.
'For what it's worth, I'm aware I have a habit of thinking I know what's best for people. It's something I am trying to work on, believe it or not.'
He huffed, and after a few moments he asked, 'Why would you want to help me, Miss Granger?'
The directness of the question took her aback. How to explain it to him? He would never believe her if she told him she simply cared, even if that was the honest truth. Or at least part of it.
'I would have thought that was obvious, sir.'
He lifted a brow. 'Humour me.'
She sighed, searching for the right words.
'I can't just stand around and let an injustice happen,' she began. 'That's not who I am. Besides … I can't help feeling personally responsible for your situation.'
He eyed her shrewdly. 'I see. You wish to assuage your own guilt.'
'That's not what I said!'
'You inferred it.'
A sigh of irritation escaped her. 'I didn't mean it like that. I just want to put things right, is that so hard to believe?'
'In my experience, Granger, people rarely do things for others unless they stand to gain something in return.'
'Then you've been spending time with the wrong people, sir.'
His mouth twitched, and he inclined his head. 'I suspect you may have a point there.'
She resisted the overwhelming urge to grin – had she just won an argument with the intractable and domineering Professor Snape?
'That will be all,' he said, his sharp tone cutting through her giddiness like a knife. She moved hastily, feeling as though she was back in his classroom.
He hadn't thanked her yet for saving his life, but then she hadn't expected him to. Nor did she want it if the thanks were offered insincerely. Knowing what it had cost him to apologise to her, though, she felt a surge of compassion for the wizard in bed. Her hand clasped around the doorknob, she stopped in her tracks and turned back.
'Sir?'
'Yes, Miss Granger?' he said, less impatiently than she might have expected.
Their eyes met across the room.
'I forgive you.'
Her last thought that night, as she blew out the candles and pulled Ron's arms tight around her, was of the stunned look in Severus Snape's eyes as she'd closed his bedroom door behind her.
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