Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. See Chapter 1 for full disclaimer. Author's Notes at the end.
Warning: This fic is SS/HG and includes character death, descriptions of abuse, and adult situations.

Cloak of Courage
WendyNat

Chapter 8

~~~~~~~

Hermione stood alone in the Head Girl's rooms, staring at the fireplace silently. It had been at once a relief and a strain to talk to Harry. On the one hand, he was her friend, and knew all too personally what she had lost. On the other hand, she had been constantly on edge, wondering if Dumbledore had told him about her intention to study the Dark Arts. And then, once she had ascertained Harry's ignorance of the subject, she had had to concentrate to be sure not to inadvertently spill the news herself.

From what Harry said, Dumbledore had told him - not untruthfully - that Snape had stopped her from leaving Friday evening for her protection. The Headmaster had cleverly insinuated that they had reports concerning a Death Eater or Death Eaters that could be on the lookout for her, and they felt it best that she remain at Hogwarts… safely ensconced in Professor Snape's chambers. With the added threat of the Malfoys, it was obvious that the Head Girl's rooms were not secure enough, and Harry had been able to come up with no better option. 

When she returned to Severus' chambers, he was seated at the corner desk, apparently marking papers. She stifled a grin as his quill scratched sharply across one unfortunate student's essay – she could only imagine what scathing remark he must be writing. "First years?" she asked.

"Third," he said without looking up. She nodded and, not wanting to disturb him further, disappeared into the bedroom to change and get ready for the day. A short time later, she re-emerged into the study to see him sitting back, the bridge of his nose pinched between a thumb and forefinger. She smiled when he muttered, "It is truly amazing that they can even remember to breathe with the limited mental capacity they display in my class."

"What House?" she couldn't resist asking. When he just gave her a dark look and stood, she firmly repressed a giggle. Slytherin, apparently. Otherwise he'd have been only too happy to tell me.

"I trust your meeting with Potter was… constructive?"

"You could say that, I suppose," Hermione answered. 

Snape sneered. "Were you able to convince the Savior of the Wizarding World that I didn't chain you in the dungeons and torture you?" Rather than get irritated by his comment, she smiled faintly.

"Well, I don't know if he's quite convinced yet, but I tried." As he stepped closer to her the glint in his eye betrayed his amusement, and she allowed her smile to grow. "You do have quite a nasty reputation, you know."

"I am aware of that. I've cultivated it carefully over the years," he said, one black eyebrow raised sardonically.

"Hmm. Well, you've been successful," she said. She looked at him silently for a moment before adding, "Severus, in all seriousness… Harry is my friend. And he will continue to be my friend. It's natural for him to want to look out for me."

Severus nodded, his lips once again twisting into a sneer. "That, also, I am aware of, Hermione. Now, I believe we need to return to the Head Girl's rooms to retrieve the lovely text that another 'friend' of yours sent?" Hermione's cheeks colored at his words and he smirked at her, raising an eyebrow. She frowned, irritated with herself – first for flushing at his comment, and then for noticing how… sexy that smirk was.

"Come on, then," she said sullenly, grabbing some floo powder from the mantle. As she stepped into the green flames, she could hear his deep chuckle behind her.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

A true Book of the Blood, he mused. Not incredibly old… perhaps scribed by Viktor Krum himself? Snape shook his head, lip curling in disgust as he inspected the pages. He looked up when Hermione sat down across the desk from him, her movements tentative as she eyed the book with undisguised fear.

And for good reason.

He recalled clearly his own surprise when he stepped through the fireplace into the Head Girl's rooms and felt its presence. He knew immediately that it wasn't a simple copy that they were dealing with.

A regular copy would have been bad enough, but this book was made and bound using the ancient techniques; Dark preservation spells were woven through the ink and binding to keep the blood fresh on the page, the wet words glistening like damp rubies in the firelight. Most copies were made without the additional Dark spells; the texts were still functional as long as the mixed blood of the scribe and a victim was used in the ink preparation, but they were not as powerful.

The Dark preservation spells… the spells themselves were such a drain on a wizard's power that they were rarely used. This was a very valuable book, indeed. And potent – the Call literally spoke from the pages… he could hear its siren voice, beckoning to him, and he ruthlessly tamped down the answering stir in his own blood. For Krum to have sent a volume of this rarity to Miss Granger, to Hermione, was disquieting. Why?

"What is it, Severus?" Hermione was chewing on her lower lip, and he frowned when he recognized how young it made her appear.

"Must you do that?" he snapped, instantly irritated when she jumped. So much for the vaunted Gryffindor courage, he thought derisively before he shook his head. It wasn't the girl's fault that he was so unsettled, and lashing out at her certainly wouldn't further his own plans. With a sigh, he looked up and met her eyes. "I… apologize, Hermione."

He made a concerted effort to keep his tone sincere, though it was difficult. He was not used to… apologizing… to anyone, much less a student. But he would do what he must. When he saw her nod of acknowledgement, he continued, "This volume is very… unusual, we shall say. I was merely wondering why Krum would have sent it to you." He explained the differences in the Books of the Blood, and was satisfied that she understood the gravity when her face paled further.

"So… he sent me one of the most potent Books of the Blood available. And that's… that's why it looks like fresh blood? Like it's still… liquid?" He nodded curtly. "I wonder… he knows me fairly well, so maybe he thought I would back out. Maybe… maybe he wanted to be sure the Call took me quickly, before I got cold feet."

Snape absently fingered the edge of a page, considering. Finally, he nodded and his brow smoothed. "A likely assumption. Logical, on his part. You were very fortunate to have felt the… wrongness… immediately."

Hermione didn't respond, still staring at the book with unseeing eyes. Finally, she stammered, "D-do you think he… Viktor… was the um, the scribe?"

He glanced at her sharply and noted the disconcerted look on her face. Understandable, given what he'd just told her concerning what went into the creation of a Book of the Blood. A sacrificial victim – human, of course - to supply the majority of the blood, a certain amount of the scribe's own blood, and a potion created using the Dark Arts to add to the mixture to ensure the "ink" would not decompose over time.

In a neutral voice, he said, "Has it finally occurred to you just what it means, that your friend is a Death Eater? That he is the only son of a long line of Dark Arts practitioners?" Sitting forward in the chair, he fixed his eyes on hers. "Do you see, now, the danger?"

In normal initiations into the Dark Arts, the trainer begins slowly – each new spell taught just a little less innocuous then the previous. The goal was to ease the trainee with small steps, careful not to go too far too fast, careful not to shock them to the point of horror. Each step, each new spell or potion or ritual taught, brought the learner inexorably closer to the edge… where the Call could take hold and ensure surrender. Most initiates did not learn from a Book of the Blood until the other, less Dark, tomes had been studied. And, until the Call of the Blood became a part of the learner's nature, the method of creating a Book of the Blood was a closely guarded secret.

She had averted her eyes, and was staring blankly at the book on the desk in front of him. He waited patiently, allowing her to absorb what he had said. Finally, she spoke. "What does that mean? Payment offered, Blood accepted. Is it some sort of-" She jumped when he slammed the book shut, his brows furrowed in anger. She watched him nervously. "I'm… I'm sorry, I just…"

In a carefully controlled voice, he said, "Think nothing of it, Miss Granger. I should have known–" he stopped then, watching her closely. Her brown eyes were clear, if still a bit anxious. He nodded to himself thoughtfully and said, "My anger was directed at myself, not you, Hermione." Standing, he hefted the tome, still feeling the Call through its binding though the effects were somewhat muted with the book closed. "I must properly store this – I will return in a few moments." She nodded uncertainly and he could feel her eyes follow him as he made his way into the small office attached to the study.

Closing the door behind him, he carefully cast a silencing charm and a masking charm… it would not do for Miss Granger to have knowledge of the warding system he would erect around the book. The lure, the temptation, may very well be too much for her to resist, particularly with her emotions still raw from her recent losses.

It took him only moments to secure the book, in the same hidden cabinet as the other dangerous Dark Arts books that he had in his possession. Once properly warded, he could no longer feel the Call and he nodded in satisfaction. He didn't think Hermione would be able to break the wards he had constructed; indeed, those wards bordered on the Dark Arts, and the only book located within the castle which detailed their use was itself secured in the cabinet. It was one of the few useful things he had learned from his father.

He sighed and opened the door leading to the study, not surprised to see that Hermione hadn't moved from the chair and was still sitting, staring blankly ahead. Apparently lost in thought. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, considering her for a moment.

It was not often that someone, particularly a student, surprised him. But her cheeky rebuttal earlier that morning, when he had tried to throw her off-balance with his comment, had done just that. Why, yes, Professor Snape. I am, at that. He smiled again, thinking about it. There was obviously more to her than met the eye, he thought, remembering her very astute observation concerning his classroom demeanor and the Call of the Blood.

Very wise for one so young, he reflected silently. It had taken him years to consider the possibility that the menacing presence he had cultivated for his classes was actually a subconscious method of satisfying the Call. Was it because he was too close to the situation, or was Hermione just exceptionally perceptive? He frowned a moment, pondering. In certain things, she definitely showed an amazing perception… though in others… no. If she were perceptive in all things, then her little friend would not now be dead.

He shook his head slightly. Seven years in his classroom, and he had never realized the extent of her brilliance. It wasn't just book intelligence – she truly saw intricacies, depths… an amazingly insightful mind. A line appeared between his brows as he frowned at the thought. The young woman was almost too insightful – he was right to take his seduction of her emotions slowly… luckily for him, she still had the relative naivety of youth. He shuddered to think of what she would become in ten years time, in twenty years time… he doubted any man would be able to manipulate her, then. The thought made him pause.

How long-term would this marriage be? If the law wasn't withdrawn… he frowned. But surely it would be, once the Dark Lord was defeated. Yes, once the Dark Lord fell, the protection aspect of the law – which had so appealed to those Muggle parents after the Grangers' murder - would no longer be applicable. The parents would doubtless rise against the law once again and… she would be free to leave him. To find someone young, foolish. Someone undeserving of her.

And, as he stood there, watching her, he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Later that evening, Hermione sat in one of the large armchairs, ostensibly studying for her NEWTs. In truth, she was focused on the dark man sitting at the corner desk, once again marking papers.

The Dark never truly leaves you… it is always a part of you…the Call can be resisted, but not at all times…

She had seen his face when they entered the Head Girl's rooms – he had sensed the book before she had even brought it out of its hiding place. And then, when he had spoken of how potent the book was… she had had the strangest feeling that he was sensing the Call. Sensing the Call as he sat there, right in front of her. She shivered slightly in remembrance. And then - his reaction when she had read a bit of the text… Inconceivably, he had apologized to her – after a fashion – for getting angry. My anger was directed at myself, not you, Hermione. A most un-Snapelike response.

She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, carefully keeping her head turned towards her book. He was wearing a simple black shirt, the sleeves rolled up. She watched surreptitiously as he raised his left hand, pushing a lock of limp hair back behind his ear, exposing the Dark Mark on the inside of his forearm. The evening before it had burned black; but, as he wasn't being called, it currently resembled a brilliant red tattoo. A brilliant, blood red tattoo.

Like the ink in Viktor's Book of the Blood, she thought. She was still dreadfully curious about the passage she had read. Payment offered, Blood accepted. What did it mean? She had tried to decipher the rest of the page, but it was too difficult to read upside down. And then, Snape had slammed the book shut without answering her question. She wondered, again, why that one phrase had popped out at her so sharply. Perhaps later, after he was finished marking the essays, she could ask again…

With a sigh, she looked back at the text in front of her. It was so much to digest… the Call of the Blood. Snape, turning his back on it… controlling it… constantly tempted by it…

I am able to avoid answering it. On most occasions. When emotions run high, however…

When emotions run high… he was usually so calm, his voice dangerously soft even when reprimanding students. She could count on one hand the number of occasions that she had seen Snape lose his iron control over his emotions. She gasped suddenly, sneaking a glance at Snape to be sure he hadn't heard. The Shrieking Shack… of course. The Call of the Blood… his old nemesis Sirius Black, a convicted murderer, she had seen how badly he had wanted to kill the man. "Give me a reason. Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will." Snape had been fighting the Call… no wonder he had come so unhinged when Sirius escaped… the Call left unanswered, the prisoner missing… nothing to show for his restraint. When emotions run high…

She snuck another glance at him. She remembered how he had looked that night… the mad glint in his eyes… seemingly beyond reason… it made so much sense, now. Although, unlike her observation concerning his classroom demeanor, she rather doubted that she would mention her newfound realization to him. She didn't fancy reminding him of her own role in that evening's events.

"Is there some purpose behind this near-constant scrutiny, Miss Granger?" Snape said, looking up from the essay he was grading. Damn, how does the man do that? she wondered irritably. He smirked at her, as if hearing her unspoken thought. Letting out an annoyed breath, she frowned.

"How do you do that?"

He lifted one eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. "I am a spy, Hermione. It is… in the job description, you might say." Sighing he put down his quill and sat back, regarding her silently for a moment. "Ask the question, Hermione."

She froze, unsure what he was referring to. Finally, she asked, "Which one?"

She was rewarded by a soft chuckle. He shook his head and stood, moving to sit in the chair opposite hers. She watched as he walked, admiring his lithe body, the way he seemed to flow across the room… she had thought, prior to this weekend, that the effect was entirely due to his voluminous robes. But Lavender and Parvati had been correct… it was simply the way the man moved. Elegant and fluid… a grace of movement that did not at all diminish his commanding presence…

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she realized she had been staring. She felt her cheeks redden, but she refused to look away. Instead, she met his eyes and said again, "Which question?"

He smiled faintly and said, "I am certain there are several questions you are just bursting to ask me, but the one which I am referring to is the one you asked this morning. Concerning what you saw in the Book of the Blood."

She gazed at him expectantly. "Well? What did it mean? Payment offered, Blood accepted. Is it a ritual of some sort?"

"Yes."

She sat silently for a moment before she realized that he meant to say nothing more. She pursed her lips together in annoyance and said, "Don't you get tired of this game?"

"No." His eyes glinted in amusement and she sighed again.

"You're impossible, you know that? Never mind, don't answer," she said, not able to hold back a smile. He really could be rather charming… Gods, I can't wait to tell Harry that… I can imagine the sounds he'll make then! "All right – what sort of ritual is it?"

He sat forward then, his face suddenly serious as he regarded her. "It is a blood ritual – a means of ending a… confrontation… between two followers of the Blood." He paused for a moment, studying his hands. He continued without raising his eyes. "The… defeated party is required to offer a payment to the victor. Of course, in a blood ritual, the payment offered is blood. The Call demands it. Thus – Blood accepted as payment. Payment offered, Blood accepted. It is an ancient tradition… the words serve as an incantation of sorts, satisfying the Call." He raised his head then, his black eyes boring into hers. "The payment must be fulfilled, when the words are spoken."

"The payment… blood… I guess that's usually-"

"Death, yes. It's the only thing that will truly satisfy the Call… it will compel the victor to take the other's life. When that occurs, it is referred to as the Blood Rites. That was the particular ritual you had the misfortune to read about earlier today. It is…" he stopped for a moment before continuing in a carefully neutral voice, "It is difficult, to resist it. Extremely difficult. It is possible to… simply draw the blood of the other, instead – without taking the man's life. But it takes a great deal of will."

"You… have you…" her voice trailed off. Of course he had… he had told her that night in his office. His father… a… confrontation… between two followers of the Blood.

Each step seems but a small one.

He sat back thoughtfully. "I see you answered your own question. But I will elaborate, to satisfy your overly developed sense of curiosity. Yes, I performed the Blood Rites on my father. And I still bear the scar from those Rites." Her eyes flicked to his chest, remembering the long thin scar across his breastbone. "Yes – I was aware of your scrutiny yesterday evening."

"The other…" She swallowed, unsure of whether or not to continue. Then she decided to take advantage of his unexpected talkativeness. "There are other scars you have, that I saw last night. Some of them were from curses, I could tell, but others…"

He stared at her silently for a moment before saying flatly, "There are many blood rituals. Many blood magics. I do not intend to discuss them all with you this evening, Miss Granger."

They sat quietly until he finally said, "The hour is growing late, Hermione, and I have an early morning class tomorrow."

She nodded. "I think I'll stay up a bit longer, and read…" He gave her a penetrating look before standing and walking into the bedroom. She stared after him thoughtfully. Her fiancé. Her… guide… through the Dark Arts. A very complicated man…

Shaking her head, she applied herself once again to her Transfiguration textbook. Transfiguration… in the back of her mind, she had been contemplating what field to apprentice in after her NEWTs. She was interested in all of them, which made it difficult to decide. She had already ruled out Potions: there were few more unequal partnerships than that of Master and Apprentice. And the entire point of all this studying was to avoid that inequality with the man she would be marrying. So – Potions was out.

Charms… she was intrigued by Charms, and still remembered the thrill when she had been the first in the class to successfully make her feather float into the air. Arithmancy, while interesting, didn't hold the same thrall for her. Astronomy was too… Muggle, for lack of a better term. And then Transfiguration… that was an exciting field. And challenging. Not to mention, she was very comfortable working with Professor McGonagall.

All of a sudden, something else occurred to her. This entire mad situation… wouldn't it be better to apprentice herself to an Order member? She would have less to worry about as far as verbal slips went, and without a doubt McGonagall had already been informed of the situation between her and Severus. She relaxed, some of the tension leaving her, as she realized her decision was made. She would request a meeting with Professor McGonagall as soon as possible to apply for an apprenticeship.

Smiling, she closed her book and placed it on the table. Professor Snape was right – it was late. And sleep beckoned.

The bedroom was almost completely dark when she entered, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. One candle was lit on a far wall, and she stifled a giggle when her mind compared it to a Muggle nightlight. By the even breathing coming from the cot, she surmised that Professor Snape was already asleep. She crept silently to the bathroom and considerately cast a silencing charm before turning on the sink and brushing her teeth.

As she slid beneath the covers, mentally congratulating herself for not awakening him, she was startled by his silky voice. "I thought you were going to study further, Hermione." She looked in his direction, seeing only a dark shadow where his body lay. She had extinguished the candle before climbing onto the bed.

"I decided to follow your advice. It is getting late… and… well, this whole sleep thing is still a novelty to me right now, I suppose," she said a trifle sadly, turning on her side to face him in the darkness.

He made a noncommittal noise and, to her mild surprise, reached out to touch the hand that was closest to him. The darkness giving her courage, she grasped his hand, twining her fingers in his. His palm was warm and smooth, the fingers slender with a smattering of calluses at the tips. She relaxed as his thumb slowly rubbed the side of her hand, and her eyes slid shut. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Sleep, Hermione."

~*~*~*~*

It was a dream, and Hermione knew it was a dream. Even in her dream state, she was elated… it had been so long since she had had a normal dream…

She and Ron were sitting outside by the lake, watching the Great Squid as it swam by under the dark water, causing ripples to run along the surface. The sun glinted off the tiny waves, making the water sparkle.

"I miss you, 'Mione. I hope Snape is treating you right."

"I know you never liked him, Ron, but he's trying. Truly, he is," Hermione said, looking at the red-haired man beseechingly. "And he can protect me… I don't have to worry about anything happening like what happened to you."

"I understand, Hermione. And… if he can keep you safe, then I promise you I will like him." Ron looked at her then, smiling faintly.

"Thanks, Ron – that means a lot to hear you say that," Hermione said, looking up into his blue eyes, which now shone with an indecipherable emotion. "What… what is it, Ron?"

He touched her cheek tenderly and gave her a small, sad smile. "If he can keep you safe, I'll like him. But… if he can make you happy, I'll love him."

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A/N: I hope you liked the chapter! More information on the Call of the Blood… bits and pieces will continue to come out as the story progresses. Please review and let me know how I'm doing! Scars is now complete, so this is the only story on my plate at the moment – I hope to update more often now. I'll aim for twice a week, and promise once a week (barring any strange occurrences in my "real life").  But, as always – the muses are fed by reviews, and I'm an admitted review whore, so please – feedback! Concrit *is* welcome.

Serpens Potio – Thank you for the review! I gladly accept your butterbeer. He's realizing that he will have to be even more careful with his emotional seduction in this chapter.

Athena Linborn – Yes, it is very much like drugs… except in this case they have to contend with both an internal and external force.

The Perfectly Imperfect – Ron sent in the marriage proposal before going to Hogsmeade – but Hermione didn't want him to buy a ring (the Weasley money situation)… there will be more on that later in the story. I'm glad you liked the Call of the Blood… more in this chapter.

Imhilien – Thank you! I'm glad you found the Unforgivable explanation interesting.

Louise Luvgood – Now, you know I'm not going to give it away that easily... you'll have to read and find out if it's the early pulls of the Call or just her subconscious!

Dru – Another RAFO (Read and Find Out) concerning the third person who turned their back on the Call.

Smothered Light – Thank you – I'm glad you think Snape is in character… I'm trying ;)

Sabriel – I'm flattered, and I completely understand… there are so many fics out there, and so few "good" ones… I'm glad you think mine is one of the "good" ones.

Anarane Anwamane, Taysa, Ezmerelda, babygidgurl, Jana, Fleria, Excessivelyperky, – Thank you so much for reviewing!