Mine Protector
Chapter 15: The Summons

Severus was dreaming. After many nights of thin, troubled sleep, he had finally fallen into a limb-numbing slumber. His dreams were not a sleeping-mind's innocent imaginings, however; instead, he dreamed of things that had already happened, the same nightmare montage that visited him daily, even when he was wide-awake.

"I will do whatever you ask of me, my Lord," he whispered, his head bowed to the floor-skimming hem of Voldemort's cloak.

"If you want to live, Severus, you will anticipate and carry out my wishes *before* I even ask them of you," Voldemort said, his voice as potent as a thin curl of wood-smoke. He ran tented fingers over Snape's lowered shoulders, tracing the outline of his arms almost seductively. It was the seduction of a monster: powerful yet repulsive, intelligent yet lacking all human empathy. Snape was torn between kissing the man's gnarled hand, and shuddering away from its touch. Neither action was a good idea.

"Some of your peers say you've forgotten me in my absence, Severus," the monster-man crooned, massaging slow circles along Snape's back. "Others say you've been lying low, like the coward you are. You always were one to run away, weren't you? Such a weakling....I would have done you in when you were young, if it weren't for that very fine mind of yours." Voldemort ran a finger under his chin, tilting his head so that he had no choice but to meet the red eyes that looked down at him, those twin blossoms of fury. In the background, Peter Pettigrew giggled--a slimy sound, it was the giggle of a man who was fevered with excitement. "Not to mention that Albus Dumbledore apparently trusts you--the old fool. Does he really believe that anyone who wears my mark can resist my summons?"

At this, Severus shuddered slightly, gooseflesh prickling along his arms. Noticing this, Voldemort's reptilian face softened, though it was an expression that promised pain, rather than mercy. "Oh yes, my boy...we'll make dear Albus regret the day he took this little stray in, won't we?"

Then came the "Crucio!" And a world of pain with it: his teeth skinned along his lower lip, then finally bit down, tearing into the flesh with a sting that was pleasant compared to the pain in his muscles, which were writhing and contracting as if strung up in a high wind. A touch, metallic in quality, scraped down every one of his bones, knotting around each joint like vise-clamps. His limbs were pulled in four different directions as he was drawn into the air by invisible bonds.

The pain, the memory of it, was fresh even in dreams, and he shook violently beneath his sheets, sweat seeping from his brow.

Then it was gone.

Away from Voldemort now, Severus and Pettigrew entered a small village at nightfall, cloaked in black silk, hoods pulled up to obscure their identities. Pettigrew's silver arm gleamed like a weapon in the moonlight. Enticed, Severus ran a forefinger along the strange musculature of the silver, which was cold enough to inspire thoughts of frostbite.

"My reward," Pettigrew said, his expression one of intoxication, and then shrugged off his robes so Severus could view the entire prosthetic, which attached to Peter's natural arm at the elbow--just where the dark mark had once been.

It's consuming you," Snape said, pointing out the black, bloated veins that emerged from the base of Peter's human elbow. Tentacle-like, they wrapped up to the base of his neck, where they also coiled around and up his skull, as if flirting with strangulation.

"Jealous traitor..." Pettigrew hissed, pulling his robes closed hastily. He walked forward and further into town. They were in a small wizarding village in Northeast Germany--a place which Severus had visited before, many years ago.

Only half of a step behind him, Snape continued to whisper into Peter's ear, his voice cool and deliberate. "A powerful dark object will swallow you whole before letting you wield it with control, Peter. Even you must know that. Look at Lord Voldemort's monstrous body, made twisted and grotesque by darkness--and you have none of the Lord's innate dark powers, Peter. The arm will destroy you."

"Liar," Peter retorted. "The Lord has made me his equal. With the arm I rule beside him." He turned suddenly, the strong fingers of his arm clutching the neck of Snape's robes and tightening like a noose. "Know your place, fallen one," he spat, and followed that with a little giggle. That familiar, sickening sound that made the contents of Snape's stomach roil.

"You will be forced to kill more than you can imagine," Severus said, his voice strained by Peter's grip.

"I killed thirteen people at once....remember Severus?" Peter said, his laugh becoming more twisted. "I am not afraid to kill again."

So it was true. Dumbledore had told him as much, but until now Severus had secretly hoped Sirius was not innocent. He had wanted to go on hating the Animagi--being unable to hate him would complicate his life in a way that went beyond words. Saying nothing, Snape squirmed in Pettigrew's grip, which mercifully loosened in response. "Let's go on now, shall we?" he asked, almost gently, but there was an unspoken threat beneath his words: Don't you dare deny me, Severus Snape. To deny me will be your death.

Silently, they approached a stately home: not a manor, by any means, but the house was roomy and built of fine Tuscan marble. It was the home of Igor Karkaroff, and both Severus and Peter walked past the front gates un-harmed. The dark magic in the silver arm was so complex, so new to this world, that it didn't even set off the wards. At the door Peter raised the iron knocker and rapped three times, the hollow sound ringing throughout every room of the house. Light footsteps approached, and whoever was behind the front door was apparently struggling with its heaviness. -A house elf, I hope...- Severus thought blankly. -Please let there be no one at home other than house elves...-

But it wasn't a house elf. A little girl, age six or so, squinted at the steps where both men stood in half-darkness; blonde plaits were looped behind her ears, and she wore a charming dress of violet organza. "Are you here for supper?" she asked, bringing a buttery roll up to her mouth and nibbling around the words. She had but a slight German accent, indicating she had spent only parts of her childhood in the village.

"Hello darling," Peter said, smiling in a way that seemed almost genuine.

-He might even like children...- Severus thought, taken by surprise. As Wormtail he *had* chosen to hide amongst the Weasley brood for twelve years, after all--a feat which Severus couldn't help but marvel at. To survive the rowdy redheads would certainly take a world of patience that Snape himself did not possess.

"It your Daddy at home?" Peter asked sweetly.

The little girl's eyes widened, and when she shook her head a few crumbs were sent flying. "Mummy says I shouldn't talk to people who ask about Daddy," she said, her little face wrinkling with suspicion.

"But we're friends of your Daddy!" Peter exclaimed, feigning hurt. Severus was silent and stiff behind him, trying to wish himself away from this place.

"Anyway, he's not here," the girl said, shrugging. "He's been gone a while. Not even Mummy knows where."

Peter frowned. "That's unfortunate," he said heavily. "Are you certain, sweet--" and with that, his voice was cut off. He watched, curious, as his silver arm rose, the hand flexing open and shut rhythmically. His lips trembled, and the black veins at his neck seemed to pulse, causing Snape to take a cautious step away from him.

"That looks funny," the girl remarked, brushing off her pinafore.

"It's..." But Peter couldn't continue. His face reddened and he lurched forward suddenly, his hand encircling the girl's slim neck and squeezing. She gasped and struggled, her feet pulled inches off the floor, her eyes rolling upwards.

"What are you doing?!" Snape pulled uselessly at Peter's arm. "Let her go!"

Wordlessly, Peter shrugged Snape away and shook the girl just once, but hard enough to whip her backwards with a force that snapped several bones in her body, from the sound of it. Now she dangled like a ghostly marionette from Peter's hand, her tiny tongue protruding from parted lips, a trickle of blood oozing from her left ear. "AGH!" Peter croaked. He looked as if her were trying to drop her--but was unable to. She remained in his grasp: a lifeless, just-plucked flower, but with hair still vivid as daisies.

Peter's mouth worked; it appeared that his voice had returned. It was hard to say whose screams were worse: Ariel Karkaroff, who appeared at the door only seconds after her daughter was tossed to the cold floor, or Peter himself, who continued to scream even as he thrust out and snapped Ariel's neck in much the same way.


---


Snape's eyes flung open. He was in his own bed, surrounded in sweaty linens, but he could still see little Anna Karkaroff's strangled face, her eyes pleading with him to let go, let go... Make him let go.

In reality, her eyes had been blue, but his tortured memory always painted them as green. Eyes like Harry's....and like hers. Was this his curse? To always be tormented by those who had green eyes?

No, he decided bitterly. Like any fair-minded person, he allowed himself to be tormented by people of various eye colors, not discriminating between any of them.

//Enjoy your nap, Severus?// a voice asked. Chillingly familiar, it came not from his room, but from the contents of his very head. It was Voldemort, and if he was able to speak to Snape directly, and perhaps influence his dreams, he was then *very* near Hogwarts.

"Leave me be..." Snape whispered, clapping his hands over his ears.

//Now now...that won't do any good,// the voice soothed. //And I'm afraid I can't leave you be, Severus. I'm not done with you yet.//

"I will not willingly serve you," Snape hissed, and felt the dark mark burn in white-hot agony at his rebellion.

//Oh, I know that,// Voldemort chuckled and the noise rang within the very chamber of Snape's skull, an invasion that prompted him to double over, groaning. //You may have gotten that fool Pettigrew to turn himself in, but you won't be able to shield Harry Potter for much longer...nor can you protect his little Mudblood friend.//

Snape jolted as if given an electric shock, and Voldemort laughed again. //No, I've had my eye on that girl for a long time, Severus. Pettigrew told me of her skills...but there's more too it than just that, isn't there? Who is she, Severus? Even if you refuse to tell me, you know I have ways of getting the information that I want....//

Feeling his sanity spool away, Snape shook his head repeatedly, willing the voice to leave him be.

//Have it your way...// the voice said, oddly smug. //I will deal with the Mudblood later...but for now, I want you to bring me something. I cannot come near the castle, as you well know, but I suspect that you are more than willing to provide for me, aren't you Severus?//

"No," Snape said helplessly.

//Quaint effort...// the voice trailed off, and in its wake the silence was overwhelmingly loud.


----


After several days of research, Hermione had found very little useful information regarding invisibility spells. All the spells described in the restricted section of the library required powerful dark magic--the kind that would have set off the wards surrounding and residing within the castle. The only other way of maintaining invisibility, from what she could tell, was by wearing a cloak, and the intruder she encountered had not worn a cloak; in fact, she was fairly certain he'd been dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and light-weight trousers.

-Almost like *pajamas*...- She chewed the end of her quill thoughtfully, then flipped the book she was reading back to the first chapter. There had been something of interest here....she had dismissed it at first, but now wanted to read it again.

//The camouflage charm is only useful in certain situations, this being because the spell-caster is only rendered invisible to a single person, and only for a short amount of time (one hour, maximum). Since the development of functional (though expensive) invisibility cloaks, the need for the camouflage charm has dwindled over the years, making it a rarely-taught charm amongst school-aged wizards and witches.//

Hermione herself had never heard of the camouflage charm before now, and wondered if it was mild enough to go undetected by Hogwarts' security. Dumbledore certainly could have provided her with an answer, but he was in London on a business errand.

-Perhaps Sirius would know...- she thought mildly. He *was* the Defense instructor, after all.


----


Hermione didn't ever get a chance to ask Sirius about camouflage charms. She stopped by his office about twenty minutes before potions, but the candle outside his door was burning red, which served as notification that he was busy with another student. She paused by the crimson flame, and thought about knocking on his door anyway--she could always claim that she had an emergency, after all. But before she could do so, the office door was pushed open by someone inside, nearly smacking her dead on the nose. It was Harry.

"Yeah, I'll show it to you tomorrow..." he was saying, looking over his shoulder at Sirius, who was standing by the fireplace. The remainders of a shared meal on the table behind him, Sirius blinked curiously at Hermione's raised first, which she had readied to knock on the door but now slowly lowered back to her side.

"Show him what?" Hermione asked, and Harry's head whipped around at her in surprise.

"The new Wronski Feint he's been practising," Sirius chimed in, an amused smile on his face.

"Oh," Hermione said, somewhat uninterested. Even though she was now a member of the house team, she still had trouble working up enthusiasm for Harry's lunchtime Quidditch forums.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked her, looking irritated. After discovering that someone had been in her dorm room, she had bowed out of exploding snap the other night; now she suspected that Harry was holding a bit of a grudge against her. He even seemed annoyed with Ron, who had lately become almost as studious as his older brother Percy had been. Rumor had it that Ron had taken a practise-N.E.W.T. exam and hadn't scored well, which would logically account for his recently acquired study habits.

"Oh," she said again, taken off guard. "I just had a question for Sirius about...Animagi," she improvised, her tone casual.

"Sorry Hermione," Sirius said, buttoning up a set of black robes with red trim. "I need to see Hagrid before this afternoons' class. We'll be needing some extra dragons-hide gloves, you see." He smiled apologetically at her and turned down the lights with a flick of his wand. "Be seeing you two after potions, right?" he asked, ushering Harry out of his office.

"Right, Sirius," Harry said, and waved half-heartedly at his godfather's retreating figure. Then he and Hermione walked to the dungeons together, an odd silence creating a definite division between them.

"You're mad at Ron and me, aren't you?" she said finally, keeping up with him.

"No," Harry said through his teeth. "Why should I be mad?"

"Because we're both studying so much....worried about N.E.W.T.s and all," she said quietly. "You could study with us you know." She added this last bit thoughtlessly, forgetting for a moment that her recent 'studies' had little to do with exams.

Harry shook his head somewhat mournfully. "I don't care about the N.E.W.T.s."

"What?...Why?" Hermione was genuinely surprised by his statement. Harry had always been a relatively good student, and until recently had *always* studied more than Ron.

"Really, I don't," he declared hotly. "All I'm expected to do is hang around here and wait for Voldemort to come fetch me for his orgy of death, right?"

"Don't make jokes like that," she insisted, clutching his arm and steering him to a stop.

"I'm serious....If my life is going to be defined by Voldemort's evil plots, then I want to spend the rest of my days having fun. I want to play Quidditch and stuff myself with honeyduke's fudge and laze about playing exploding snap. I want to find a girl who will have sex with me and then dunk my head in Hagrid's whiskey barrel..." he paused, taking in her stunned expression.

"Harry...." she began, her voice wavering with emotion.

"No, stop," he said, putting a finger on the hand she had wrapped about his arm. Sorrow marred his features. "I shouldn't have said that....it's just..."

"Yes?" she prompted.

"Cedric was killed...and then I spent all last year waiting for the other shoe to drop." His eyes met hers, heavy with meaning. And even though she knew what he was referring to, he went on: "I waited and waited for Voldemort to search me out, like he has almost every year, but nothing happened. But that won't happen this year. I'm just not that lucky. He's coming for me soon. I know it."

-I know how you feel...- she wanted to say. But she didn't dare.

"Harry, if you live your life like you're just waiting around for Voldemort to snatch you away from it....then you've already let him beat you. You do know that, don't you?" she asked, wanting to draw him into an embrace, but settled for squeezing his arm slightly.

"That's exactly what Sirius said."

Once she would have been surprised at those words, but this time, she wasn't. "Sirius is right," she insisted. "And you *know* his intentions are good."

"I know," he admitted. He was biting his lip now--it was what he always did before apologizing. "Hermione, I--"

"No need," she said, anticipating his words. He smiled gratefully, and drew her into a half-hug. The stiffness of his body suggested he was still troubled by something, but she let it go, and for the time being accepted his hesitation to completely confide in her. When he was ready, he would come to her and Ron both.

They entered potions together, the silence between them more amiable now, but the classroom was in a complete, chaotic uproar. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were gleefully using their wands to toss Neville's toad back and forth in a game of keep-away, all while Ron and Seamus shouted insults from the other side of the room, not quite daring to use their wands against the three Slytherins. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione frowned a little, not just disapproving of the childish antics going on in the room, but also feeling a pinprick of concern at the potion master's absence. It was simply unthinkable that Snape would arrive to his own class late, as he himself received far too much pleasure in giving students detention for tardiness. The Hogwarts rule was that students were to wait fifteen minutes for their professors to show up; if the teacher did not show up in that amount of time, the students were free to leave. In Hermione's experience, this had only happened once: last year, when Hagrid had too much to drink at a luncheon held at the Three Broomsticks.

Fifteen minutes passed, and still there was no Snape. Most of the students had ceased their petty arguments and were now exchanging high-fives. "Alllllright! No potions!" Ron exclaimed, clapping Harry on the back. The two boys seemed to make-up entirely over this shared joy, and were soon making plans to visit Hagrid's cabin, hoping they might catch Sirius along the way.

"Want to come along?" Harry asked Hermione, while Ron gathered up his bookbag.

"Ah...someone ought to tell Professor McGonagall that Snape didn't show up, right?" she asked, donning her best Prefect's voice.

"Oh please *don't*, Hermione," Ron pleaded. "If you report it, we'll have to make up potions on a Saturday or something!"

She mulled this over for a moment. "Well, you two go on ahead. I think I'll catch up on some reading before our Defense class," she finally relented, busying herself with a stack of books.

"Suit yourself," Harry said, and the two boys took off, a renewed spring in both of their steps.

Hermione had no intentions of reading, of course. As soon as the other students had cleared the dungeon, she found her way to the corridor, stopping at the wall that was marked with a single torch. "Brandywine," she said, hoping that Severus--wherever he was--would forgive this presumptuous intrusion.

His quarters were dim, the fire not crackling merrily as it usually was. Only a few faint embers glowed on the hearth, suggested that the fire had been untended for some time, and the room was unpleasantly cool and damp, causing her to draw her robes around her body tightly. "Incendio!" She pointed her wand and flames burst to life, lighting all corners of the room in a mellow incandescence. The room was neat as always, but there was no sign of the potions master.

"Hello?" she called, her voice high and childish.

A small sound came from behind the door that she knew must lead to Snape's bedroom; not the dripping noise of the dungeon, but a human noise--a rustle of fabric, or the shuffle of bare feet, perhaps. Gathering her nerve, she twisted the knob back and forth a few times; if he was in there, she wanted him to have plenty of warning before she entered. While she wouldn't have necessarily *minded* if she caught Snape making his way out of the shower, she had a feeling he would curse her clear into next week if such a thing were to happen.

She pulled the door open. Surprisingly, she was nearly blinded with early-afternoon sunlight. Blinking, she glanced upwards and saw that a large sky-light had somehow been cut into the steep, angled ceiling of the room, allowing a slice of November's blue-sky to stare down into the dungeon. The room was minimally decorated: a brass bedstead with untidy Slytherin-green sheets, an antique Turkish rug shot through with pure gold thread. The walls were bare but for a few black and white photographs, from which a few stiff-looking wizards and witches (Snape's ancestors, no doubt) grimaced.

And there was Snape himself, his back turned to her, standing oddly still. His clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them, and even as she chanted his name, he made no move to suggest that he heard her.

"Snape....Professor Snape?" she repeated, then finally: "Severus?"

He twitched slightly, then pivoted carefully on his heels, moving as if he were petrified. At the sight of his face, she swallowed a rising cry. He looked made of wax, he was so pale, and his eyes were heavily shadowed in ash-gray. He stumbled forward a little, and as he moved she saw a thin line of blood seep from one of his nostrils.

"Severus!" She stepped forth and grasped at his shoulders, struggling to prop him upright. It was like trying to keep a statue on balance.

"Hello, Miss Granger," he said, his voice hollow. She should have been relieved to hear him speak, but his voice came from so far away...it was almost as if his lips hadn't moved.

"What happened to you?" she cried, blotting the stipple of blood from the sensitive hollow just above his top lip. Her touch seemed to rouse him a little; the skin on his neck gained color, though the rest of his face remained dull and wan.

He laughed a bit, his throat gravelly. "Mister Riddle and I shared a visit," he said, looking crazed. And then, even though she was holding on to his shoulders tightly, he slumped from her grasp and collapsed to the floor. Hands still raised to the spot where he had stood, she thought he fainted at first, but then he leaned back on his haunches and drew his arms around her knees, burying his face in her robes with a muted whimper.

Mixed thoughts bolted through her head: this wasn't like him...this was the behavior of a broken man, not the behavior of a proud, arrogant teacher who was known to shrivel a student's confidence with a single glance. Part of her was increasingly frightened at the tightening embrace he had around her legs, but she couldn't stop herself from stroking hair away from his forehead--though she grimaced slightly at its unwashed quality--doing her best to soothe him even though he was shaking hard enough for her to hear it in his ragged breathing.

"What was it...Cruciatus?" she asked, her tone neutral.

He said nothing, but shook his head against her leg.

"Imperius, then?"

He nodded and finally pulled himself up off the floor; after a few attempts he gracelessly situated himself on the end of his bed, clearly trying to collect himself. "I can usually resist it..." he said, his voice reedy. "But he was closer this time...and two, maybe three others were helping him."

"Death-eaters?"

He nodded again and she sat on the bed, making sure that a few inches remained in the space between them. "What did he want?" she asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

"I don't remember." He looked at his knees helplessly, though a dose of the usual causticness was entering his voice. "I remember blacking out in my bed...and when I opened my eyes, I was standing right where you found me. Whatever he had me do, I don't believe I left the school. And the wards are undisturbed."

"Even so, anything he would summon you for is important.... you must try to remember," she insisted, putting a hand to his shoulder.

He pulled away sharply. "Don't you think I know that? I may remember later...but right now there's nothing there, I tell you."

"I believe you," she said.

"Oh, there's a relief," he retorted, and stood up, hand held to his forehead under a wave of dizziness. With much effort, he stalked his way over to the other side of the bed and pulled back the covers. "I need to rest now," he said in a voice that was no longer snappish, but weary, and then he slid between the sheets, fully clothed.

A few moments later she was on the bed as well, above the covers instead of under them, but laying supine at his side and gazing up through the sky-light.

"You can see the stars from bed, can't you?" she asked.

"Why are you still here?" His words came muffled from the blankets.

"I'm not leaving," she said simply.

"Miss Granger..." he droned. "I told you I don't remember anything else. This inquisition has ended."

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. For someone who'd just been standing hopelessly before her on the brink of Imperius madness, his insults remained remarkably spunky. "This isn't an inquiry at all, you impossible prat!" she exclaimed, fighting the urge to wallop him with a pillow. "I'm staying with you because I care, okay?"

Bracing herself for a swift shove to the floor, she was surprised when he rolled over and drew her to him, curving into her body as he had when she first entered the room. "Yes..please stay," he murmured, his voice cracking with quiet emotion.

For a long time she held him as she would have held a child, not speaking. His breath indicated he was as awake as she was--but then she would have been surprised if he had been able to fall asleep after what he had endured. Soon, the blue in the window above them deepened, and she realized she had missed her Defense class. It mattered little now.

"Severus?" she ventured, stroking the back of his neck a little.

"Hmmm?"

"Why do you hate Harry?" The words were simple; there was no hate in them, no malice. It was just a question.

"I don't hate him...not exactly."

She sighed. "I know....you're supposed to be the bully--keep him in line and all. But...well, he hates *you*, you know. Is that what you wanted?"

He broke away from her embrace, his black eyes unreadable. "Would it have been better to befriend him?" he asked. "Should I have been kind one moment, only to lay down the law the next?"

She shook her head slightly. "But I don't even think you *could* have befriended him....you hate him for other reasons, don't you? Reasons that are connected to his parents...and to Sirius and Remus, too."

He snorted. "The werewolf and the dog, plus everyone's favorite hero, James Potter. James and I used to be friendly with each other, you know..."

"I didn't," she said. It was true--she always assumed that James and Severus had hated one another from day one.

"We weren't best friends, but we got on well enough. The other Slytherins didn't approve, of course, but I was never one to follow the crowd, exactly..."

She waited quietly for him to continue.

"Then there was Lily Evans. She was a wild girl....more like Sirius in that regard. Though gifted, she had no concern for rules and cared little about grades. When she fell behind in potions, I was assigned to be her tutor. During our sessions I took great pleasure in demeaning her intellect, her house Quidditch team, her taste in friends--anything that came to mind. Even then I wasn't what you would call an 'empathic' mentor. She loathed my superiour attitude, and wasn't afraid to say so. Out meetings often ended in shouting matches--or with her shouting at me, anyway. After a while, though, things changed..."

"You fell in love with her?" she asked, hazarding a guess.

"No! Why does everyone think that?" he complained, and she wondered briefly who the 'everyone' was that he referred to. "I, like every other self-respecting Slytherin, was in love with Narcissa, Lucius Malfoy's girlfriend. Lily was dating James by this time, but it soon became clear that she had certain feelings for me. She starting showing up to our laboratory study dates wearing her best clothes, and her part in our frequent arguments took on a playful, flirtatious tone."

Hermione widened her eyes. "Why do you think she fancied you?

He flashed her a look of disgust in response. "I know...bloody hard to imagine anyone fancying old sharp-faced Snape, right?"

"I--"

"Nevermind." He waved at her dismissively, and continued on with his story: "I told myself that I was imagining the flirtation. She was pretty, and there was something very unencumbered about her personality that I was attracted to, but I always played by the rules, you see.... I would have never made a move on a girl that was already spoken for. I tried avoiding her, but she finally cornered me in the library and confessed her feelings for me. It was quite funny, actually...she told me that she thought I was thoroughly unattractive and unpleasant, but that she had been unable to rid me from her mind."

Hermione smiled a little. She could relate to the girl's sentiment.

"She asked me if she could kiss me, just once. She wanted to know if what she was feeling was real, you see....I think she was convinced it was just a strange phase, like a virus one might contract in close quarters. James was always so even...so predictable. She must have found my arrogance refreshing, unbelievable as it might sound." He paused and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up wildly.

"So did you kiss her?" she asked, poking at his shoulder anxiously.

"I did. And Sirius and James saw."

"Oh, Gods...."

Before continuing, he quickly summoned a glass of water from the bathroom, taking a long drink. "James merely looked hurt, but Sirius was livid. Thought I had been molesting her all along, apparently. I stood by as both boys lashed me with insults, waiting for Lily to come to my defense, but she didn't. She slunk behind a bookcase and said nothing, unable to meet my eyes...or James'. I found myself wondering what was worse...if James and Sirius went on hating me, who, as a Slytherin, was their natural enemy...or would it be worse if they came to hate Lily, whom they loved and trusted? I decided to let the natural order stand. I denied nothing."

"And that's how the Marauders came to hate Severus Snape," Hermione said, and from her mouth it sounded like the moral of some obscure fairy-book.

He smiled wryly in response. "More or less. So you see...hating Harry is easy. It's what comes natural to someone like me. It's expected...and is for the boy's own good, in a way. Hating me makes it easier for him to see the good and bad in others, in the long run."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," she said, propping herself up on one elbow.

"I'm not." He shook his head, laying back on the pillow.

"Do you still wonder what Lily saw in you?"

He studied her a moment before answering. "I used to wonder. There was such a strange look in James' eye that day...I think he might have suspected the truth, just for a moment. But neither of us could comprehend why she would find herself attracted to me, and even now, I have no idea..."

"I have one..." she said faintly, and longing filled her body without explanation, causing a flush to fan out over her face in visible crimson.

But nothing about him indicated that he saw her expression of affection. For the first time since she had lay down next to him, he dropped his eyes shut in sheer exhaustion, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

"I think I can sleep now," he mumbled, his voice already heavy and disconnected.

"Okay."

She waited for his breathing to grow deep and regular. Waited until long after the sun had gone down, until after the stars appeared in the sky-light and nighttime clouds floated by like bright creatures behind a glass display case, silent and untouchable.

"Goodnight," she finally said, then left his quarters quietly.

----

The long corridor through the dungeons was silent, as always. While making her way through it, Hermione realized that it was long past dinner--nearly bedtime, even--and that Harry and Ron had probably begun to wonder where she had gotten off to. Not worried, she was prepared to give them her usual excuse: that she had fallen asleep in the restricted section of the library.

She mussed her hair a little to give herself a 'I've been studying so hard I'm about to lose it' look, before realizing that being in Snape's bed had probably taken care of the job for her.

"Hey, Granger," an unmistakable drawl came from behind her, and she turned to see Draco Malfoy leaning against a dimly-lit pillar that presumably pointed the way to the Slytherin common room. He was fully dressed in winter robes, a green and silver scarf wrapped about his neck as if he had been outside recently. "What are you doing down here amongst the real wizards? Tired of your idiot friends yet?"

"Charming, Malfoy," she said, straightening her robes calmly. "I got lost looking for the kitchen, if you must know. Now get along, won't you...." she made an impatient shooing motion with her hand.

"You're telling me to get along?" His gray eyes widened in delight. "You're not even supposed to be down here, Mudblood."

"I'm a prefect, Malfoy...just like you. So quit with the hot air already." Haughtily, she turned on her heels and started to walk away from him, but before she could get very far he reached out and yanked her back by the wrist. Roughly, he pushed her against a wall so that her caught wrist was pinned to the cold stone-work. He was several inches taller than her, and quite strong, too--the grip on her arm was close to being painful, a fact that almost made her sorry she would soon be bursting his evil bubble by thoroughly kicking every square inch of his ass.

"Come now, Draco," she teased. "I understand how you feel...but money and great hair products won't work on me like they do on Pansy."

"Shut up!" he hissed, clamp her mouth shut with his other hand. "Listen good, rotten Mudblood....the others are on their way." And at her look of surprise, he smiled deviously.

"Yes...you heard me right. We've been waiting for you."

****************************

Teensy acknowledgment: Hermione's thoughts on kicking every square inch of Draco's ass are clearly an homage to the Buffy season 6 finale. ;)

My chapters are getting longer...I hope that's acceptable.