"Good morning, everyone," Hermione greeted the teachers as she walked over to the table in Great Hall. Pulling out a chair between Professors Flitwick and Vector, she immediately began to pile her plate with food as everyone present gave their obligatory replies.
Great Hall was lacking its usual decoration of the house colors. The blank walls looked drab, and the nearly empty room echoed loud voices as well as any cavern. Any outsider would assume that this atmosphere wouldn't be conducive to a comfortable meal, but Hogwarts once more defied expectations. With a circular table in the center of the room, its width large enough only to accommodate the staff members and Hermione, meals seemed more intimate than with hundreds of students.
"So, Hermione," Professor Sprout started as she chose a kipper from the heaping plate before her, "did you have any trouble finding the dittany for your project?"
Hermione swallowed the pumpkin juice she'd been drinking and wiped her mouth on her napkin. "Ah, yes, Greenhouse Three, next to the shrivelfig?"
"That's it."
"A project?" Madam Pince asked. "My dear, didn't you get your fill of those while you were a student?"
The table shared a laugh, causing Hermione to blush. "Well, I'm trying to get a bit ahead for next year. I don't want to fall behind the others in the apprenticeship program."
"Oh, Irma didn't mean anything by it," Flitwick chimed. "Besides, stuck in something like that, I'll be surprised if you won't be bored out of your mind."
"Why?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Well, the apprenticeship won't exactly cater to the level of education you've been exposed to."
"Not that there's anything wrong with their program, of course," Madam Pomfrey cut in at Hermione's frown. "I attended the program and am now quite capable, if I do say so myself."
"And if she wants to be more than capable?"
Hermione resisted the urge to glare at Snape as he swept into the room. The other teachers, however, seemed accustomed to his sardonic manner.
"Surely you aren't suggesting that there is a witch or wizard in the world more competent than our dear Poppy?" Dumbledore said, feigning amazement.
Snape sat at a seat directly across the circular table from Hermione, pausing to study the food before him before beginning to heap eggs onto his plate. "Perish the thought, Albus." He eyed a plate of sausages to his right contemplatively, as if considering whether or not they were worth the stretch.
Not realizing Snape's dilemma, Madam Pomfrey laughed, and then reached for the sausages just before Snape did. No one but Hermione noticed the childish flash of dejection cross his face as his desired treat of meat moved further down the table away from him. She snorted in an effort to keep her laughter under control, and he looked up at her, quirking his eyebrow at her reaction. It was enough to cause Hermione to burst into gales of laughter, and then begin choking on her food. All the other professors at the table looked at her curiously, Flitwick reaching out and patting her on the back gingerly. Snape, however, had to exercise all his self-control not to join her in laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. Nevertheless, he couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching up in a small smirk.
Hermione finally got her breathing under control after downing the glass of water in front of her. Unwilling to believe her and Snape had just had a moment, she avoided his stare as she asked "Wait, what's wrong with their program?"
"Well," Flitwick considered as he chewed slowly, "It's mainly for witches who have a small aptitude for healing, or show a desire to learn how to do so. Mostly hedgewitches and the like."
"Hedgewitches?"
"Witches with a small amount of magical power but a proficiency or interest in Muggle medicine," Pomfrey supplied.
"Are there any other options?" Hermione asked, looking worried.
"Well…" Sprout mused. "There's always the Wetherell University of Medicine in Holyhead, Wales. If you were leaning more toward Potions, however, there is the Potions Lexicon in Karasjok… Oh, that's in Norway, my dear," Sprout added misinterpreting Hermione's grimace at her second statement.
"Severus, isn't that where you went?" Madam Pomfrey asked the man eating quickly beside her. He looked up at her blankly, his mouth full. Therefore, he could not respond immediately to Dumbledore's next statement.
"Both are fine schools, to be sure… But have you all forgotten that an apprenticeship with a Master in any field holds more weight than attending university alone?"
For the second time in as many minutes, someone at the table choked. However, Pomfrey wore a look of delight as she thumped Snape soundly on the back, ignoring his returned glare of loathing.
"No, no, I don't think that this is a good—"
"Nonsense, Hermione! Severus," Dumbledore said with a familiar twinkle, "surely you must agree that a master such as yourself is far more capable than the detached teachers one would normally find?"
Once more, Hermione had to marvel at how eloquently Dumbledore had laid his trap for Snape. He'd given the proud Potions Master only two choices; agree, and risk consenting to taking on an apprentice, or disagree and admit that he was not adept enough as a master to handle a single student.
However, Snape showed no signs of outward discomfort. "The problem is, Albus, that any Master would be over-qualified to teach a mere student. In fact, even after said student had completed university, it would still be asking the Master to lower his or herself to a level much more suited to common Professors than Masters."
The teachers in the room chuckled, and Dumbledore stood, knocking his chair askew as he began clapping. "Bravo, Severus! Not only have you managed to deify yourself, but you've insulted Miss Granger and everyone else in this room in the same breath!"
Snape, though not finished with his breakfast, stood as well. "It's never hard to do." With an abrupt bow by way of any farewell, he turned and walked away.
Hermione watched his receding figure as he left the room, heading in the direction of the dungeons. "Does he ever actually see the light of day?" She wondered, not even realizing she was speaking out loud.
"Ah, don't trouble yourself over him," Sprout said, reaching for a piece of bacon. "Severus is quite functional when left to his own devices, and you can bet he'll continue on just the way he has been."
"He's really happy like that, tucked away from company and alone?"
"Hermione," Flitwick began kindly, "Severus chose that kind of life."
But was it really his choice? Hermione wondered, this time keeping her thoughts to herself. Looking up, she saw Dumbledore looking at her with a knowing half-smile on his face. "Well, I think I'll be going now. Have a pleasant morning, everyone." The Headmaster rose, his eyes focusing once more on Hermione for a brief second before he too left the Hall.
He knows, she realized. He knows Snape's true story, and he knows I'm having my own doubts about Snape's character. The problem is: do I really want to do anything about it?
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Snape made it no further than a step outside the doorway before collapsing against the wall. Yanking up his left sleeve, he flinched as he saw the black mark burning into his skin. The area surrounding it was reddening, and although he was not currently being called, this was clearly an intentional pain.
Snape shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool stone behind him. He could still hear the teachers in the Hall eating their breakfast, could hear their laughter and the clatter of cutlery. He didn't open his eyes as he heard someone approach; the whole of his being was focused on not crying out as the pain intensified.
"Again? So soon?"
"He's not calling me," Snape muttered to Dumbledore between clenched teeth. "I don't know what he's doing… He may have simply been bored for a few minutes and could think of no better way to pass the time."
Dumbledore put one concerned hand on Snape's shoulder, eyes saddening as Snape shook it off with a growl. "You can't keep doing this, Severus."
"Spare me your inane comments, Albus. You can't afford to stop putting me through this," Snape said savagely. Seeing Dumbledore's look of anguish, he took a deep breath and got control of his emotions. "You and I are both aware that the Order can't afford to lose any of its informants. We barely have enough information to establish a defense."
Dumbledore could say nothing as he sadly watched the man before him double forward, a strangled sound escaping. He knew that any help he offered would be pushed away, and there was no one else Snape would allow to help him.
Unable to retain a standing a position, Snape sank slowly to the floor, shaking from the effort of making no noise as he suffered. His head leaned back once more against the stone behind him, his nose thrusting forward from his face like the last stand of a defeated army. His skin, already pale, looked gray and his eyes were bloodshot.
"You can stop staring, Albus. I can't imagine I'm that attractive right now," Snape said with a short, humourless laugh.
"Oh, child," Dumbledore murmured. "I'm so sorry."
Snape said nothing, considering Dumbledore with thoughtful eyes. Dumbledore again felt that those dark eyes were doing so much more than looking at him; they were judging Dumbledore's sincerity, they were testing his loyalty, both to Snape and to the Order. With a short nod, Snape closed his eyes and leaned his head back, effectively ending the conversation but leaving Dumbledore feeling as though Snape had resigned to making himself a human sacrifice.
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"No, Miss Granger, you mustn't force this," Professor McGonagall said gently to a red faced Hermione.
Hermione, not knowing what to do with so much free time, had gone to McGonagall and begged to begin Animagus lessons. McGonagall had at first protested; surely Hermione had enough to do as it was?
But in actuality, Hermione had several hours a day to herself, and with nothing to do, she could feel herself getting restless.
So here she stood now, wearing herself out because she couldn't handle not doing anything. It reeked of masochism, even to her.
"No, dear, just relax. You're not going to accomplish anything when you're this tense."
Hermione stopped, breathing heavily despite the lack of physical movement on her part. "All this work and it's only to see if my mind is capable?"
"Well, it's not as if just any wizard can become an Animagus with some concentration and hard work. If it were, there wouldn't be near as few Animagi as there are."
Hermione staggered, and McGonagall instantly sprang forward to help her regain her balance. When Hermione was safely seated, McGonagall pulled a slab of chocolate from a drawer.
"I should have realized you'd be exhausted after that. Unfortunately," McGonagall said as she offered Hermione the chocolate, "I'm not certain you are physically capable of being able to transfigure yourself. If you could, we would have seen some sign by now… I'm sorry, you can't be an Animagus."
"What!" Hermione cried as she dropped her chocolate and shot to her feet. "You can't be serious!"
"Dear, we all have our limits. You've just reached yours."
"No." said Hermione decisively. "No, I'm just not trying hard enough. I'll try harder."
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, but McGonagall gently laid her hand on Hermione's arm, breaking her concentration. "Let it go, Hermione. Just let it go."
"I can't!"
"Hermione, there you are!"
Professor Sprout bustled into the room, nodding to McGonagall. "I've been looking for Hermione for quite some time now and one of the paintings mentioned they'd seen her in your office."
Glancing at Hermione, who appeared close to tears, Sprout spoke in surprise. "Goodness, dear, what happened?"
"I can't do it," Hermione whispered, looking down at the ground.
"Can't do what?" Sprout asked in confusion, looking to McGonagall when Hermione remained silent. "Minerva?"
"Hermione has just learned she will be unable to become an Animagus."
"Oh, is that all?" Sprout said dismissively. "I couldn't either, nor Filius, bless his heart. It never stopped him from trying, even though Albus told him time and again it was no use-"
"Actually, Pomona, I think it's something entirely different," McGonagall said pensively. "There's more to this that you're not telling us, isn't there?"
"Well…" Hermione said, feeling a flush of embarrassment at her overreaction. "I'm just not used to failing, that's all."
"Hermione," Sprout said gently, "you're going to have to accept that you can't do everything. Not even Albus has accomplished everything he's ever tried! But it's not the same as failing, and certainly, no one will fault you for not being an Animagus."
But I know I could, Hermione thought to herself even as she nodded and pasted a smile on her face for Sprout and McGonagall's benefit. I just need to study more, that's all.
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After her rather unsettling revelation with McGonagall, Hermione returned to her chambers, throwing herself on the bed. She rolled over to stare at the ceiling, blowing an errant strand of hair away from her mouth.
Oh, she knew she wasn't capable of everything. She'd never have the easy social skills required to prevent her from sounding pompous and haughty. She'd never make the Qudditch team, or even be adequate in not falling off her broomstick. And, however much it bothered her, she'd probably never be accepted to a top Potions school without her professor's recommendation.
But learning had always been the one constant in her life. She caught on to new things quickly, retained her interest long enough to thoroughly research the subject, and then filed away information for later use, rarely forgetting anything important. Hermione had always had exceptional powers of memory and concentration, and despite all her faults, she clung to these as constants to set her apart from all others. But now…
She couldn't just give up on this. If she did, it would be admitting something she didn't want to ever do: there was nothing she was truly great at.
She had nothing to fall back on if she couldn't rely on her superior intelligence. She knew this, had known it for years. It was because of this undeniable fact that she never missed a chance to learn, to better herself in the only way she knew how.
Sitting up suddenly, Hermione went over to her dresser, reaching into a drawer that, rather than being filled with clothes, was stuffed with random photos and papers.
"Oh, where are you…" Hermione muttered as she tossed the papers haphazardly around. Empty-handed, she pushed the drawer closed and then focused on a chest in the corner of the room.
Knocking the lid back against the wall with a satisfying thump, Hermione began to rummage through this as well.
Finally, her hand closed around something, and with a triumphant exclamation she pulled it free and examined the object she now held.
A journal. Muggle-made, so Hermione knew that there were no extraordinary beings imprisoned inside, but mostly unremarkable. Sitting back on her heels, she flipped through the blank pages, watching the cream coloured pages thoughtfully.
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Severus Snape hadn't been well recently. Though his meetings with the Dark Lord, as he was required to call him, had become less frequent, the pain of the Dark Mark increased steadily. It was never any less than a dull ache these days, and sometimes the pain would skyrocket until he was sure he would pass out.
Not to mention the dreams, he thought with a scowl. For weeks now, they had been a constant interruption to his meager hours of sleep. Always the same, he mused. Always the night he was first initiated into the Death Eaters.
But these weren't things he had any intention of sharing. He had never been the type of person who felt the need to confide in anyone, particularly those he deemed lesser than himself.
It was unfortunate that the majority of the wizarding world occupied this category.
In any case, Snape had grown accustomed to solitude, and so he was less than pleased when Dumbledore imparted the knowledge that Remus Lupin would arriving at Hogwarts within a fortnight, even less so when Sirius Black was included in this figure.
In an effort to have everything necessary to avoid all trips out of the sanctuary of his quarters, Snape was on his way to the Library. The Dark Lord had requested he find information on an anodyne but rare plant, and Dumbledore had insisted he find said information. Dumbledore had hoped that when Voldemort had more information about the plant, he would reveal what he planned to use it for.
Snape briefly considered simply asking Pomona Sprout; however, this would definitely involve an amount of conversation he wasn't about to participate in. No, better to do it alone.
Entering the library, he could barely prevent his lip from curling when he saw Hermione sitting at a desk near the door. She was not reading as he thought she would be, however; there was a pen in her hand and she was chewing thoughtfully on it as she wrote in a black book before her. Disregarding her, he went directly to the shelves that he knew housed the book he needed, frowning when he saw that they were near to empty. Raising his eyes to the ceiling as if it would help him, he resigned himself to having at least one unwanted conversation in the day.
"Irma," he said to the librarian, not troubling with a greeting. "I have need of a certain Herbology book-"
The librarian raised her eyebrows and motioned to Hermione, who was now scribbling feverishly.
Snape said nothing, though he inwardly blanched. With a quick nod to Madam Pince, who retired to her office, he strode over to Hermione.
Despite the fact that he'd made no effort to disguise his approach, he still caused her to jump and drop her quill when he cleared his throat directly beside her.
Snape watched for a moment with amusement as she tried fruitlessly to blot away the ink stains her quill had caused. "Miss Granger, it is one thing to do yourself bodily harm. However, I do think people would be a great deal more upset if they found you were defacing school property with your clumsiness."
Hermione scowled before pulling out her wand and muttering a quick cleaning spell over the table where the ink had spilled. "If you had seen fit to announce your presence, rather than sneaking up on me-"
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I was preoccupied," she said defensively.
"No more so than usual, I'm certain." Snape glanced at the book where it had fell open, reading a few sentences of Hermione's small, cramped handwriting.
-refined really was the only way to describe how she'd looked, just then. Like the most accepting of people, unafraid of any harm to her person. It seemed as though she almost welcomed the respite it could give her. The worst part of the whole thing was the fact that the words seemed to be ingrained in his skull. He could recite everything she had said -- verbatim. The way she'd stared up at him, unafraid-
Hermione snatched the book up, shutting it with a snap. "That's private."
"Being of such a quality as it is, it should remain so."
Far from being offended, Hermione only nodded pensively. "I had no plan to show it to anyone."
Snape was caught between his curiosity and his desire to remain aloof. As it always had, however, his curiosity won out in the end.
"Why bother wasting ink in such a way, then? Surely mastery of something useful would be more prudent?"
"Something flashy like Potions, you mean?" Hermione smiled faintly, a faraway look in her eyes. "Writing is an incredible pastime. There are hundreds of thousands of words in the English language, and they mean nothing until they are strung together. But truly, it's the person who can put them together to elicit a true emotional response that deserves credit of being a master of language."
Snape dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. "As expected, an overly-romantic portrayal. How very Gryffindor of you."
At this, Hermione focused on Snape and frowned. "You asked."
"And I will remember not to do so in the future. Now, I have need of a certain Herbology book, and I have been notified that it is in your possession."
Hermione blinked at how quickly Snape had switched conversation threads. "Which?"
"One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."
"I'll send a house elf over with it as soon as I return to my room, then," Hermione said, picking up her quill. She'd barely touched it to the paper before she looked up again to see the look on Snape's face. "Or I'll return to my room immediately?" she questioned.
"Very good, Miss Granger," Snape said smoothly before sweeping out of the room.
"You're welcome," Hermione said to no one in particular, a half-smile creeping across her face.
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"You wanted to see me, Minerva?"
McGonagall stood before the fire in her office, giving the face floating there a look of chagrin.
"Would it hurt to appear in person?"
"Ah," Dumbledore said wisely, "but that would detract from the drama, no?"
McGonagall sighed. "Albus, I'm worried about Hermione. Was it really fair to leave her no choice but to stay here? She'd just graduated, was about to take her place in the world…"
All the humour had left Dumbledore's face as he replied, "I'm keeping her here so that there will be a world for her to take a place in. You know as well as I do that if this plan is existent, there is more at stake than one witch's life, however brilliant she may be."
"Albus!"
"Don't mistake this for my being indifferent to Hermione's fate," Dumbledore said gently. "But I have to consider more than her-"
"We."
"Pardon?"
"You said 'I'," McGonagall said slowly. "But it is the Order that decides as a group what the next action to take is. Not just you."
Dumbledore smiled, but it was without any real warmth. "Indeed."
Uncomfortable with the whole situation, McGonagall shifted. "Well, then, I'm sorry for troubling you, Albus. But," she entreated, "perhaps explaining the situation to Hermione would be easier than trying to convince her without any real reasons?"
"Perhaps," Dumbledore allowed. "Perhaps it would. But for the moment, she is to know nothing about it."
McGonagall bristled at what Dumbledore's tone implied. "I won't say I understand, because I don't. But I will say nothing without your consent."
"Good. Now then," Dumbledore said with an actual smile, "have you noticed how jumpy Severus has been lately?"
McGonagall shook her head, smiling wryly. "You're as bad as a gossiping fifth year."
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Hermione had set aside her journal, having finished the first few pages of what she hoped would serve as a stress and boredom reliever for the remainder of her stay at Hogwarts. Her appreciation of writing was anything but artificial; rather, she found it amazing how powerful words could be.
Snape must harbor the same feelings, she mused in the quiet of her chambers. She was at her desk, organizing the Herbology texts she had checked out of the library. The lack of the text Snape needed had made no dent in her formidable collection, which she now perused thoughtfully. However, it was only a matter of time before her mind returned to her encounter with Snape earlier.
Surely someone who used words to wound as often as Snape did would understand her preoccupation with language? He depended on his wit and tongue more than any brute force, and it had proven to be highly effective. In fact, though Hermione disagreed with the ends Snape wished to achieve, she had to admire his skill. The understated double meanings, the barely disguised insults, the backhanded compliments… any conversation with Severus Snape was like an exercise in subtlety.
Hermione shook her head, mentally scolding herself for allowing her mind to wander. Professor Sprout would already be in a state of deep shock that Hermione had not devoted every spare minute of her time to completing this project, and Hermione could only hope that this shock would not extend to disappointment.
She worked diligently for the next several hours, pausing only to reach for a new book. There was one plant that she was unable to find, the Mimbulus mimbletonia, and while Sprout had not suggested she research it specifically, Hermione thought its properties might be potent enough to replace other, more rare potions ingredients.
It was likely in the book Snape had requested, Hermione thought irritably. Well, she wouldn't be going back for that anytime soon, and she had checked all the other books in the Herbology section…
Of course! Now that she was no longer a student, she would be allowed in the Restricted Section, or so she assumed. For a moment, she pondered whether to ask a teacher, just to be sure, but the second's thought reminded of her of her school years at Hogwarts. Never had she unreservedly broke Hogwarts rules; there was always an underlying guilt that what she, Ron, and Harry were doing was wrong. But it didn't matter anymore, because now that she had graduate she was a guest in Hogwarts. And, to her knowledge, guests were not denied access to the Restricted Section.
And so, for the second time that day, Hermione went to the Library.
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"Madam Pince?" Hermione called softly. Hearing no one, she walked to the back of the library, faltering as she saw the roped off barriers that had always prevented her from exploring the Restricted Section. Hermione had the strong suspicion that the flimsy-looking ropes were magically enhanced to prevent students from sneaking into the Restricted Section, and it occurred to her that this might extend to anyone who did not belong there. Well, she would soon find out.
Reaching forward with a shaky hand, she unclipped the rope from one end of the pole cautiously, waiting for an alarm to sound or something similar. However, there was nothing but the sound of her quickened breath.
Shaking her head and chuckling at her foolishness, she stepped into the Restricted Section, glancing around at the room. It was considerably smaller than she had supposed it would be, but the shelves here were much different than the regular library. She noticed that some books, rather than being placed with others, were set in small, glass chambers. Others were in what looked to be cages, and the sight was almost absurd enough to send Hermione into a fit of nervous giggles.
She walked slowly through the room, some books catching her interest though her fear of the unknown prevented her from picking any up. Faced with all this knowledge, Hermione felt a thrill, but it also struck her with terror. She could learn so much here, find out more than she was ever intended to know, but would this be a bad thing?
Hermione stopped dead as she stared at the title of the tattered book before her. Becoming Animagi.
She could do it, she was certain. She could take the book, study it, and perhaps show McGonagall that she was capable, more than capable…
Before her sensible side gave her all the reasons why what she was doing was wrong, Hermione grabbed the book and tucked it under her arm. With a new sense of purpose, she walked forward, seeing books with an assortment of rather noxious looking plants on the covers.
Ah, there it was. Reaching for the book in front of her, Hermione felt a sudden twisting in her gut as she picked it up. Disregarding it as nerves, Hermione opened the book to check the index for her plant when several things happened at once.
Fawkes woke from a long slumber with a screech, startling Dumbledore. In the dungeons, Snape gasped as the Dark Mark on his arm flared to life again. Hogwarts' ghosts later testified that they felt the most unearthly cold settle over the castle, the first true feelings they'd had in years.
And alone in the Restricted Section, Hermione Granger crumpled to the ground.
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Snape winced, rubbing his arm as the pain subsided. So now Voldemort called him. What a fantastic way to end the day. Well, he couldn't very well go back without the information Voldemort had requested, and the plant was not listed in the book he'd thought it would be in.
Funny, he thought, he'd been so sure that it was there…
All this excitement must be taking a toll on him.
The book would be found in the Restricted Section, he was sure. Sighing, he grabbed his wand and prepared to make a quick trip to the Library before going to see He-Who-Would-Not-Bloody-Die.
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When Severus Snape first entered the Library, all he noticed was the eerie silence. The librarian who normally was sweeping the room and picking up randomly placed books at this time was nowhere to be seen. Just in case, he slipped his wand into easy reach.
Walking back to the Restricted Section, he started when he saw the normally closed ropes hanging freely, swaying in an unseen breeze. Few teachers had purpose for going into the Restricted Section, and none would be there this late.
Now his wand was out, and he warily entered the dimly lit room. However, there seemed to be nothing out of place.
Snape didn't see Hermione until he almost tripped over her, and even then he had no idea wat the huddle dark mass on the ground was. "Lumos."
Snape couldn't stop his eyes from widening in surprise as they took in the picture of the young woman sprawled on the ground before him, her bushy hair unmistakable.
"Miss Granger?" Snape said, kneeling next to her form. "Miss Granger? Can you hear me?"
He pulled Hermione's shoulders and upper body into his lap, testing for her pulse and finding the faint beating more reassuring than he could explain.
Looking into her face however, Snape frowned. Her eyes were wide open, though blank, and her mouth moved soundlessly.
"Miss Granger, do you know who I am?"
This seemed to be the magic question. Though her eyes never focused, Hermione began to murmur soft phrases, in such a low tone that Snape had to lean close to her lips just to hear.
"Of course I know who, who-- Mr. Weasley? No, that can't be, you're not supposed to be here, Harry and Ron aren't here, and no, I don't think it's fair to Ginny to talk about her like that-"
Snape leaned back, blinking at the string of gibberish that Hermione had just entered. It was then he noticed the two books lying beside her, Becoming Animagi, and the very book he'd come up here to find-
Which was currently emitting the soft blue glow of a cursed object.
With an uncharacteristic curse, Snape kicked the book viciously away before using his wand to send out the emergency signal that all teachers knew. He raised his wand before remembering any magic could trigger the curse again, and hefted Hermione in his arms, setting out quickly for the Hospital Wing.
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"Good god, Severus, did you carry her all the way down here?"
Most of the teachers currently at the school were congregated in the Hospital Wing already as Snape staggered in, exhausted from his exertion, and dumped Hermione unceremoniously on the nearest bed.
"She's been cursed," he said between gulps of air. "Don't use any magic on her."
Dumbledore paled, and McGonagall ran forward.
"Oh, she'll be safe here, Albus?" McGonagall asked viciously. Snape had never heard McGonagall take such a sarcastic tone with Dumbledore before.
Meanwhile, Pomfrey had been checking Hermione over without using the magic the other wizards depended on so heavily. She shook her head, bewildered. "Everything's normal, and there's not a scratch on her. I don't think anything's wrong."
Snape, meanwhile, had recovered his breath enough to give his shortened version of the situation to Dumbledore and then walk unsteadily to Hermione's bedside. "Who are all of these people, Miss Granger?"
Again, Hermione couldn't seem to focus her eyes, and they began to roll wildly. "Um… Professor? No, I was just talking to Seamus, and I know for a fact that he would purposely or accidentally never skip Transfiguration. Well, yes, Lavender might try at Honeydukes, but I doubt she'd manage to convince him to miss something as important as predictions."
Professor Sprout gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.
"You see," said Snape grimly, "there is something very wrong indeed."
"Severus," Dumbledore said, finally speaking. "See if you can figure out what this is. Everyone else besides Minerva and Pomona, get to the Library and see if anything there is amiss. Do not touch that book."
As the teachers skittered away to do as asked, Severus Snape looked down at the girl who, hours before, had argued with him over a simple hobby. Shaking his head, he began to go over the curses he knew mentally while inspecting Hermione, Voldemort's call forgotten.
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"What have you come up with, Severus," Dumbledore asked wearily several minutes later.
"As far as I can tell, when she opened the book the curse must have activated. Whom or what put it there I couldn't say."
Snape paused, looking down at Hermione, who was looking back up at him in an unsettling way.
"It seems like Miss Granger is suffering a combination of several ailments, somehow interwoven to target her specifically."
"How so?" Dumbledore asked sharply.
"The loss of control of motor function is usually associated with the Impediment Jinx, but her ramblings are more reminiscent of a Confundus Charm. However, I suspect that what she does say is being influenced somehow, and I sense an enormous amount of power over her that the Impediment Jinx and Confundus Charm alone could never accomplish. I presume that the backing curse is an Unforgivable, most likely to Imperius."
At this, McGonagall and Sprout, the only other two present in the room, began to mutter in agitation.
"Inside our very walls-"
"But how is it possible-"
"Please, ladies," Dumbledore said. "Severus, when you first found her, was she any more, ah, coherent than she is now?"
Snape frowned. "As I recall, she was speaking in complete sentences, but they were completely irrelevant to the question I'd posed."
Dumbledore sat with a pensive stare on his face, while McGonagall and Sprout continued to fret. Snape said nothing, wondering how no one had warned Miss Granger of the dangers of the Restricted Section. Now they had yet another problem with no solution, but this one could have been prevented.
"Severus," Dumbledore said suddenly. "How long would this curse have stayed on the book?"
"You'd have to ask Filius to be certain. I can only speculate-"
"Then do that."
"A few hours. After that, it's power would have begun to deteriorate and it would have been rendered less effective, if not entirely useless."
"And which book is it?"
"Oh, just an unnamed Herbology text," Sprout said dismissively. "I doubt anyone would have had much use for it, and I can't understand why Hermione would want it-"
"I needed it," Snape said slowly. "The plant I was looking for wasn't where I thought it was."
Dumbledore looked up at Snape's bland comment. "Is that the plant-?"
"Yes."
Alright," Dumbledore said decisively. "I'm going to take a look at the book myself, and then I will return as soon as I have any information. Severus, try to speak to Hermione again; you seem to have the best luck with it."
When Snape opened his mouth, Dumbledore cut him off. "I'm not asking you. Just do it. Minerva, you and Pomona stand watch outside the Wing. No one gets in besides Poppy and myself."
The two witches nodded and left the room. Dumbledore followed closely behind them, leaving Snape only a few parting words. "Curious, how the very book you needed was the cursed one…"
Snape scowled at Dumbledore's receding back, the idea that it was he who the curse was intended for having already occurred to him.
Turning back to Hermione, he averted his eyes from her unfocused gaze. "Miss Granger, can you hear me?"
"Of course."
Surprised at such a lucid answer. Snape snapped his head up. "And you know who I am?"
Hermione smiled softly. "You're Professor Snape, I know. But the problem is I don't remember what- oh, wait, it'll come back to me. No, no, wait!" she repeated forcefully as he turned his head away.
"I can't think," Hermione implored, reaching out and grabbing Snape's wrist.
Snape eyebrows shot up as he resisted the urge to wrench his arm out of her grasp. Swallowing, he wondered who would have been able to create and place such a curse in Hogwarts.
"I can't think, she repeated, distress in her eyes. "Wait, are you here, or not? I saw Harry… I saw his parents…"
It was the last comprehensible thing Hermione said for many minutes. She babbled inanely to Snape, who felt the oddest sense of irony as he listened to the girl who had extolled the fluency of language drivel like a toddler.
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What could it be that Hermione was writing? Hmm… Points to you if you can figure it out. I wish I could hug all of my lovely reviewers, but seeing as I don't know them all, it could lead to a potentially awkward moment… Regardless, thank you all so much.
Review if you are of a mind to do so.