Inescapable
Chapter Nine
With the approach of February, the temperatures during the evenings dropped astonishingly low; even Severus was beginning to admit he felt chilled. Hermione would stare at him each night, wrapped in layer after layer of whatever material had been at her disposal, both intrigued and disgusted by his ability to withstand the frigid temperatures.
"I don't understand you," she would say night after night, shaking her head in disbelief. The remark never failed to elicit a grin from him; he was accustomed to being misunderstood, but rarely did he meet someone who wouldn't understand him to begin with.
"Did you ever stop to think," she pursued, "that maybe you have a chronic illness? That could explain you immunity to cold; you may have an internal temperature imbalance, and that could be dangerous." She frowned. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey."
"Ah." His tone was not mocking, but it was teasing. "And I should say to her, 'I have discovered over numerous nights meeting with the student I am secretly having a relationship with that I seem never to feel the cold.. She has expressed her concern and would like to know if I am ill.' That would do, I presume?"
She scowled, and he laughed. Even after all the weeks of seeing him smile, such a rare and beautiful thing, his laugh had the power to take her breath away. She knew it was completely unlike anything the other students-and she too, she admitted, scarcely a few months ago-would have attributed to him. They expected a cold, cruel, mocking laugh, something worthy of an evil sorcerer. But his laugh was anything but evil; it retained the deep timbre of his voice but had a carefree sound to it that she had fallen in love with.
Something possessed her to mention her amazement. "You have a wonderful laugh," she said almost shyly, watching the smile that played at his lips. "You should laugh more often."
"Not what you were expecting?" She blushed visibly, even in the darkness, at the quiet solemnity of his voice. Not many Hogwarts students realized that Professor Snape knew perfectly well the true nature of their thoughts and opinions regarding him.
"No," she admitted, but his voice remained quiet as he replied,
"Then you will have to give me something to laugh about."
The glare she gave him as a retort did the trick; he laughed again.
* * *
One particularly cold evening the first week of February, Hermione could no longer withstand the temperature. She had been wondering for several minutes how to best demand that they abandon the balcony for somewhere inside the castle, but he did it for her.
His eyes grew wide suddenly, and he placed a hand to the side of her face, turning it to face him.
"Your lips are blue!" He wasted no time in adding his own cloak to the already bulging stack of sweaters and cloaks she had wrapped around her and ushered her, to her great relief, inside the castle.
They sought refuge in his own quarters, which Hermione had by now grown used to. She remembered, with every glance she gave the bookshelves, her first visit there, and the way he had looked at her with those intense dark eyes; she had fled, unable to hold her ground, and now there was no need to fear his reaction. Heat began to flow through her body; he returned her feelings. What could be better?
Sitting in a comfortable armchair, she slowly began to remove her collection of outer-garments while Severus prepared a hot cup of tea for her; the thought of the warm liquid was enticing. He moved quickly and with efficiency, and she felt no shame in helping herself to the book on the nearby table. They had no trouble in going about their own business in his rooms, but it would have been lying to say they were completely comfortable. The mutual knowledge of the implications brought about by being alone in his quarters hung heavy in the air and preyed on both minds.
Hermione knew better than to fear him in such a place; she trusted him completely, with her life and, more important now, her heart. But she did not trust herself and her own behavior.
He handed her the cup of tea, which she accepted with a grateful smile and sipped; it was scalding hot, but her half-frozen tongue did not protest. Seconds later, she was able to take her first gulp, and the feeling of the hot liquid sliding down into her stomach sent a warm shiver through her body. She curled up in the chair and faced him.
"Enjoying my book?"
"To tell you the truth, I haven't even opened it yet."
"It's informative enough," he remarked, an observant tone entering his voice. "A collection of essays regarding the use and abuse of Veritaserum; we expect that Voldemort might be using it often for his own purposes."
He looked surprised by the fact that she did not flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's real name. She met his gaze steadily, and wondered how to best articulate her next question.
"Have you seen him?"
His eyes, if it was possible, darkened to a shade even beyond black; for a moment, she wondered if she was staring into his mind.
"Yes."
She gulped. "What happens when you go there?"
He averted his gaze, looking along the walls and the ceiling, and she could see him considering his reply carefully. Not only would he need to omit any information that was to remain absolutely confidential, but he would do his best not to cause her pain or worry with his words; his compassion ran deeper than she had ever imagined.
"I am mainly a consultant," he finally said, "though the Dark Lord enjoys using those of us who were.late to return to his service as.examples."
"Toys." He looked at her sharply and she immediately regretted what she had said.
But his look softened when he saw that she was completely serious, and not mocking. "Yes. Toys."
"Has he ever used the Unforgivables?" A look of intense pain swept across Severus' face, as though it held a power over him too strong for him to mask or conceal it.
"Many times. I have endured the Cruciatus more times than I could count."
Hermione remembered the end of their fourth year, when Harry had finally been able and willing to talk about his experiences fighting the Dark Lord. He had mentioned-but only by accident, he'd let it slip, really-that Voldemort had cast upon him the Cruciatus Curse. A convulsion had wracked Harry's entire body, and he could not be pressed to talk further. Her own knowledge of the Cruciatus Curse made her shiver at the thought.
She returned to reality to notice that she was staring at her cup, running a finger idly around the rim as was her unconscious habit. Severus was watching her carefully, his eyes wandering from the cup to her face.
"Are you all right?" She nodded, but the words came tumbling out of their own accord.
"I can't stand the thought of him doing that to you-or anyone, for that matter. Three years now, and what's been accomplished?" His face betrayed none of his thoughts, but it would not have mattered; she could not stop the words. "I feel so incredibly helpless sometimes, knowing that people like you put themselves out in the open and risk their lives every single time, and what do I do?
"I stay in this damn castle and shrink back at his name like every other girl. THAT'S what I do. I'm sick and tired of not being able to help, even though I know that I have nothing to offer in the way of assistance for the Ministry and the Headmaster, but." The tirade came to an end, and she had nothing to do but sip the last few drops of her tea and place the cup in her lap, protected between her hands.
"I wish you wouldn't face him." It had taken her minutes to finally arrive at what truly bothered her, but he showed no triumph in hearing her words. "Especially now that I know what he does to you. Can't someone else go?"
"You forget that anyone else may be in the same position I am. They may also have someone who cares about them, and whom they care about, that tries to forbid them for risking their lives." Even hearing him refer to her as 'someone he cared about' did nothing to quell her anger.
"It's so frustrating." She sighed. "And what's even more frustrating is that your logic is better than mine."
He chuckled. "I would hope so, after this many years. You will be every bit as logical as I am by the time you're my age, Hermione, perhaps even more so. But I don't envy you that." She glanced over to find him staring intently and purposefully at her. "Guard that mind of yours with all your power; it is your greatest asset."
"You've got that right," she muttered dryly, and he smiled.
"I never meant it to be interpreted that way."
She raised an eyebrow, but he refused her flirtatious actions and continued to speak about the Dark Lord.
"You have to be careful," he told her. "You, of all people, would be invaluable to Lord Voldemort. He will begin recruiting soon, gathering followers straight out of their seventh year at Hogwarts. He would not dare to take them while they remained in school, but directly after they leave, it is a prime opportunity for him. They are lost, without goals or ambitions, having only a desire to succeed; they lack the willpower to survive on their own and offer no defense, instead thriving under his direction. It is only power: he offers them that willingly, though they never have a true understanding of what they become entangled with.
"You would be his greatest triumph, barring perhaps Harry, whom I doubt he would accept." Severus frowned, as though trying to delve into the Dark Lord's psyche. "Being a Gryffindor, female, and a friend of Harry, he would revel in your submitting yourself to him. Nothing could bring him more sick joy than having you as a Death Eater, Hermione. I promise you that."
She was not sure how to respond. Was he informing her or pleading with her?
"All seventh year students will have to be vigilant, but you must show the utmost precaution. If he contacts you, in any way, you must refuse him. Contrary to popular belief, the chances he will kill you for your refusal are low; he is more likely to erase your memory with a charm and allow you to go about with your life." She nodded, taking in his words, but she couldn't help but feel queasy at the thought of being contacted by Voldemort. "He hasn't the time nor the energy to kill every person he attempts to recruit, and it would cause far too much attention."
He seemed to have finished with his oration, and she was left with a few moments of silence. Oddly enough, her mind drifted from his words and considered the position they now found themselves in. Their was nothing physical about their contact here; rather, it was an intellectual contact, a meeting of their minds that allowed them both to speak without restraint and consider the other's opinions. She enjoyed immensely her chances to speak with him, not as a student to a teacher but as one person to another, and she often wondered if it wasn't the making of a true and adult relationship.
Severus glanced across the room at an old-fashioned crystal clock on one of the tables. "You should go," he said. "It's become rather late; the other Gryffindors may get concerned."
She nodded, disappointed; she would have loved to remain with him and talk about the essays regarding Veritaserum, or perhaps something else. His myriad intellectual pursuits fascinated her; he was every bit the bookworm she was, and highly educated, besides.
Gollum slithered momentarily out of her hole as though to show Hermione to the door. She bent down, drawing her cloak about her, and extended a hand to gently stroke the snake's head. Gollum twisted into a pleased circle and flicked her tongue affectionately against Hermione's wrist. She whispered her goodbye to the snake and slipped out the door he held open for her. Turning back on the stairs only once, she found that he still stood in the doorway, watching her depart. Neither smiled, but it warmed her, though she didn't know why.
* * *
They absently discussed over the next two days where to meet in the evenings; they met not every evening, but as often as they could. Severus occasionally had a staff meeting, or was called away for urgent business (the Death Eaters, she would think with a shudder), but they seized every opportunity.
For his part, Severus would never have admitted, even to Hermione, how much he cared for her. Whether or not his feelings could have been described as 'love,' he didn't know; but he had a feeling that he was trying to conceal from himself how important and deep they really were.
He certainly enjoyed their meetings, and not only for the chance to be with a woman (and she was a woman, he thought emphatically, not a mere teenage girl like so many of Hogwarts' female students) in a way he hadn't been able to enjoy for years. He enjoyed her company, too, for what it was: the respected thoughts of an intelligent person. She seemed to sense that, and though she never vocalized her gratitude, its presence was mutually recognized.
The memory of the strange room on the fourth floor came back to him when he least expected it-in the middle of a class. He was teaching the sixth year ryffindor/Ravenclaw lesson, watching as they copied notes, and keeping an especially watchful eye on Ginny Weasley. She was a good student, he begrudgingly admitted, particularly if one took into consideration the closer brothers in the Weasley line of descendents; not since Charlie had he come across a Weasley so talented with Potions.
But Ginny's demeanor had become very withheld and terse; she knew, after all, about his relationship with Hermione, and was not the least bit happy for either of them. He had no doubt that she felt great pity for Hermione, and an intense hatred for him that probably would match the Harry Potter's any day.
It was ironic, then, that Ginny's quiet conversation with her table partner was about the abundance of mice on the fourth floor; it sparked his memory quite suddenly and he recalled the strange room he had run into years ago. It would be the perfect place for he and Hermione to meet, and she would probably be grateful for a secret place to curl up with a book or her homework; she often looked out of sorts while working on homework with the other Gryffindors, who did not share her penchant for silence during such a serious undertaking.
He showed her that evening, but very briefly, for a staff meeting was to take place. She was absolutely delighted, though she never set foot in the room, remarking that it was the perfect place; well-hidden and abandoned, as demonstrated by the nearly inch-thick layer of dust that covered the floor and the sparse furniture tucked into the back corner of the room. She had assured him repeatedly that she had the route committed to memory, and already knew the best way to reach the rendezvous site from the Gryffindor common room. Still, he worried; it would do no good to have her found wandering the fourth floor, lost and without an explanation, at ten-thirty in the night.
* * *
The next day passed unusually quickly and he set off for the room. Hermione was in a giddy mood that day, pleased with the wealth of perfect papers she had received back in Arithmancy and Professor Flitwick's praise during Charms class. Feeling as though she was on clouds, she happily left the common room that evening with not so much as a glance backward or the slightest details about where she was headed.
Green eyes flickered up to watch her leave from where Harry sat near the fireplace, working with scowl on his Divination homework. He had nearly given up hope of ever finishing, and seeing Hermione skip out with sparkling eyes and a broad smile was the last straw for him. He wanted to know, once and for all, where she was going at nights; her simple "for a walk" did not satisfy him one bit.
Ron, who was completing a detention with Hagrid for "talking back" in Potions that day, was not there to accompany him; but it didn't matter. He hurried up to fetch his Invisibility Cloak from his clothes chest and, pulling it around his shoulders, fastened it in front of him and dashed out the portrait hole door. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear faint footsteps coming from around the turn at the end of the left hallway; he scuttled along, and when he too turned, he saw her at the end of the ensuing passageway.
Following at a safe distance, he tracked her through corridor after corridor, becoming dizzy and confused. Where in the world was she going? Perhaps she hadn't been fibbing when she had said she went for walks in the evening; she certainly appeared to have no definite destination, just wandering in whatever direction suited her fancy. It was not until she began to climb a staircase he didn't recognize that Harry had an inkling his tracking would not be in vain.
At the top of the staircase, they entered a hallway Harry had never seen before. Ancient doors lined the walls, all of them appearing locked; he jiggled one as quietly as possible (Hermione was humming to herself and never noticed), and found that it was indeed locked. Falling behind her, he hurried to catch up; she was headed straight for the end of the hallway.
But it was a dead end. A wall-sized tapestry, intended as a mural, hung there, but Hermione showed no signs of slowing. He couldn't understand it; any second now, she was going to run straight into the brick wall! He guarded himself against the sound of her body slamming into the wall, fighting the urge to cry out and wake her from whatever daydream in which she was immersed. But when she reached out her hand, steady and alert, she drew aside the tapestry to reveal a room.
Hermione, proud of herself for finding the room, looked in to see Severus standing near a window at the far side. The floor, covered in the thick layer of dust, was unmarred but for the trail of his footsteps. Feeling in a childish mood, she stepped over his footsteps so that only one trail was left in the dust; it was rather like hopscotch, a game.
He smiled, amused.
"I will never be able to take the child out of you, will I?"
She grinned, taking a place beside him. "Why would you want to? I always though it made me endearing."
Harry watched with horror as the two began to talk, their bodies nearly touching; he had never seen anyone-anyone-standing so close to Professor Snape. Hermione's eyes were all aglow, and he had to admit she looked radiant and happy. Snape's face still looked grave, but there was an expression in his eyes Harry had never seen before.
Steeling himself against whatever display of affection might ensue, Harry entered the room and crept into the corner opposite them. Snape's hand on Hermione's shoulder seemed tender enough, and his voice was deep and quiet but not mocking. He could scarcely hear their words, for they talked too quietly, but he had a perfect chance to determine from their body language what was going on.
No wonder Ginny had acted so odd! These two were.he hated to think the word.having some kind of relationship. The thought that Hermione could like Snape was ludicrous enough, but the thought that he would share her feelings was downright sick, in his opinion. He'd always known there was something wrong with the Potions master; now he was positive the man deserved to be exiled from Hogwarts. Surely this was against the rules..
Unfortunately, they had done nothing incriminating thus far; no kissing, fondling, nothing. Harry was both relieved and a little disappointed; he could never get Snape fired if it looked as though they were just secretly best friends. The thought pained him. Had Hermione been so dissatisfied with his friendship and Ron's that she had felt it necessary to turn to the worst teacher in the school? Ron would be crushed, but the situation would only be worse if it was a romantic relationship. Ron could no longer deny his feelings for Hermione, and to find that he was favored less than Snape would destroy him.
He watched with a feeling of nausea as they drew closer together, and Hermione stood on her tiptoes to meet Snape's lips; they kissed for only a moment, and then she said something that made him smile slightly. She appeared to be gesturing about the room, in the direction of the windows and the furniture, but he had seen enough to know that they would provide ample proof of their transgression. He just hoped the majority of the blame would be placed on Snape.
Hermione was indeed gesturing about the room.
"It's odd, isn't it, that it's been left alone for so many years?" The veritable carpet of dust stretched across the entire expanse of the room, covering the heaped old furniture in the corner and dotted the cobwebs along the bricks of the stone floor.
"I don't recall any place in this particular area ever being in use," Severus mused. "At least, not as long as I have been here."
She was nodding her understanding when it caught her eye; the second trail of footsteps. Footsteps, clearly imprinted in a trail along the far corner of the wall, led from the entrance to the room to a corner by the opposite window. The trail left by Severus-and the one she had followed-was still there, leading directly toward them. But the other one branched off in the other direction, ending in empty space.
That was not there when she had entered.
"There's someone in here," she whispered. Her back nearly against the wall, Severus stood in front of her, her view nearly blocked by the breadth of his shoulder unless she stood on her tiptoes. Severus' eyes darkened and he began to turn, but she placed a warning hand on his shoulder and drew him back to face her.
"There's another trail of footsteps that wasn't us. I followed yours, remember? It wasn't there when I came in."
Severus did turn now, but imperceptibly, as though he were nonchalantly glancing about the room. When he faced her again, his dark eyes were burning with anger.
"You're right. Someone has been in here."
Both became deathly quiet, and from across the room, hardly discernible, they heard soft breathing; then a muffled scraping, as though someone had bumped into the wall.
"They're still here," she murmured, becoming frightened. It was all too possible that Lord Voldemort had sent someone to infiltrate the castle and follow Severus. Now they would both be killed, or perhaps tortured. She was not sure she could survive one of the Unforgivables, and she could never live through watching Severus put in such agony.
"Don't worry." He looked fiercely determined now, but not the least bit frightened. "I have a feeling I know exactly who it is."
Realization began to dawn on Hermione as Severus pulled out his wand and muttered words she could not here. Green tendrils began to snake their way across the doorway, the only exit, of the room; soon they had formed a shield, and Hermione knew from glancing at it that their invisible assailant was trapped in the room with them.
No words came from the invisible person, but suddenly the breathing was louder, more scared and intense. She smiled in grim satisfaction; if Harry had thought it necessary to follow them in order to obtain proof of her actions and slip away unnoticed, he had another thing coming.
They were both facing him now, waiting for him to remove the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione was unsure how she could be so positively convinced it was Harry, but she knew nonetheless, beyond any doubt. Ron would be serving detention for his snappish attitude in Severus' classroom that day, so it could only be Harry. Although Ginny might have come along for the ride; maybe she'd finally let Hermione's secret slip.
Clenching her fists in anger, Hermione strode across the room to where the footsteps ended abruptly near the window. She heard no scuffle, no sounds of retreat; Harry had to be standing right there, directly in front of her. She reached out her hand and her fingers connected with the soft material of the Invisibility Cloak; in one smooth movement, she grasped it and yanked it off.
And there was Harry, eyes wide, hair disheveled, backed firmly against the wall.
"Hello." Hermione's voice was cold and distant as she regarded him with icy eyes. Her eyes were usually so warm, Harry thought wistfully, and what shone through now was a blaze of yellow fire. Snape was still standing across the room, arms folded, looking at Harry with an oddly calm expression. Harry had expected to be beaten to a pulp. How had they possibly known he was there?
"Are you happy?" Hermione tossed the cloak on the floor, where it landed with a thump that rose dust clouds several feet high. Harry ignored his anger at the maltreatment of his father's cloak and looked back at his irate friend. "You have your proof. Did you record it somehow?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was as sincere as his face; he hadn't recorded it, perhaps he hadn't even intended to. But it didn't matter to Hermione, who was beyond angry; she was now absolutely livid.
"You must be pleased with yourself." He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but dark blurs were swirling across the irises of her eyes like storm clouds. "You tracked me all the way here, didn't you? And now you have your proof. So you can carry it off to Dumbledore and ruin our lives. Pleased?"
"I had no intention of doing that," Harry lied, knowing the honesty had long since abandoned his tone of voice.
"Sure you didn't," she snapped, beginning to pace. "Curiosity just got the better of you, and you decided to follow me for the hell of it. Is that it?" The soft shuffle of her shoes on the aged stone floor was the only noise that broke the silence so thick it was almost audible.
"Yes." He could tell she didn't believe him.
"What made you come? Did Ginny tell you?"
Harry tried to feign shock. "Ginny knew about this?"
"Oh, come on!" Hermione was beginning to sound like an interrogator. "Of course she knew about it! You had to realize something was going on, since you were always prying me for answers. I take it you just weren't satisfied with anything I told you."
"Frankly, no." He could feel his confidence returning, even faced with an outraged Hermione and a probably doubly angry Snape.
"Well done, Potter." Snape had not moved, but his voice carried across the room, deeper than Harry had ever heard it. "I never imagined you would be such a talented detective."
"I wasn't trying to-"
Once again, his protest was cut off by Hermione.
"Sure you weren't. You were just trying to be a loyal friend, making sure I didn't get into trouble."
"That's right." His own voice was still surprisingly feeble. He had never seen Hermione angrier, even though she wasn't actually shouting.
"I don't believe you one bit." She was biting her lip, and he was positive now that the glistening sheen in her eyes was not frothing hatred, but tears that threatened to fall, which she was trying desperately to hold back. The shock of finding her involved was such a thing that it was almost too much; in a moment of compassion, Harry wished he could get his hands on the nearest Time Turner and rewind the situation.
Hermione turned to face toward the entrance, staring at the green light with her chin trembling. She placed a hand to her face and took a moment to regain her composure, while man and boy regarded each other with a hatred stemming from a long rivalry finally brought to a climax. When Snape stepped forward to place a hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she turned to bury her face in his chest instead, Harry lost all grip on reality.
"This is wrong!" he yelled at her, forgetting her somewhat unstable condition second earlier. "I know it's wrong, YOU know it's wrong, and HE knows it's wrong!" He pointed an accusing finger at Snape, whose expression had not faltered. But he said nothing to Harry, only spoke in undertones with Hermione. She nodded miserably and took a deep, rattling breath.
Then she turned to Harry. "I'm sorry."
Harry was so taken aback he trampled over his father's cloak as he stepped backward in shock. "WHAT?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that, I'm acting childish, and." The look on Harry's face brought the past weeks' memories crashing back on her, and she felt the sudden burden of guilt settling around her shoulders. "I've been a real bitch these past weeks, haven't I?"
Harry forced himself not to smile, noticing that Snape was. Hermione, struggling to find humor in the dire situation, gave a small giggle. "And it's taken me this long to realize it."
"It's not your fault," Harry comforted, finding sudden empathy for her. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. But it IS wrong." The chastising frown he gave her made Hermione flinch, and Snape was taking the reprimand with remarkable calmness.
"Thank you for the lesson in moral importance, Potter," he said wryly, and for a moment the two stared at one another. As Hermione stood in the middle, Harry came to the slow acceptance that for once, he and Snape had something in common: Hermione. Both were, in their own way, doing their best to care for her and comfort her. But it irked Harry-maybe out of jealousy, maybe out of protectiveness-that Snape's role had suddenly overtaken his own position in Hermione's affections. Until romance came along, he and Ron held the top spot.
Harry nodded toward Snape, unable to resist. "He didn't.?"
Snape looked, for once, embarrassed, and Hermione burst out laughing. "No. He didn't. We didn't. Get it out of your mind, Harry."
Harry blushed, suddenly ashamed. "Sorry. I just wanted to make sure."
"You don't have to protect me." He could sense her growing defensive again, and as Hermione was not one to appreciate another's offer for protection, he was anxious to change the direction of his advance.
"It isn't Potter's fault." Snape was leaning idly against the wall watching the two of them, though his eyes were more often taking in Hermione's state than Harry's. "If anything, it is indicative of affection; you should be grateful for such a caring friend." He looked hard at Harry. "Hopefully, you two respect one another's ability to make decisions."
His hair, his clothes, his entire body were shadowed and dark in the dim moonlight sifting through the dust-covered windows. Hermione was overcome suddenly by the urge to explain everything to Harry, to even show him that his view of Severus was drastically different than her own. Harry saw merely the Potions master, the cruel ex-Death Eater and the sarcastic terror of the classroom; but Hermione's gaze took in only the formidable man, the strong appeal and sharp intelligence beneath the concealing black cloaks and even darker looks.
But Harry would never understand; after all, not only was he male, but his entire view of the situation was now biased. He saw Snape as more the enemy than ever, now that he was preying on a friend. She hated to think what classroom experiences would follow this little confrontation.
"Come on." She picked up Harry's Invisibility Cloak. "We should go. Severus, could you-?" She made a demonstrative gesture with the cloak in her hand, indicating the still-present webbed green shield that covered the door, blocking their exit.
Harry was looking back and forth between Severus and her, and she had a feeling her use of Professor Snape's first name had unnerved him. Deciding it would be best to separate the two before mayhem ensued-Harry was sending dirty looks in Severus' direction, but no one could out-stare Severus in a case like this-she literally dragged Harry from the room.
With the approach of February, the temperatures during the evenings dropped astonishingly low; even Severus was beginning to admit he felt chilled. Hermione would stare at him each night, wrapped in layer after layer of whatever material had been at her disposal, both intrigued and disgusted by his ability to withstand the frigid temperatures.
"I don't understand you," she would say night after night, shaking her head in disbelief. The remark never failed to elicit a grin from him; he was accustomed to being misunderstood, but rarely did he meet someone who wouldn't understand him to begin with.
"Did you ever stop to think," she pursued, "that maybe you have a chronic illness? That could explain you immunity to cold; you may have an internal temperature imbalance, and that could be dangerous." She frowned. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey."
"Ah." His tone was not mocking, but it was teasing. "And I should say to her, 'I have discovered over numerous nights meeting with the student I am secretly having a relationship with that I seem never to feel the cold.. She has expressed her concern and would like to know if I am ill.' That would do, I presume?"
She scowled, and he laughed. Even after all the weeks of seeing him smile, such a rare and beautiful thing, his laugh had the power to take her breath away. She knew it was completely unlike anything the other students-and she too, she admitted, scarcely a few months ago-would have attributed to him. They expected a cold, cruel, mocking laugh, something worthy of an evil sorcerer. But his laugh was anything but evil; it retained the deep timbre of his voice but had a carefree sound to it that she had fallen in love with.
Something possessed her to mention her amazement. "You have a wonderful laugh," she said almost shyly, watching the smile that played at his lips. "You should laugh more often."
"Not what you were expecting?" She blushed visibly, even in the darkness, at the quiet solemnity of his voice. Not many Hogwarts students realized that Professor Snape knew perfectly well the true nature of their thoughts and opinions regarding him.
"No," she admitted, but his voice remained quiet as he replied,
"Then you will have to give me something to laugh about."
The glare she gave him as a retort did the trick; he laughed again.
* * *
One particularly cold evening the first week of February, Hermione could no longer withstand the temperature. She had been wondering for several minutes how to best demand that they abandon the balcony for somewhere inside the castle, but he did it for her.
His eyes grew wide suddenly, and he placed a hand to the side of her face, turning it to face him.
"Your lips are blue!" He wasted no time in adding his own cloak to the already bulging stack of sweaters and cloaks she had wrapped around her and ushered her, to her great relief, inside the castle.
They sought refuge in his own quarters, which Hermione had by now grown used to. She remembered, with every glance she gave the bookshelves, her first visit there, and the way he had looked at her with those intense dark eyes; she had fled, unable to hold her ground, and now there was no need to fear his reaction. Heat began to flow through her body; he returned her feelings. What could be better?
Sitting in a comfortable armchair, she slowly began to remove her collection of outer-garments while Severus prepared a hot cup of tea for her; the thought of the warm liquid was enticing. He moved quickly and with efficiency, and she felt no shame in helping herself to the book on the nearby table. They had no trouble in going about their own business in his rooms, but it would have been lying to say they were completely comfortable. The mutual knowledge of the implications brought about by being alone in his quarters hung heavy in the air and preyed on both minds.
Hermione knew better than to fear him in such a place; she trusted him completely, with her life and, more important now, her heart. But she did not trust herself and her own behavior.
He handed her the cup of tea, which she accepted with a grateful smile and sipped; it was scalding hot, but her half-frozen tongue did not protest. Seconds later, she was able to take her first gulp, and the feeling of the hot liquid sliding down into her stomach sent a warm shiver through her body. She curled up in the chair and faced him.
"Enjoying my book?"
"To tell you the truth, I haven't even opened it yet."
"It's informative enough," he remarked, an observant tone entering his voice. "A collection of essays regarding the use and abuse of Veritaserum; we expect that Voldemort might be using it often for his own purposes."
He looked surprised by the fact that she did not flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's real name. She met his gaze steadily, and wondered how to best articulate her next question.
"Have you seen him?"
His eyes, if it was possible, darkened to a shade even beyond black; for a moment, she wondered if she was staring into his mind.
"Yes."
She gulped. "What happens when you go there?"
He averted his gaze, looking along the walls and the ceiling, and she could see him considering his reply carefully. Not only would he need to omit any information that was to remain absolutely confidential, but he would do his best not to cause her pain or worry with his words; his compassion ran deeper than she had ever imagined.
"I am mainly a consultant," he finally said, "though the Dark Lord enjoys using those of us who were.late to return to his service as.examples."
"Toys." He looked at her sharply and she immediately regretted what she had said.
But his look softened when he saw that she was completely serious, and not mocking. "Yes. Toys."
"Has he ever used the Unforgivables?" A look of intense pain swept across Severus' face, as though it held a power over him too strong for him to mask or conceal it.
"Many times. I have endured the Cruciatus more times than I could count."
Hermione remembered the end of their fourth year, when Harry had finally been able and willing to talk about his experiences fighting the Dark Lord. He had mentioned-but only by accident, he'd let it slip, really-that Voldemort had cast upon him the Cruciatus Curse. A convulsion had wracked Harry's entire body, and he could not be pressed to talk further. Her own knowledge of the Cruciatus Curse made her shiver at the thought.
She returned to reality to notice that she was staring at her cup, running a finger idly around the rim as was her unconscious habit. Severus was watching her carefully, his eyes wandering from the cup to her face.
"Are you all right?" She nodded, but the words came tumbling out of their own accord.
"I can't stand the thought of him doing that to you-or anyone, for that matter. Three years now, and what's been accomplished?" His face betrayed none of his thoughts, but it would not have mattered; she could not stop the words. "I feel so incredibly helpless sometimes, knowing that people like you put themselves out in the open and risk their lives every single time, and what do I do?
"I stay in this damn castle and shrink back at his name like every other girl. THAT'S what I do. I'm sick and tired of not being able to help, even though I know that I have nothing to offer in the way of assistance for the Ministry and the Headmaster, but." The tirade came to an end, and she had nothing to do but sip the last few drops of her tea and place the cup in her lap, protected between her hands.
"I wish you wouldn't face him." It had taken her minutes to finally arrive at what truly bothered her, but he showed no triumph in hearing her words. "Especially now that I know what he does to you. Can't someone else go?"
"You forget that anyone else may be in the same position I am. They may also have someone who cares about them, and whom they care about, that tries to forbid them for risking their lives." Even hearing him refer to her as 'someone he cared about' did nothing to quell her anger.
"It's so frustrating." She sighed. "And what's even more frustrating is that your logic is better than mine."
He chuckled. "I would hope so, after this many years. You will be every bit as logical as I am by the time you're my age, Hermione, perhaps even more so. But I don't envy you that." She glanced over to find him staring intently and purposefully at her. "Guard that mind of yours with all your power; it is your greatest asset."
"You've got that right," she muttered dryly, and he smiled.
"I never meant it to be interpreted that way."
She raised an eyebrow, but he refused her flirtatious actions and continued to speak about the Dark Lord.
"You have to be careful," he told her. "You, of all people, would be invaluable to Lord Voldemort. He will begin recruiting soon, gathering followers straight out of their seventh year at Hogwarts. He would not dare to take them while they remained in school, but directly after they leave, it is a prime opportunity for him. They are lost, without goals or ambitions, having only a desire to succeed; they lack the willpower to survive on their own and offer no defense, instead thriving under his direction. It is only power: he offers them that willingly, though they never have a true understanding of what they become entangled with.
"You would be his greatest triumph, barring perhaps Harry, whom I doubt he would accept." Severus frowned, as though trying to delve into the Dark Lord's psyche. "Being a Gryffindor, female, and a friend of Harry, he would revel in your submitting yourself to him. Nothing could bring him more sick joy than having you as a Death Eater, Hermione. I promise you that."
She was not sure how to respond. Was he informing her or pleading with her?
"All seventh year students will have to be vigilant, but you must show the utmost precaution. If he contacts you, in any way, you must refuse him. Contrary to popular belief, the chances he will kill you for your refusal are low; he is more likely to erase your memory with a charm and allow you to go about with your life." She nodded, taking in his words, but she couldn't help but feel queasy at the thought of being contacted by Voldemort. "He hasn't the time nor the energy to kill every person he attempts to recruit, and it would cause far too much attention."
He seemed to have finished with his oration, and she was left with a few moments of silence. Oddly enough, her mind drifted from his words and considered the position they now found themselves in. Their was nothing physical about their contact here; rather, it was an intellectual contact, a meeting of their minds that allowed them both to speak without restraint and consider the other's opinions. She enjoyed immensely her chances to speak with him, not as a student to a teacher but as one person to another, and she often wondered if it wasn't the making of a true and adult relationship.
Severus glanced across the room at an old-fashioned crystal clock on one of the tables. "You should go," he said. "It's become rather late; the other Gryffindors may get concerned."
She nodded, disappointed; she would have loved to remain with him and talk about the essays regarding Veritaserum, or perhaps something else. His myriad intellectual pursuits fascinated her; he was every bit the bookworm she was, and highly educated, besides.
Gollum slithered momentarily out of her hole as though to show Hermione to the door. She bent down, drawing her cloak about her, and extended a hand to gently stroke the snake's head. Gollum twisted into a pleased circle and flicked her tongue affectionately against Hermione's wrist. She whispered her goodbye to the snake and slipped out the door he held open for her. Turning back on the stairs only once, she found that he still stood in the doorway, watching her depart. Neither smiled, but it warmed her, though she didn't know why.
* * *
They absently discussed over the next two days where to meet in the evenings; they met not every evening, but as often as they could. Severus occasionally had a staff meeting, or was called away for urgent business (the Death Eaters, she would think with a shudder), but they seized every opportunity.
For his part, Severus would never have admitted, even to Hermione, how much he cared for her. Whether or not his feelings could have been described as 'love,' he didn't know; but he had a feeling that he was trying to conceal from himself how important and deep they really were.
He certainly enjoyed their meetings, and not only for the chance to be with a woman (and she was a woman, he thought emphatically, not a mere teenage girl like so many of Hogwarts' female students) in a way he hadn't been able to enjoy for years. He enjoyed her company, too, for what it was: the respected thoughts of an intelligent person. She seemed to sense that, and though she never vocalized her gratitude, its presence was mutually recognized.
The memory of the strange room on the fourth floor came back to him when he least expected it-in the middle of a class. He was teaching the sixth year ryffindor/Ravenclaw lesson, watching as they copied notes, and keeping an especially watchful eye on Ginny Weasley. She was a good student, he begrudgingly admitted, particularly if one took into consideration the closer brothers in the Weasley line of descendents; not since Charlie had he come across a Weasley so talented with Potions.
But Ginny's demeanor had become very withheld and terse; she knew, after all, about his relationship with Hermione, and was not the least bit happy for either of them. He had no doubt that she felt great pity for Hermione, and an intense hatred for him that probably would match the Harry Potter's any day.
It was ironic, then, that Ginny's quiet conversation with her table partner was about the abundance of mice on the fourth floor; it sparked his memory quite suddenly and he recalled the strange room he had run into years ago. It would be the perfect place for he and Hermione to meet, and she would probably be grateful for a secret place to curl up with a book or her homework; she often looked out of sorts while working on homework with the other Gryffindors, who did not share her penchant for silence during such a serious undertaking.
He showed her that evening, but very briefly, for a staff meeting was to take place. She was absolutely delighted, though she never set foot in the room, remarking that it was the perfect place; well-hidden and abandoned, as demonstrated by the nearly inch-thick layer of dust that covered the floor and the sparse furniture tucked into the back corner of the room. She had assured him repeatedly that she had the route committed to memory, and already knew the best way to reach the rendezvous site from the Gryffindor common room. Still, he worried; it would do no good to have her found wandering the fourth floor, lost and without an explanation, at ten-thirty in the night.
* * *
The next day passed unusually quickly and he set off for the room. Hermione was in a giddy mood that day, pleased with the wealth of perfect papers she had received back in Arithmancy and Professor Flitwick's praise during Charms class. Feeling as though she was on clouds, she happily left the common room that evening with not so much as a glance backward or the slightest details about where she was headed.
Green eyes flickered up to watch her leave from where Harry sat near the fireplace, working with scowl on his Divination homework. He had nearly given up hope of ever finishing, and seeing Hermione skip out with sparkling eyes and a broad smile was the last straw for him. He wanted to know, once and for all, where she was going at nights; her simple "for a walk" did not satisfy him one bit.
Ron, who was completing a detention with Hagrid for "talking back" in Potions that day, was not there to accompany him; but it didn't matter. He hurried up to fetch his Invisibility Cloak from his clothes chest and, pulling it around his shoulders, fastened it in front of him and dashed out the portrait hole door. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear faint footsteps coming from around the turn at the end of the left hallway; he scuttled along, and when he too turned, he saw her at the end of the ensuing passageway.
Following at a safe distance, he tracked her through corridor after corridor, becoming dizzy and confused. Where in the world was she going? Perhaps she hadn't been fibbing when she had said she went for walks in the evening; she certainly appeared to have no definite destination, just wandering in whatever direction suited her fancy. It was not until she began to climb a staircase he didn't recognize that Harry had an inkling his tracking would not be in vain.
At the top of the staircase, they entered a hallway Harry had never seen before. Ancient doors lined the walls, all of them appearing locked; he jiggled one as quietly as possible (Hermione was humming to herself and never noticed), and found that it was indeed locked. Falling behind her, he hurried to catch up; she was headed straight for the end of the hallway.
But it was a dead end. A wall-sized tapestry, intended as a mural, hung there, but Hermione showed no signs of slowing. He couldn't understand it; any second now, she was going to run straight into the brick wall! He guarded himself against the sound of her body slamming into the wall, fighting the urge to cry out and wake her from whatever daydream in which she was immersed. But when she reached out her hand, steady and alert, she drew aside the tapestry to reveal a room.
Hermione, proud of herself for finding the room, looked in to see Severus standing near a window at the far side. The floor, covered in the thick layer of dust, was unmarred but for the trail of his footsteps. Feeling in a childish mood, she stepped over his footsteps so that only one trail was left in the dust; it was rather like hopscotch, a game.
He smiled, amused.
"I will never be able to take the child out of you, will I?"
She grinned, taking a place beside him. "Why would you want to? I always though it made me endearing."
Harry watched with horror as the two began to talk, their bodies nearly touching; he had never seen anyone-anyone-standing so close to Professor Snape. Hermione's eyes were all aglow, and he had to admit she looked radiant and happy. Snape's face still looked grave, but there was an expression in his eyes Harry had never seen before.
Steeling himself against whatever display of affection might ensue, Harry entered the room and crept into the corner opposite them. Snape's hand on Hermione's shoulder seemed tender enough, and his voice was deep and quiet but not mocking. He could scarcely hear their words, for they talked too quietly, but he had a perfect chance to determine from their body language what was going on.
No wonder Ginny had acted so odd! These two were.he hated to think the word.having some kind of relationship. The thought that Hermione could like Snape was ludicrous enough, but the thought that he would share her feelings was downright sick, in his opinion. He'd always known there was something wrong with the Potions master; now he was positive the man deserved to be exiled from Hogwarts. Surely this was against the rules..
Unfortunately, they had done nothing incriminating thus far; no kissing, fondling, nothing. Harry was both relieved and a little disappointed; he could never get Snape fired if it looked as though they were just secretly best friends. The thought pained him. Had Hermione been so dissatisfied with his friendship and Ron's that she had felt it necessary to turn to the worst teacher in the school? Ron would be crushed, but the situation would only be worse if it was a romantic relationship. Ron could no longer deny his feelings for Hermione, and to find that he was favored less than Snape would destroy him.
He watched with a feeling of nausea as they drew closer together, and Hermione stood on her tiptoes to meet Snape's lips; they kissed for only a moment, and then she said something that made him smile slightly. She appeared to be gesturing about the room, in the direction of the windows and the furniture, but he had seen enough to know that they would provide ample proof of their transgression. He just hoped the majority of the blame would be placed on Snape.
Hermione was indeed gesturing about the room.
"It's odd, isn't it, that it's been left alone for so many years?" The veritable carpet of dust stretched across the entire expanse of the room, covering the heaped old furniture in the corner and dotted the cobwebs along the bricks of the stone floor.
"I don't recall any place in this particular area ever being in use," Severus mused. "At least, not as long as I have been here."
She was nodding her understanding when it caught her eye; the second trail of footsteps. Footsteps, clearly imprinted in a trail along the far corner of the wall, led from the entrance to the room to a corner by the opposite window. The trail left by Severus-and the one she had followed-was still there, leading directly toward them. But the other one branched off in the other direction, ending in empty space.
That was not there when she had entered.
"There's someone in here," she whispered. Her back nearly against the wall, Severus stood in front of her, her view nearly blocked by the breadth of his shoulder unless she stood on her tiptoes. Severus' eyes darkened and he began to turn, but she placed a warning hand on his shoulder and drew him back to face her.
"There's another trail of footsteps that wasn't us. I followed yours, remember? It wasn't there when I came in."
Severus did turn now, but imperceptibly, as though he were nonchalantly glancing about the room. When he faced her again, his dark eyes were burning with anger.
"You're right. Someone has been in here."
Both became deathly quiet, and from across the room, hardly discernible, they heard soft breathing; then a muffled scraping, as though someone had bumped into the wall.
"They're still here," she murmured, becoming frightened. It was all too possible that Lord Voldemort had sent someone to infiltrate the castle and follow Severus. Now they would both be killed, or perhaps tortured. She was not sure she could survive one of the Unforgivables, and she could never live through watching Severus put in such agony.
"Don't worry." He looked fiercely determined now, but not the least bit frightened. "I have a feeling I know exactly who it is."
Realization began to dawn on Hermione as Severus pulled out his wand and muttered words she could not here. Green tendrils began to snake their way across the doorway, the only exit, of the room; soon they had formed a shield, and Hermione knew from glancing at it that their invisible assailant was trapped in the room with them.
No words came from the invisible person, but suddenly the breathing was louder, more scared and intense. She smiled in grim satisfaction; if Harry had thought it necessary to follow them in order to obtain proof of her actions and slip away unnoticed, he had another thing coming.
They were both facing him now, waiting for him to remove the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione was unsure how she could be so positively convinced it was Harry, but she knew nonetheless, beyond any doubt. Ron would be serving detention for his snappish attitude in Severus' classroom that day, so it could only be Harry. Although Ginny might have come along for the ride; maybe she'd finally let Hermione's secret slip.
Clenching her fists in anger, Hermione strode across the room to where the footsteps ended abruptly near the window. She heard no scuffle, no sounds of retreat; Harry had to be standing right there, directly in front of her. She reached out her hand and her fingers connected with the soft material of the Invisibility Cloak; in one smooth movement, she grasped it and yanked it off.
And there was Harry, eyes wide, hair disheveled, backed firmly against the wall.
"Hello." Hermione's voice was cold and distant as she regarded him with icy eyes. Her eyes were usually so warm, Harry thought wistfully, and what shone through now was a blaze of yellow fire. Snape was still standing across the room, arms folded, looking at Harry with an oddly calm expression. Harry had expected to be beaten to a pulp. How had they possibly known he was there?
"Are you happy?" Hermione tossed the cloak on the floor, where it landed with a thump that rose dust clouds several feet high. Harry ignored his anger at the maltreatment of his father's cloak and looked back at his irate friend. "You have your proof. Did you record it somehow?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was as sincere as his face; he hadn't recorded it, perhaps he hadn't even intended to. But it didn't matter to Hermione, who was beyond angry; she was now absolutely livid.
"You must be pleased with yourself." He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but dark blurs were swirling across the irises of her eyes like storm clouds. "You tracked me all the way here, didn't you? And now you have your proof. So you can carry it off to Dumbledore and ruin our lives. Pleased?"
"I had no intention of doing that," Harry lied, knowing the honesty had long since abandoned his tone of voice.
"Sure you didn't," she snapped, beginning to pace. "Curiosity just got the better of you, and you decided to follow me for the hell of it. Is that it?" The soft shuffle of her shoes on the aged stone floor was the only noise that broke the silence so thick it was almost audible.
"Yes." He could tell she didn't believe him.
"What made you come? Did Ginny tell you?"
Harry tried to feign shock. "Ginny knew about this?"
"Oh, come on!" Hermione was beginning to sound like an interrogator. "Of course she knew about it! You had to realize something was going on, since you were always prying me for answers. I take it you just weren't satisfied with anything I told you."
"Frankly, no." He could feel his confidence returning, even faced with an outraged Hermione and a probably doubly angry Snape.
"Well done, Potter." Snape had not moved, but his voice carried across the room, deeper than Harry had ever heard it. "I never imagined you would be such a talented detective."
"I wasn't trying to-"
Once again, his protest was cut off by Hermione.
"Sure you weren't. You were just trying to be a loyal friend, making sure I didn't get into trouble."
"That's right." His own voice was still surprisingly feeble. He had never seen Hermione angrier, even though she wasn't actually shouting.
"I don't believe you one bit." She was biting her lip, and he was positive now that the glistening sheen in her eyes was not frothing hatred, but tears that threatened to fall, which she was trying desperately to hold back. The shock of finding her involved was such a thing that it was almost too much; in a moment of compassion, Harry wished he could get his hands on the nearest Time Turner and rewind the situation.
Hermione turned to face toward the entrance, staring at the green light with her chin trembling. She placed a hand to her face and took a moment to regain her composure, while man and boy regarded each other with a hatred stemming from a long rivalry finally brought to a climax. When Snape stepped forward to place a hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she turned to bury her face in his chest instead, Harry lost all grip on reality.
"This is wrong!" he yelled at her, forgetting her somewhat unstable condition second earlier. "I know it's wrong, YOU know it's wrong, and HE knows it's wrong!" He pointed an accusing finger at Snape, whose expression had not faltered. But he said nothing to Harry, only spoke in undertones with Hermione. She nodded miserably and took a deep, rattling breath.
Then she turned to Harry. "I'm sorry."
Harry was so taken aback he trampled over his father's cloak as he stepped backward in shock. "WHAT?"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that, I'm acting childish, and." The look on Harry's face brought the past weeks' memories crashing back on her, and she felt the sudden burden of guilt settling around her shoulders. "I've been a real bitch these past weeks, haven't I?"
Harry forced himself not to smile, noticing that Snape was. Hermione, struggling to find humor in the dire situation, gave a small giggle. "And it's taken me this long to realize it."
"It's not your fault," Harry comforted, finding sudden empathy for her. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. But it IS wrong." The chastising frown he gave her made Hermione flinch, and Snape was taking the reprimand with remarkable calmness.
"Thank you for the lesson in moral importance, Potter," he said wryly, and for a moment the two stared at one another. As Hermione stood in the middle, Harry came to the slow acceptance that for once, he and Snape had something in common: Hermione. Both were, in their own way, doing their best to care for her and comfort her. But it irked Harry-maybe out of jealousy, maybe out of protectiveness-that Snape's role had suddenly overtaken his own position in Hermione's affections. Until romance came along, he and Ron held the top spot.
Harry nodded toward Snape, unable to resist. "He didn't.?"
Snape looked, for once, embarrassed, and Hermione burst out laughing. "No. He didn't. We didn't. Get it out of your mind, Harry."
Harry blushed, suddenly ashamed. "Sorry. I just wanted to make sure."
"You don't have to protect me." He could sense her growing defensive again, and as Hermione was not one to appreciate another's offer for protection, he was anxious to change the direction of his advance.
"It isn't Potter's fault." Snape was leaning idly against the wall watching the two of them, though his eyes were more often taking in Hermione's state than Harry's. "If anything, it is indicative of affection; you should be grateful for such a caring friend." He looked hard at Harry. "Hopefully, you two respect one another's ability to make decisions."
His hair, his clothes, his entire body were shadowed and dark in the dim moonlight sifting through the dust-covered windows. Hermione was overcome suddenly by the urge to explain everything to Harry, to even show him that his view of Severus was drastically different than her own. Harry saw merely the Potions master, the cruel ex-Death Eater and the sarcastic terror of the classroom; but Hermione's gaze took in only the formidable man, the strong appeal and sharp intelligence beneath the concealing black cloaks and even darker looks.
But Harry would never understand; after all, not only was he male, but his entire view of the situation was now biased. He saw Snape as more the enemy than ever, now that he was preying on a friend. She hated to think what classroom experiences would follow this little confrontation.
"Come on." She picked up Harry's Invisibility Cloak. "We should go. Severus, could you-?" She made a demonstrative gesture with the cloak in her hand, indicating the still-present webbed green shield that covered the door, blocking their exit.
Harry was looking back and forth between Severus and her, and she had a feeling her use of Professor Snape's first name had unnerved him. Deciding it would be best to separate the two before mayhem ensued-Harry was sending dirty looks in Severus' direction, but no one could out-stare Severus in a case like this-she literally dragged Harry from the room.