Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

Author's note: Alright everyone, I just want you to know that I may not be able to post chapter 5 for some time because I must be a good student and do my work, of which there are no small amounts. The past three chapters were written before I decided to post the story, so I could post them at will. But now I won't be writing far ahead of what you're reading. I'd also like to apologise in advance for grammatical errors. I am terribly sorry if it offends you as it does me, but I am sincerely strapped for time.

And for those of you who think Deb is too perfect, I think my comment on that will be "Just you wait!"

Also…

Goddessnmb1 – no, I won't answer your questions because that just ruins my fun now, doesn't it? ;) But I think after this chapter your questions will be answered anyway. I haven't read Pawn to Queen, though I keep seeing it pop up in all kinds of places. I planned to but it's damn long and I don't have much time so I will read it, but not just yet.

And, as always, love to hear from everyone who has something to say, and any questions will be answered…unless they ruin my fun. Tee Hee J

So… now onto the story…

Chapter 4 – Only a Little Bit Twisted

That evening he found the largest bottle of whiskey he had, sat in one of his armchairs before the fire and began dousing his insides with the stuff. He was trying to shut out the fact that the very next day he would have to…do that. He was going to have to exact revenge on Deborah for this somehow.

He was about half-way through the bottle when there was a knock at the door.

Professor Dumbledore walked in smiling, obviously pleased at the outcome of the bet. He didn't try and tell himself that Dumbledore didn't know. Dumbledore knew, as with everything else.

"How can she do this to me?" Snape asked Dumbledore angrily, "after all I've done for her, how can she?"

"You agreed to it, Severus," Dumbledore said simply as he settled himself in the other armchair, "You are equally to blame for this."

"Oh how I hate that history repeats itself." Snape snarled.

"There aren't many others who like it either, but we must deal with it. And after all, you might just enjoy it. Open your mind, live a little."

"I don't want to." He snapped, "Can't everyone just leave me to self-destruct in peace?"

"Severus, she doesn't want you to destroy yourself. She wants you to be happy, just the way you want her to be happy. It's what we call friendship."

"How can she call me her friend after what I did?" He asked in amazement.

"You didn't do anything she didn't do, Severus, you both watched her family die."

"But I could've stopped it." He covered his face with his hands.

Dumbledore sighed.

"No, you couldn't have. We go through this whenever you see her. No one could've stopped Lucius Malfoy at that point. He probably would've killed you too."

"Then I should've died."

"No, you shouldn't have. Look around you, Severus, Deborah is alright. She survived. You cannot continue blaming yourself for this."

"Why not?" He said childishly.

"Because I don't want to have to come down here every evening and convince you that you're supposed to live. Trust her, Severus, she's doing what she thinks is best for you."

"How does she know what's best for me?"

"That's what friends are for, to know what's good for you when you can't see yourself. Now put that bottle of whiskey down and have a cup of tea with me."

The Headmaster waved his hand and a pot of steaming tea appeared on the table between them. He had also magicked the whiskey away to Snape's great annoyance.

"I was drinking that!" he exclaimed.

"No you weren't," Dumbledore said lightly, "you'd finished."

Snape grumbled and took his tea.

"Don't worry, Severus," Dumbledore assured him over his cup of tea, "You'll thank her at the end of it."

"She's said it, you've said it, and I don't believe either one of you."

There was another knock at the door and it opened without being asked to. In strode the devil woman herself.

"Ah look, it's a tea party," she said, "pity I brought the wrong drink," she added, brandishing a bottle of whiskey.

"That's alright," Snape said holding his arm out for it, "We'll forgive you this time."

She held the bottle back.

"It's not for now smarty-pants." She said sternly, "If Albie has magicked your bottle into my room it means you're not to have any. Tomorrow morning you can have some. I've charmed it so it won't open til then."

"Tea, Deborah?" Dumbledore offered politely.

"Why thankyou Albie," Deborah accepted.

"Please Deborah, I beg you to reconsider. There must be something-"

"My mind is made up, Severus, I'm resolute. Now, while you're both here, I think we should discuss something."

"What would you like to discuss?" Dumbledore asked, handing her the tea.

"I think I know how to destroy Voldemort." She said seriously as she sat down on the floor.

"I thought you might," Dumbledore nodded, "something to do with that family recipe, no doubt."

"Indeed," she agreed, "and I believe through some trial and error we should be able to brew a potion that will return him to a mortal state. In order to do that smarty-pants Potions Master over here will have to lend me his extensive knowledge of the properties of magical plants."

"What do you plan to do?" Snape asked, now focused on the issue at hand.

"I have a theory that all plants in the world have a natural complement. That is to say, if one plant has healing properties, the complementary plant will have poisonous properties of equal potency. I would like to be able to test the theory, but I really do need you Severus, because you know more about it than I do. I know the muggle science of it, not the magical art of it. So, if we can map out which plants complement which, we should be able to brew a potion that will counter the effects of the potion that Voldemort imbibed to make him immortal."

"That is no small feat, Deborah," Dumbledore warned, "It will be a lot of hard work…for both of you."

"Yes, but it seems to be our only hope." She reasoned, "We simply cannot rely on the chance that Voldemort has some of Harry's mortality running through his veins. We must do everything we can to rid the world of the little bitter boy who lost his mind."

"How do we test the potion, Deborah?" Snape asked.

"Well, do you remember the adjustments you made to my potion to make it an immortality potion?"

"Of course," Snape replied bitterly.

"Then we brew that potion and feed it to a test subject. We'll have to use animals, rats most likely, their genetic make-up is similar to humans. Then, when we have what we believe is the complementary potion, we feed that to them, then cast Avada Kedavra on them and hope and pray they die."

"I won't cast that curse, Deborah," Snape shook his head.

"I'm not asking you to," she retorted. "I'll cast it. You focus on the potions. And, if you don't mind too much, I think we should enlist the help of our Head Girl."

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you Deborah," Snape said muttered, "You won't rest until I am in my grave, will you?"

"Severus, I think we should be reasonable here," Deborah argued, "The girl is smart, diligent and a hell of a thinker. I was explaining the magical dimension to her and she got it in a snap, no re-explaining, nothing. It went straight in. Two heads are better than one, Smarty-pants, and three's better than two."

"Two's company, three's a crowd," He rejoined angrily.

"We could go back and forth like this forever." Deborah sighed, "Face facts, Severus, we need her. So play nice with her."

"I agree, Severus," Dumbledore interjected suddenly, "she is exceptional, despite the fact that she is Gryffindor and still a student. Her mind is keen enough to rival Deborah's. But perhaps if you need another pair of hands, I could-"

"No Albie," Deborah cut in, "You stick to training Harry to harness Voldemort's power. We've got to have all bases covered. We can handle this…as long as Severus agrees to Hermione."

"Alright," Snape acquiesced, "I'll let her help if you promise you'll never play the dead family card again."

"Never again. Upon my family's three graves," she swore with a hand over her heart a grin on her face.

"Your sense of humour will be your end, Deborah," Snape murmured.

"Well, at least I'll have the last laugh then, won't I?"

Hermione woke to thumping on her door. She had her own room, as did Harry and all other prefects.

"Who is it?" she called sleepily, her eyes still shut in the hope that she could keep them that way.

"It's us, Hermione," said Harry's voice, "Harry and Ron! Get out of bed, your audition's in less than an hour!"

She snapped her eyes open. And sat bolt upright.

"An hour?"

"Not even!" Harry replied. "Get ready!"

"Oh, alright, I'll be out soon!"

She scrambled out of bed and looked at her watch. Nine forty-five. That left her with three quarters of an hour. She had specifically put down for the first audition of the day so it would be over with, but now she wasn't sure it was a good choice. She had a quick shower, and got dressed as quickly as possible, barely looking at what she was putting on. Luckily she had chosen a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and, thank Merlin, not another pair of pyjamas. Out of habit she attempted to tame her hair, but gave up two precious minutes later. She put on a bit of make-up. Not much, but enough to cover the bags she had permanently packed and ready to go under her eyes.

By the time she walked out of her room it was ten past ten.

"About bloody time," Ron scolded as they continued out through the common room towards the Great Hall.

"Hey," she said defensively, "twenty-five minutes is better than most females could do."

"Alright," Harry interrupted, "we've got about fifteen minutes to eat breakfast." They had reached the hall and in the proceeded to guzzle down food.

"I'm not having much," said Hermione, picking up a piece of toast and a glass of water, "But some Vladimir's Vintage Vodka wouldn't go astray."

"What's gotten into you, Hermione?" Ron asked, "First you abuse Malfoy, then you call Snape a bastard, then you ask for alcohol. Are you sick?"

"No," Hermione said curtly, "as a matter of fact, Ron, alcohol numbs the vocal chords."

"Whatever you say," He shrugged.

They downed their breakfast as quickly as they could and dashed away to the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, where Deb was holding the auditions. There were a few other people standing outside, singing to themselves or pointing their wands at their throats, trying to enhance their ability. Hermione convinced herself out of that by listing all the possible consequences of doing those charms wrong. Broken spine, vanished vocal chords, vanished windpipe, voice pitch jumping octaves and so on.

"We should do that, Harry," Ron muttered.

"Don't even think about it," Hermione glared at them, "a million things could go wrong, and all for the sake of a musical. Have you ever heard of natural ability?"

"Yes, but I don't have it." Ron argued.

"Nonsense, Ron, you'll be fine."

Ron shook his head sombrely and sat slid down to sit against the wall.

"Hermione Granger!" Deb was calling out from within the classroom.

She took a deep breath and looked at the boys.

"Good Luck," they said in unison.

"Thanks," she said and strode into the room.

The first thing she noticed was that Professor Daniels was not the only one in the room. Sitting on her right was…

"Professor Snape!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

He sneered back at her, "Professor Daniels has requested that I be present for all female auditions."

"What? Why?" Hermione asked, looking at Professor Daniels in disbelief.

"Yes," Snape growled at Professor Daniels, "Tell her why I'm here."

"Because," she answered calmly to Hermione, "Professor Snape will be playing the lead role. And if we're going to cast his co-star, he ought to be here."

"You lost a bet, didn't you, Professor?" Hermione asked before she knew it had come out of her mouth.

"For Circe's sake, Deborah, what have you told this girl?" He said irately.

"Enough," Deborah answered simply, "Now, before you begin your audition Hermione, I must tell you that if you have no intention of remaining in this musical, please do not audition. I will not allow any person with a main role to walk out, though I strongly suggest you stay."

Hermione considered this. She wasn't really sure. Professor Daniels had told her to audition and here she was. But was she willing to go through with it? Well, there wasn't much chance of her getting a main role, and she certainly wasn't going to be Eliza, so what harm could it do to commit?

"I'll stay," Hermione decided.

"Good. Now let's hear you sing, Hermione. Something simple. Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, Happy Birthday, whatever you want."

Hermione considered it. she had no idea. It was the simple decisions like these that confused her the most. Her nerves were throbbing, adrenaline was pumping hard.

"Shall I choose for you?" Deborah asked.
"Yes please," Hermione said thankfully.

"Alright, Happy Birthday. When you're ready."

Hermione tried to tame her panicky body. She shut her eyes, swallowed hard and sang.

It was over very quickly. She sang with her eyes closed, not wanting to see Professor Daniels' expression. However, when she had finished she opened them and Professor Daniels was smiling much as she had been when Hermione had entered. Snape, however, was looking down at his fingernails. Hermione didn't know what to make of that.

"Thankyou," She said warmly, "Now, please take this scroll and look over the lines. In a minute we'll have Professor Snape read you through them."

As Hermione took the scroll, she glanced at Professor Snape. He was giving Professor Daniels a look that would've made most people run for their lives. She, however, didn't turn a hair.

Hermione look down at the lines. She recognised them, but it was a while before she realised where they were from.

"Oh, my" she whispered in shock, "This is My Fair Lady!"

"Indeed it is, Hermione," Professor Daniels confirmed, "And this," she said gesturing toward Professor Snape, "Is Professor Henry Higgins."

"You've got to be joking." Hermione snorted.

"She is, Miss Granger," Snape spat, "But this is her idea of a joke. Forcing me to play this role."

Hermione began to laugh. Then she couldn't stop laughing. She had tears in her eyes before she was able to calm herself.

"Oh, that is hilarious!" She sighed, wiping tears from her eyes, "This'll be great!"

"I know," Professor Daniels agreed, with a glint in her eye.

"But," Hermione asked, "How does he know what My Fair Lady is? It was a muggle play and movie, and I don't know any wizards who go to the movies."

 "Well, now you know two," Professor Daniels smiled, "Muggles do weave magic on the silver screen. Alright Professor Higgins, stand up and strut your stuff. He won't admit to this," she said to Hermione, "But he's a trained actor."

Professor Snape glared at her, and she grinned happily back at him. He walked around to stand opposite Hermione, giving her a look of loathing that he usually reserved for such persons as Harry, Sirius and Remus, but now Hermione knew what it was like to have his eyes boring through her own that way…unimaginably disconcerting.

"Alright you two, action!"

"Wait," Hermione said, "Shall I do the accent?"

"Of course," Professor Daniels nodded, "ready now?"

"Yes," Hermione said shakily.

"You too?" she asked Snape.

"I couldn't be more or less prepared."

"Alright…action!"

Snape began it, already in character, which prompted Hermione. She had seen Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison do it; all she had to do was remember that.

"Again, Eliza," his voice was stern, but not as harsh as in normal classes. He flourished, miming Professor Higgins playing the xylophone and saying, "How kind of you to let me come."

"How kind of you to let me come," Hermione mimicked with a very false and very ugly cockney accent.

"No, no. 'Kind of you', 'kind of you', 'kind—', 'how kind of you to let me come'."

He was good at it, Hermione thought. He must have seen Rex Harrison do that part as well.

"How kind of you to let me come," Hermione repeated, almost exactly the same as before.

"No, no, no, no." Snape said irritably, moving closer to her, an invisible cup of tea in his hand. He was getting into it, "'Kind of you', 'kind of you'. Say, 'cup of tea'; 'kind of you'. Say, 'cup of tea'."

"Cup o' tea," Hermione said sadly, looking longingly at his hands.

"Alright very good, Hermione," Professor Daniels stopped them, "now let's move a little further in the script, down…all the way to where Eliza says 'Your slippers', having just talked about not selling herself and so on, found it?"

Hermione twisted the scroll a great deal and found the line, and Snape had done so before she looked up.

"Would you like to look over the lines, Hermione?" Professor Daniels asked.

"No, I know this script like the back of my hand."

"Good!" she said approvingly, "Alright, Action!"

"Your slippers," Hermione said, this time in a clear-ringing upper class accent.

"Oh, yes, of course," Snape said soberly as he bent down to pick up nothing, "You shied them at me."

"Before you go sir—"

"eh?"

"Do my clothes belong to me or Colonel Pickering?" Hermione could feel Eliza coming out.

"What the Devil use would they be to Pickering?" She could feel Henry Higgins coming out in Snape too, "Why would you bother about that in the middle of the night?" his voice was tired an irritated. By sound he was very clearly Professor Higgins.

"I want to know what I may take away with me. I don't want to be accused of stealing."

"Stealing! You shouldn't have said that, Eliza; that shows a want of feeling."

"I'm sorry. I'm only a common ignorant girl; and in my station I have to be careful. There can't be any feelings between the likes of you and the likes of me. Please will you tell me what belongs to me and what doesn't?"

"Take the whole damned houseful if you want. Except the jewelry; that's hired."

Hermione and Snape had now completely disappeared, and Henry and Eliza had blazed through.

"Stop, please," She pretended to remove a necklace, "Will you take these to your room and keep them safe? I don't want to run the risk of them being missed."

"Hand them over," He snarled angrily, his hand out towards her.

Hermione put an empty hand to his and felt what a shock go through her.

"If these belonged to me and not the jeweler, I'd ram them down your ungrateful throat." He sounded like a little schoolboy. Hermione could hardly believe, it, but she concentrated and mimed taking off a ring.

"The ring isn't the jeweler's: it's the one you bought me in Brighton. I don't want it now."

She put her hand once again to Snape's and felt again the static shock. He consequently mimed throwing the ring into the fireplace.

"Don't you hit me," she said, the cockney accent hinted at.

"Hit you! You infamous creature, how dare you suggest such a thing? It is you who have hit me. You have wounded me to the heart."

The heat was rising in the argument, as if they were truly having it out with one another.

"I'm glad! I've got a little bit of my own back, anyhow."

"You have caused me to lose my temper: a thing that has hardly ever happened to me before. I don't wish to discuss it further tonight. I am going to bed." Snape turned his back to her.

"You'd better leave your own note for Mrs. Pearce about the coffee; for it won't be done by me!" Hermione responded by turning her back to him.

"Very good," Professor Daniels nodded, a playful glint in her eye, "Alright, thank you Hermione, I hope to have the parts up by Monday. Could you call Harry in?"

"Of course," Hermione had now turned around and was staring at Professor Snape in amazement, and he in turn, was staring back. For what seemed an eternity, she looked into his eyes and saw…something, though she wasn't entirely sure what.

"Oh, by the way, Hermione," Professor Daniels interjected quietly, "Professor Snape and I would like to ask you to help us with a potion we will be brewing. It could very well dictate the fate of the world."

Hermione remembered herself only in time to hear the words stop, oblivious to the gravity of them.

"Er, sorry, I didn't catch that," she said, looking away from him, blushing slightly.

He too looked away and cleared his throat.

Professor Daniels looked from Snape to Hermione and back to Snape again, an impish grin creeping over her mouth.

"Professor Snape and I would like to ask you to help us with a potion we will be brewing that could very well affect the fate of the world. Would you agree to help us?"

"Of course!" Hermione said enthusiastically, looking back at Professor Snape, "Thankyou!"

"Thankyou," Professor Snape murmured, almost bowing to her.

How had she never noticed how soft and… mellifluous Professor Snape's voice was? A squeak escaped Hermione's lips before she ran out of the room, absolutely sure that she was as red as a tomato.

She shut the door behind her and ran with her head low, so as not to show the color in her face.

"How was it? Harry called after her.

"Er, okay," she said shakily over her shoulder, "see you in the common room."

Harry and Ron looked at each other meaningfully, but were immediately ambushed by Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were gossiping about who would get good parts.

Snape watched her rush out of the room, completely thrown by what had just happened. He had felt that shock go through his hand when she touched him…could still feel it even now. Why had he ever thought of her as a child?

He thought of the look in her eye. Completely pure, unlike anything he'd ever seen in any other eye before.

"See, I told you you'd enjoy it," Deborah grinned.

Snape suddenly remembered himself and put on his most malicious and vicious expression he knew.

"I forbid you to make her Eliza!" he snarled.

"Well that's alright" Deborah said mildly, "Because I've already made her Eliza."

Snape stared at her in horrified shock.

"You haven't…" he whispered ferociously.

"I have," Deborah replied softly, "you can tell her if you see her. But this means you are also excused from further auditions. Enjoy your day, Henry," she said cheerfully, "and on your way out could you ask Mister Potter to come in? I believe it may have slipped Hermione's mind as she seemed to be in…such a rush to leave."

He glowered at her once more and then swept out of the room, stopping to snarl at Potter.

"Well, it's your turn with that lunatic now," he barked, "In you go," he demanded, a long finger pointing to the doorway.

The boy scowled at him and moped into the room. Let the boy be upset, Deborah would find some way to lift his spirits, he thought as he marched angrily down to his office.

Once inside, he cast all the wards he could think of and poured himself a searing hot bath. As soon as it was full and steaming, he sank himself into it, using the burning to counter his anger.

Deborah was screwing him over, and enjoying every minute of it. He didn't care what Dumbledore said about friends and all that…whether or not it was out of the goodness of her heart, Deborah was twisting him around her little finger.

Why, out of all the students, why a Gryffindor know-it-all like Granger? Deborah was punishing him. He knew it.

But he couldn't convince himself he didn't deserve it. He did, he deserved it, but sometimes his dignity would stand up and argue in his defense. Deborah's family was dead because he couldn't stand up to a simple-minded man like Lucius Malfoy. He deserved to suffer for his weakness.

But will you suffer forever?

The little voice in his head pleaded with him to think of the good he'd done and what good could come. Voldemort's defeat and the Death Eaters' incarceration…Deborah getting justice and…

The image of those pure, innocent brown eyes staring at him, gazing at him…

He threw his head under the water, trying to wash that image away. Only it didn't wash. He was quite sure those eyes would gaze at him forever.

When the water cooled to a normal temperature he levered himself out, toweled himself down and dressed again. As he walked into his office he heard a timid knock at his door.

"Enter," he snapped.

"Sorry to disturb you Professor, but I was wondering about the potion Professor Daniels was talking about."

Her voice froze him on the spot and melted his heart. He wanted to bang his head against the wall and knock some sense into himself, but there were more urgent matters to attend to.

"What would you like to know, Miss Granger," he asked slowly, wrestling the mask of disdain over his emotions.

"What exactly is it you plan to do?" she asked shyly.

"I must admit, Professor Daniels would be a better advisor for this, as it is her idea. But from what I understand she has formulated a theory that all plants have a complementary plant, that is to say a partnering plant with opposing characteristics. For example, one plant may have healing properties, so its complement will be poisonous to a similar degree." He eyed her cautiously. "Has Professor Daniels told you anything about her past?" He asked tentatively.

"I know Lucius Malfoy killed her parents and I know you took her family's healing potion and modified it to make a potion that would ensure Voldemort's immortality, if that's what you're referring to."

He was slightly taken aback. He wasn't sure he really wanted her to know those things, but it was too late now.

"I see Professor Daniels wasted no time with you," was his only comment on the subject before he answered her question. "Now, Professor Daniels hopes to find the complementary plants of those I used in Voldemort's potion and created an un-immortalizing potion, if you will."

"But how would we get Voldemort to drink it?"

He didn't want to answer the question. The cruel reality of it was something he preferred to leave to the last minute for realization. But she was waiting for an answer, and lying would do no good, as he would have to tell her at some point during the process of creating the potion. Better sooner than later.

 "I would have to lace his drink, now wouldn't I?" he growled.

"How would you do that?" Hermione asked.

"Surely it comes as no shock to you that I have been working as a spy these past two years?" He snapped at her, "Surely you were aware that our information on Voldemort's attacks does not come from Professor Trelawney or some other fraudulent source?"

"Of course I'd made the conclusion that you were spying, but I wasn't going to waltz in here and pretend that I knew for sure now, was I? I imagine it's not the kind of thing you want the rest of the world to know about. And it's for that reason I don't bandy it about under your nose like a first-year clown!"

She was angry. He'd never seen her get angry, though he could hardly blame her. He often wondered why people didn't get angry at him more often.  He knew how fierce his countenance was, but he didn't really know the extent of it's effect. Apparently today it was not affecting her.

Part of him wanted to applaud her bravery in standing up to him for the first time in seven years. He squashed it.

"Well then surely it's clear to you that I will attend a Dark revel and mix the potion into the Dark Lord's drink, providing alcohol has no effect on it."

"You could get killed." It was a statement of fact, no emotion. It made him wonder again what he'd earlier seen in her eyes. He dragged himself back into the conversation

"I'm afraid that is the nature of the beast, Miss Granger," he sneered her name as if it were an insult, "whenever I attend these events I am in danger of being killed. In fact, every moment that I continue living I am in danger of being killed. It is a harsh reality but I have learned that I inevitably get what I deserve."

"I don't doubt that, but I don't think you deserve to be killed." Again, it was simply factual.

"Oh really?" he retorted, "You don't think a former Death Eater responsible for the Dark Lord's constant resurrection from oblivion, not to mention being present at countless murders and tortures, deserves a long and painful death?"

"No."

"Of course, being the flaming Gryffindor that you are, you don't believe anyone deserves to die, do you?"

"I don't really know," she said defensively, "I'm not often faced with a situation in which I have to decide who lives and who dies. But I do know I don't think you deserve to die."

"Why are you still here, girl?" he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Has your question not been answered? Attack Professor Daniels now, I'm in no mood to squabble with you at the moment."

"Why not?" Why did she sound angry? She had come here of her own will knowing full well what he was like? Why was she upset? Did she expect him to throw rose petals down for her?

"Must you know the answer to every question?" the desire to throttle her was returning…quickly.

"Yes, mustn't you?" she seemed to be giving him a look of equal annoyance.

"Why do you stand up to me, girl?" he asked cagily, folding his arms carefully at his chest, "You never used to be outspoken like this. You used to only answer questions, you never asked them…and you certainly didn't answer back to teachers."

"I had a revelation over the holidays," she said, not a speck of determination leaving her face.

"Indeed, and what was that?"

"That people who stay silent under persecution get crushed. I will not allow myself to fall into that…not even at the most minor level."

For a moment he paused…then he chuckled softly, moving towards his seat behind his desk.

"Persecution," he murmured, "sit down, Miss Granger." He commanded quietly as he lowered himself into his chair.

She marched proudly towards the seat holding that determination firm in her eye. She sat down, slinging a bag full of books to the floor.

"Do you believe I am persecuting you and your fellow housemates?" he asked gently. It obviously shocked her, because her mask of fortitude slipped a little before she pulled it back up and answered.

"I would say you practice a lesser form of persecution, a very twisted form of it that obviously satisfies you a great deal, but there are worse things you could do."

He leaned in towards her, his arms resting on the desk.

"Has it ever occurred to you to consider this situation from my position? Has it ever occurred to you that I am forced to be head of a house brimming with the children of the very people we are trying to bring to justice? And these children, being their parents' offspring, have a great desire to see themselves lifted above the common folk and praised for no particular reason except that they have what they consider to be purer blood? And that, should I fail to please them, their immediate reaction is to tell their seniors, who all rush to clog up my fireplace telling me that I'm not a true Slytherin? And, should I be so unfortunate as to displease Mr Malfoy junior, Mr Malfoy senior will undoubtedly find some horrifying way to 'convince' me to be more lenient on Slytherins. Parents though they may be, they are also killers, rapists, thieves, tyrants, hearts blackened by years of misguided education. They have learned and known for so long that they are of the highest ranking, and Muggles and Mudbloods are dirt beneath their feet that ought to be eradicated. Not to mention the fact that a large number of them, despite their prim and proper appearance, have reverted to their most base and carnal instinct. Their high society is matched only by their vicious bloodlust. Is it not clear that I am locked into a state of affairs that will only be resolved by some very drastic changes that will only come to fruition with a lot of time and effort, both of which we are currently expending towards this cause? Is it not clear to you that what you call persecution is a mere trifle in the face of what goes on in the wings of it?"

He realized only when he'd finished that he may have shared a tad too much. She looked…embarrassed to say the least. Her willful mask had fallen right off and shattered on the ground. She looked down at her toes.

"I'm...I'm, very sorry," she began uncomfortably, as she hurriedly got to her feet, "I mean, I-I didn't know…I'll never bother you again…" she picked up her bag and promptly dropped in sheer nervousness.

"Miss Granger," he said gently, moving around the desk as she picked her bag up and dropped it once more, "Please, Miss Granger…sit down." She was still looking down, refusing to make eye contact. He tentatively put a hand to her shoulder, and that did it. She snapped her head up in shock, first regarding him, then his hand, then him again. He snatched back his hand as if she'd burned him, feeling now that he had invaded her space.

"I didn't mean to bother you…" she sounded on the verge of tears.

"Neither did I, so we're both at fault." He winced slightly…a recurring theme in his life.

She sat down bashfully, and he remained leaning against his desk beside her.

For a moment he had nothing to say, and there was an awkward pause in which they both considered one another, though never actually looked in the other's direction. He was the one to find words.

"Professor Daniels has cast you," he said simply.

"Really?" she looked up at him, "Already?"

"Yes."

A brief pause, in which she waited for him to tell her and he waited to be asked.

"Aren't you going to tell me who she cast me as?" Hermione demanded, slightly bewildered by his silence.

"Aren't you going to ask?" He countered, a mischievous smile crawling over his mouth.

"Who did she cast me as?"

He sighed, looked up at the ceiling and told her.

"She did not!" Hermione said, goggle-eyed.

"She did."

"Can I quit?"

"No. if you'll cast your mind back to earlier this morning, you'll remember Professor Daniels expressly explaining that she wouldn't allow any main role actors to quit."

"Oh that's not fair!" Hermione whinged, "I thought I'd get a little part that I'd be able to ignore. Oh I won't be able to cope, Professor, I'm going to fail my NEWTS." Did she just complain to a teacher about workloads? What on earth?

"Miss Granger, you wouldn't fail your NEWTS if your memory was obliviated." Did he just say that? Did those words just come out of his mouth? Did he just compliment a Gryffindor? Why was he being nice?

He looked at her, hoping that it had gone unnoticed, though sure it had not. She was shocked and…Damn it, pleased.

"What I meant to say was…"

"I know what you meant to say," She cut him off, "I heard what you meant to say and I'll never forget it." A smile was now spanning the width of her face. "Thankyou."

He grumbled something under his breath and sat back down in his chair.

He turned the conversation away from his blunder to another shared blunder.

"You realize, of course, that we have now become puppets for Professor Daniels?" He said matter-of-factly.

"Yes."

"You realize that now you will be spending a great deal of time in both mine and Professor Daniels Company."

"Yes."

"Does that concern you?"

"No."

"You are very brave. I would be very afraid."

"Why?"

"Because Professor Daniels and I aren't the most…well-adjusted of people. If I were you I'd consider my sanity in great danger."

"Oh, and what makes you think my sanity is still in tact, or ever was in tact?"

"I was being polite. Are you familiar with the practice?"

"Vaguely."

"I never imagined, Miss Granger, that you would admit to being ignorant. I shall have to mark it down in my diary as a festive day."

"You do that, and I'll mark this day down as the day you complimented me."

He rolled his eyes disdainfully. "I liked you more when you didn't say this much, and I didn't like you then."

Hermione was relieved that he wasn't taking house points away from her for being pretentious. She wouldn't really have blamed him, but she would've hated him nonetheless. But his…lack of complete vindictiveness threw her somewhat. She wasn't prepared for this. She assumed it had something to do with the fact that they would have to tolerate each other for some time now.

She crossed her arms and he drummed his fingers on the desk, trying not to notice the awkward silences filtering their way into the conversation. Eventually he thought of something to say, but he didn't quite know how to put the issue forward.

"It seems," he began uncomfortably "Well, our characters, you know we…become very…"

"Yes," she spared him the agony, thank heaven, "It just occurred to me."

"I wonder how the student body will handle the…concept." He was staring as his fingers, pretending to examine them. Apparently a habit of his.

"I don't really know," Hermione replied, also looking down, though at her feet. "But perhaps we should practice our lines in private."

"That was the blatantly obvious first step, Miss Granger, but the fact is we will eventually have to rehearse ensemble, full cast and crew. And afterwards we will have to perform this masterpiece of Deborah's to an audience of parents and peers. I believe it qualifies as social suicide for both of us."

"I've committed social suicide before, and I daresay you have too," He grunted at that, "So I'm not particularly worried. But we can't really blame anyone but ourselves," Hermione shrugged, "We said yes."

"But Deborah put us in this position. Without her interference I would have been drinking criminal amounts of alcohol in peace, but now she's swapped my whole stockpile for tea."

"I can't blame her for that."

"Why not?"

"She loves you."

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse you what?"

"What do you mean she loves me?"

"I mean you're the only connection she has to her family. There's nothing for her to remember them by but you. Isn't that obvious?"

He stared at her, completely flabbergasted. It had never ever crossed his mind. But now it seemed so obvious. Before it had seemed like some cruel joke…a constant reminder that he was responsible. But now…

"Come on, professor, she pushes you around, she manipulates you into doing things you don't want to do…doesn't that remind you somewhat of the behavior of a relative? And above and beyond that, you have her name branded into your buttock. She has her name written on you. Don't you understand that she doesn't want to lose you?"

For a moment he simply considered these new discoveries. How had he been so thick? All these years it hadn't occurred to him that Deborah was having as much trouble as he was. She was protecting him as much as he was protecting her. He felt as though he'd been bound, weighted and thrown into the ocean. This changed everything.

He suddenly remembered Hermione was still in the room.

"Miss Granger, I think you ought to leave now."

He stood up to escort her out, using motion to hide his sudden confusion. However, she didn't stand up.

"You didn't realize, did you?"

"Miss Granger, you are no longer welcome in my office. Please leave." He pointed one long finger toward the door, and she stood up, but made no move toward the door.

"You thought it was all a punishment," she said leaning in on his desk, "you thought she was getting you back."

He was close enough to head-butt her now, and had to fight the urge off. Who did this adolescent child think she was? Telling him about his life as if she'd seen it all. Explaining the logic of the most complex relationship he'd ever had, which was saying something, considering the slippery company he kept.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he snarled, leaning in on his side of his desk, "now get out before I throw you out."

"I'll leave," she murmured, returning his steely gaze uncannily, "But it won't change the truth. Just because I'm the one who said it doesn't make it a lie…or even an insult."

He was so ready to slap the insolent thing when she strode out of her own accord. He sat down again. Damn! He was just itching to knock some sense into her.

But her exit also hailed the return of her words. Her true words…She was so right…It made him sick to think she'd one-upped him…But it was true…She was absolutely, undeniably, unbearably right and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to change that.

And what of Deborah? Deborah who only moments ago had been Professor Deborah Daniels, Miss Practically-perfect-in-every-way Daniels? This fine upstanding woman who, yes, had grieved very deeply for her family, but had come out a shining example of strength. What was she now? Some part of her had apparently never grown up. The loss of her family had apparently been irrevocably damaging to her, so much so that it was irrepressible. And now she was left clinging to the only thing she had…and that was him. Severus Snape. Obsessive, anal, misogynistic, depressive and all-round bastard that he was, it simply wasn't enough to keep her away. Some insects cannot be deterred from excrement.

Somewhere in him something had understood that. His consciousness hadn't the faintest clue about it, but he'd known. Somewhere in the whole of him, part of him knew.

And in a way this answered his big question. Why did he put up with her crap all these years? Why did he stand for the lost bets, the manipulation, the sheer agony of her company? Well, of course the conscious reasoning behind it was that he owed her the world and more, so he would bear it…perhaps he would not grin, as he rarely did that anyway, but he would bear it. But the truth was she would have nothing left if he gave up on her. That infallible brain would self-destruct if he forsook her.

He wanted to hate Deborah for it. How could she make him take that place in her life? She knew him…she knew that life was a burden he'd rather not shoulder. Now he was forced to shoulder it for her sake. That wasn't fair! He should have the right to escape reality permanently if the desire took him. But she'd vetoed that right by burdening him with her sanity. That lazy little child! Why couldn't she shoulder her own bloody burdens?

Of course she wasn't able to, and nor should she have had to. She was a child then, perhaps a little older than a child, but it's amazing how far one regresses in the face of grief. He couldn't blame her for the way things had turned out, just as…just as…

He barely wanted to believe it. The pain of it was pleasurable. But he could blame her for engineering his situation as much as she could blame him for engineering her situation.

Which brought them back to square one. Equally to blame, but blameless all the same.

Damn Deborah Daniels, Damn Hermione Granger and Damn you, Severus Snape.