Chapter Fourteen
The funny thing about loving someone Hermione discovered was that it was something that one had to consciously do every day. With some people that was easy, but if there was one word that described Severus Snape it was not easy. Difficult was a more apt word. Obstinate, cantankerous, sometimes petulant, and often irritable were other descriptions that came to her mind. Her first night back had been wonderful; the first time she had felt something other than desolation since Ron's death. But if she thought that things were going to be easy after that she was sorely mistaken.
"Where have you been this late?" he demanded of her one night as she returned from a nasty encounter with some young Death Eater wannabes. They had been muggle baiting and she had been asked to help sort out things and invent a story that would be plausible to muggle authorities, but not before one of them had punched her in the nose.
"I shouldn't have to remind you that I am no longer one of your students," she said angrily, "and I was away making sure that your friends didn't kill any more muggles."
"At this time of night?"
"At whatever time it's needed," she spat, irritated by his tone. It had been a long day and she was not in the mood to be interrogated. "I'm fighting this war too and I will not be grilled every time I return home a little late."
She didn't wait for his answer but stormed into the bedroom. The dull ache in her head from being hit had suddenly developed into a sharp throbbing. Taking a double dose of pain-relief potion she retreated to bed.
He didn't apologize the next morning but then Hermione wasn't sure if he even knew the words "I'm sorry." A week later, however, when she returned from Order business she found a glass of firewhiskey waiting for her. A small smile touched her lips at the gesture. She didn't like firewhiskey but it was the thought that counted and she appreciated his attempts. She downed the contents of the glass, ignoring the burning in her throat and her watering eyes. Creeping into the bedroom, she tried not to wake Severus, but as she climbed into bed he stirred.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Just two more people dead for no other reason than that they were muggles," she answered, her voice cracking with emotion. Once again she had had to invent an explanation to tell the police and the poor people's family. It drained her and she harbored an unreasonable fear that the next time it would be her own family despite the special measures that had been taken for them.
He didn't say anything but wrapped his arms around her, letting her cry into his shoulder. She calmed down after a few minutes.
"Thank you," she sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"Your sniveling has mussed my shirt," was his only response. She chuckled softly and reached for her wand, drying his nightshirt with a quick wave. Settling down in the bed next to him, she feared sleep wouldn't come easily. Images of the night coupled with the recurring dream about Ron haunted her. But the firewhiskey combined with Severus lightly stroking her arm helped to lull her into a deep, if not peaceful, sleep.
The next night they both attended yet another Order meeting. The war seemed to progressively consume her life every day. She hardly had time for her apprenticeship anymore, always traveling around helping to move targeted families to safety or trying to protect helpless muggles. Professor McGonagall understood, of course, as she was often busy with the same things, as well as her regular classes at Hogwarts.
But Hermione longed for the day when life would go back to normal—whatever normal turned out to be, though she imagined it would involve her teaching at Hogwarts during the school year and conducting research in the summers, sitting on the couch and discussing Potions with Severus, and laughing with Harry again, all the hopes and dreams that had been pushed to the side because of this war.
"Is that everything?" Dumbledore asked, addressing the group in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. Hermione hoped so. It had been another long meeting.
"I have something to add," Harry said, standing. She sensed Severus tensing beside her and she laid a hand on his arm to calm him. He hated having to listen to Harry.
"I've been having dreams again," Harry admitted to the group.
"That wouldn't be a problem if he would bloody learn Occlumency, the arrogant twit!" Severus snarled under his breath.
"Ssshhh," Hermione quieted him.
"…discussed the importance of blocking your mind," she heard Dumbledore finish telling her friend.
"I know, I know," he assured them, "But since Ron's death it's been harder to control my emotions. Besides this time I learned something important."
"What's that?" Bill Weasley asked from the back of the room.
"He suspects Snape."
The room fell silent as every member registered the significance of that simple statement. Hermione grasped for Severus' hand but he brushed her away, standing up abruptly.
"How do you know that Potter?" he asked angrily.
"I saw him talking to Wormtail about your loyalty. He promised him a large reward if he could bring him evidence of your defection."
"There is no evidence," Severus said smugly.
"Wormtail wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't have something," Harry retorted. The rest of the group just sat staring and watching the argument before them unfold.
"Then I will have to do something to prove myself a faithful servant," he said silkily, "Perhaps I could offer you to the Dark Lord. You are anxious for the final battle, to at last prove yourself against him, aren't you?"
Harry's fists clenched at his sides and his face turned a dark shade of red. Hermione could see it was taking everything in him to control his anger. Several years later and he still barely could control his fierce temper—especially when it came to Snape.
"That's enough," Dumbledore said sharply and with authority. The two men looked over at him. Harry looked chastised but Severus continued glaring.
"It's late, but we'll mull this over until our next meeting two days from now," Dumbledore continued, dismissing them. The room dissolved into the noise of chairs being put away and casual conversation. Hermione rose quickly to follow Severus as he stalked out of the room, but Harry caught her first.
"I'm not lying, Hermione," he told her.
"I know, I know," she assured him. She believed him but Severus was a different matter. This wasn't the first time he had allowed his prejudices regarding Harry to cloud his better judgment. As an accomplished Occlumens he was able to rigidly control his emotions, but for all his training and practice, his discipline broke down whenever he was faced with a Potter.
"You have to convince him," Harry pleaded with her, "I won't have anymore blood on my hands, no more deaths on my conscience if I can help it, Hermione—even Snape's."
"I will," she said as she rushed from the room, "I will."
She left the kitchen, hoping that Severus was waiting in the foyer for her, but he wasn't there. Opening the door to the outside, she realized with chagrin that he had left without her. The painting of Mrs. Black began wailing at the noise she had made in her hurry. Running out the door, she left the wild ranting about mudbloods and traitors for Harry and the others to worry about.
She arrived back at Hogwarts to find Severus sitting in his armchair, drinking his firewhiskey and staring into the fire.
"You can't go back," she said, standing behind the couch regarding him, "If he…"
"Don't presume to tell me what I can and cannot do," he said sharply, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"But if what Harry said is right then you are in danger," she protested.
"Potter is an arrogant ass who no doubt is jealous of the important role I play in the Order while he stays at home playing children's games," he said, derision dripping from his voice. His knuckled whitened as he increased his grip on his glass and his black hair hung lankly in his face. Hermione had only ever seen him so angry once before—when he had confronted Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack in her third year.
"Is that what you think?" she asked angrily, her eyes flashing dangerously, "Trying to protect innocent muggles and wizarding families from attack are children's games? You want to know what I think? I think you're angry because the moment you've been dreading has finally arrived. You can no longer be useful to either side; your spy games are over and you've gained nothing in their ending. And that terrifies you."
His eyes narrowed with every word she spoke. Standing up from his chair, he threw the whiskey in his hand into the fire. Glass shattered everywhere and the flames exploded as the alcohol hit them. Hermione took a step back in shock.
"This does not concern you," he snarled threateningly, pronouncing each word slowly.
"Of course it does," she said vehemently, "I'm your wife." They stood there staring at each other a few moments more, both waiting for the other to make a move, to dare speak another angry word. Finally Hermione turned and silently went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Sitting on the bed, angry tears made their way down her face. This was an impossible situation. If he returned to Voldemort then he took the chance of being discovered as a spy and in consequence he faced certain death. But if he was cautious then he would become useless to the Order, being forced to stay in hiding like Sirius had. He could handle it; he wasn't reckless like Sirius, but when she thought it over she understood why he was so frustrated and angry. He had long ago given up on people accepting him because they liked him; his demeanor towards most illustrated that. But, she thought, he gained begrudging approval because he was useful and that was about to be taken from him as well.