A/N: Had two hours of undisturbed piece. Hope you enjoy the result. J

P.S: Black Rose – read your review just now and wanted to tell you that, strange as it may sound, I was listening to "Hallelujah" when I wrote the last chapter – alas, sung by Leonard Cohen. ;-)

Chapter 31: Trust and Betrayal

Ron was poking listlessly at the flickering flames that threatened to die some time during the next minutes if not fed. Harry and Hermione were surrounded by red hair, Ginny still asleep with her head resting on the table behind them, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting beside them on creaky old chairs, their feet resting in front of the fire. Their voices were hushed, yet the tension had slipped out through one of the leaky windows quite a while ago.

"I have to admit that I never liked him", Mrs. Weasley sad with a timid and apologetic smile. "All this black and the pale face … and he never really eats anything!"

That last bit seemed to be the most disturbing observation for her.

"And it probably didn't help that Bill always told horrible stories about him when he came home during the holidays."

Gingerly Mr. Weasley patted his wife's back before focusing his gaze back on Harry.

"I don't think there is anyone in the Order – with the exception of Professor Dumbledore, of course – who felt comfortable around him. I remember Tonks trying to persuade him to stay over for dinner in the beginning, but …"

Here he blushed a little and lowered his gaze momentarily.

"I'm afraid the reactions from the rest of the group weren't exactly … encouraging."

"Well, he is not the kind of person you'd want to spend your evenings with", Harry said, urging his muscles into a forced smile.

Mr. Weasley smiled back, Hermione, however, shot him an irate look.

"Oh, come on, Hermione", he said in a steady voice. "Yes, we saw that he had an unhappy childhood, an unhappy life, in fact. Yes, something horrible happened to him here today, something that no one should have to endure, and yes, I do feel pity for him. But that doesn't mean that I suddenly have to like him."

It looked like she was going to answer, but then she just swallowed once before redirecting her gaze into the flames that were slowly responding to Ron's persistent prodding.

"I guess then it's just me who has to think about dispensing her trust and dislikes more carefully in the future."

And suddenly he understood. This was not really about Snape. This was about Dumbledore. For Hermione, in fact for most of the others, the shock had to be much more intense than for him. After the events of the summer, after Sirius' death and Dumbledore's subsequent revelations, his picture of the headmaster had undergone a drastic change. He knew that the old wizard was a fierce fighter, a cunning strategist who was able to sacrifice lives for the sake of the higher cause - and who made mistakes, whose judgement was far from infallible. He had already adjusted his view of the world, had decided to place his trust in his friends rather than in deceptively responsible adults. Hermione hadn't. He could still remember what she had said last year:

"If we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone."

Carefully he placed an arm around her shoulder and held her tight.

"People make mistakes and disappoint you, Hermione. They don't do it on purpose, but they do it. The only way to cope with it is to learn from it, adjust your actions and move on. It's not the end of the world."

She relaxed a little, then buried her face against his shoulder and started to weep silently. Mrs. Weasley watched the two of them with wet eyes herself.

"How did you grow-up so fast?" she asked Harry with a sad little smile.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The blanket lay crumpled at his feet. His elbows were resting on his knees and he pressed his hands against his head as if to make sure that his mind wouldn't explode. Minerva McGonagall regarded him with a look of deep concern. After a long internal battle she had decided to put some room between herself and his randomly escaping memories and until now she hadn't been able to figure out if that had been a good idea. Watching him from her own chair on the other side of the fireplace, she decided that the silence had lasted long enough.

"If you want, I can go to the hospital wing and ask Poppy for a sleeping draft."

His head shot up and he looked at her with slightly bloodshot eyes.

"Does she know?"

Slowly she shook her head.

"No. Nobody knows but me."

In obvious relief he let out a breath they both hadn't realised he was holding.

"Then I would like to keep it that way. Besides, if I wanted a sleeping draft, I would turn to my own supply."

That last bit had been delivered with at least some part of his usual asperity and she found herself daring to show a little smile. It soon faded, though, when she saw him bury his head in his hands again and clawing at his scalp with such ferocity she knew it was only a matter of time until he did some serious damage.

"Severus." She reached across the faded crimson rug to rest a hand on his arm. "Let me help you."

"How?" he muttered, still kneading his head. "How do you want to make this stop? How do you want to change what has happened?"

She resisted the urge of getting up and holding him again. She was not prepared for the onslaught of mental fragments that would undoubtedly meet her and it would surely do no good to him. So she just kept on stroking his arm.

"I wish I could change what has happened", she whispered, feeling tears that where threatening to conquer her usually so stern voice rising in her throat. "Not just tonight, but many years ago. I wish I could go back and take different choices, for my life as well as for yours. But I can't. I have to live with the decisions that I took and with the person I have become. And so do you."

He snorted, but only half-heartedly.

"That is not exactly consoling, you know?"

"But it should be", she said, a little more austere than she had intended. "From a lonely and mistreated child you have managed to grow into …"

"A lonely and mistreated man", he cut her short. "Only I have succeeded in adding loathed, mistrusted, backstabbing and weak to the initial mix. Every single bloody turn I took led me a little bit further down a road I never wanted to follow and I haven't even learned from experience. People close to me either betray me or I betray them."

In one single move that deceived her true age she was beside him, dragging him out of the chair, pulling his hands away from his untidy hair and facing him with the stern look students of all houses had come to fear.

"Do you think I have betrayed you? Or that I ever will?" she yelled at him.

He looked at her, momentarily stunned, and all he could do was shake his head.

"And have you ever betrayed me?"

His eyes grew bigger and she knew he was watching a mental imagine, a recollection of some horrible moments in his past, warped even further by his current pain.

"You offered me help, treated me with kindness on so many occasions … and I refused your help. I deliberately choose the darkness when you offered light. Is that not betrayal?"

His voice was so small that she was surprised to still see him towering over her. That voice belonged to a frightened twelve-year old boy. And somewhere behind the obsidian darkness she could still see that child, stretching out his hands, pleading for help.

"No, Severus, it is not. You had to find your way in a world that has taught you distorted lessons about honour, debt and power, and you did so as best as you could. Looking back and seeing the better choice is easy. Making a choice in the first place is the hardest thing in the world. Yet you did it. You made your choices whenever it was necessary. You never gave in. You never let other people decide your destiny. So don't you ever tell me again that you are weak!"

She was shaking with anger – anger at him, for his self-loathing; anger at herself, for not being able to offer anything better than yelling; anger at the people who had done this to him.

"But however hard I try, it is never enough", he whispered, his eyes still clinging to hers. "I hurt and appal people wherever I go. Lucius, Narcissa, Ally, Albus …"

"Albus Dumbledore is a very wise, very powerful and very kind man."

She had to fight to keep her voice steady.

"And you know I would go through the fire for him, have done so already, in fact. But he is not infallible. He makes mistakes. He misjudges. I just didn't know he was able of mistreating people."

Gently she brushed his cheek with her hand and he leaned into the touch ever so slightly.

"Maybe it's me."

This time his voice was almost inaudible.

"Somehow all the people I let come close turn out their darkest side. When I met Lucius he was gentle, sympathetic. Alice would never have thought about going into battle, if not for me. Even that holy child, Potter, gets wrathful and aggressive around me. And now Albus …"

She grabbed his face with both hands and forced him to look at her.

"Albus has been like this long before you got to know him and the war has just sharpened some of his … let's say … less benign qualities. Lucius Malfoy would have gone down that road with or without you and, to tell you the truth, I think he would have been dead by now if not for you. And Alice McErlaine became an Auror, because she was incredibly talented and wanted to become one. She didn't do it to follow Frank Longbottom and she didn't do it to save you or to get back at you. As for Harry Potter …"

She flinched. Maybe it was because she was holding his face in her hands. Maybe her defences were weakened by her anger and confusion. Before her inner eye she saw a much younger Severus Snape fight with a slightly stout girl. She was crying when she stormed away, leaving the teenager flustered and confused. Harry appeared, also yelling, a dark passion burning in his eyes. Harry's face morphed into that of James Potter, smiling evilly, his wand stretched out and pointing.

Her first instinct was to let go, to interrupt the physical contact. Against better judgement she held on, riding that wave of anguish and shame with him until it ebbed away. His eyes were still closed when she opened hers again.

"Harry is a teenager", she went on, trying to sound as if nothing had happened. "A teenager with an unreasonable and dreadful amount of responsibilities on his shoulder and a destiny that he never asked for. And he is alone, more alone than either he or Albus dare to see. Lone wolves may recognise each other, but they don't get along well."

When he opened his eyes she thought she saw a little spark somewhere in that fathomless black. He was still trembling slightly, yet his hands were no longer clenched into fists, his shoulders had lost a little bit of their tension.

"You are strong", she told him, hoping that he would be able to feel her sincerity. "You always have been. This is not the end, Severus, I promise. Whatever help you need, whichever way you want to go, I will be there for you, because I believe in you. I – believe – in – you."

When the tears started to flow she just held him, let the pictures wash over her, faces, sounds and feelings. It would get better. They would see this through. She believed in that – and in him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was nearly dawn when they finally decided to go to bed.

"We won't be much of a help for anyone, if we can't keep our eyes open", Ron pointed out as he shouldered his sister. Ginny murmured something incoherently, close to waking up, but not close enough. With a little sigh she rested her dangling head against Ron's back and curled his hands into his cloak.

Harry pulled a puffy-eyed Hermione to her feet and led her off towards the stairs to their bedrooms. As they passed through the hall the entrance door opened quietly, revealing a shivering Tonks, closely followed by an equally frozen Lupin. Both their lips were blue from the cold and snow clung to their cloaks and hair.

Mrs. Weasley came bustling out of the kitchen, showering them with sympathy and motherly advice as to how to get their feet warm again in no time. Mr. Weasley had already set a kettle onto the fire and brought two blankets.

Harry and Lupin exchanged a look, Lupin shaking his head sadly. Then the teens started their way up the stairs. Somehow they didn't feel like parting, especially Hermione, who still seemed close to tears, so they all settled down in the boy's bedroom, Ron and Ginny in one bed, Harry and Hermione in the other one.

The contents of Harry's trunk were still scattered around the room from his frantic search for his invisibility cloak and even though they were not in the mood for cleaning up, they had to at least clear the beds. With Ginny snoring happily on Ron's halfway orderly bed the other three snatched up socks, chocolate frog cards, several jumpers and pieces of parchment. When Harry carried them over to his trunk, planning on just dropping them there unceremoniously, something slipped from his grip. Cursing he threw the rest of his load into the open trunk before he bent down and to retrieve his lost possession. It was the Marauder's Map and it had unfolded itself slightly in the process of falling. Harry frowned. Hermione had already nestled herself under the sheets and watched him out of heavy-lidded eyes. Slowly he picked the map up and, following a sudden impulse, pulled his wand out of his pocket and tapped the map with the tip.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The familiar lines unfurled on the yellow parchment, revealing corridors, classrooms, towers. Mr. Filch was patrolling the dungeons, Mrs. Norris in his wake. Madame Pomfrey was fast asleep in her private room beside the hospital wing. And Professor McGonagall – was not alone.