Fourth Year: The Goblet of Fire

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Hermione Granger stood at the open window of the hospital wing. The scent of roses carried by the breeze, and the beauty of a warm, starlit night struck her as obscene after all that had happened—after Cedric's death and Harry's torture at Voldemort's hands.

She watched Snape as he left the grounds, not taking her eyes off him as long as she could see him. For a moment, he'd turned back to look towards the castle, lingering. She imagined he was looking for her at the window—sheer fantasy, especially after his cruel remark months ago when she had been hit by that hex. The bastard had said it deliberately, knowing how she felt about—had been coming to feel about—him. She was sure of it. Maybe because he had known?

But face it, if she truly no longer cared, why had she picked Viktor Krum of all people to give her first kiss to? Snape-lite. Viktor might look like Snape, but there was no real darkness behind Viktor's scowls—nor could he match Snape's sharp wit and fierce intelligence.

Harry hadn't had time to tell them what had transpired in the last few hours, but she had seen Snape reveal his Dark Mark, had heard Dumbledore's words to him: "If you are ready … If you are prepared."

It wasn't hard for someone with half a brain to figure out what Dumbledore had been asking, and Hermione prided herself on her intelligence as well as the courage that was the mark of her House. Yet what Snape was returning to was far more than what she'd be ready or prepared to do. She watched him walk to his fate and thought it ironic that it wasn't a Gryffindor who was the bravest person she knew. Dumbledore was right, after all. It was your choices that made you and not just the ones at eleven-years old while you sit under the Sorting Hat.

It didn't make Snape any kinder. She guessed what made one a good or an evil man wasn't simple or a choice that was closed for once or for all.

Suddenly, she noticed a familiar beetle with red markings crawling on the sill. She slammed down her hand and scooped it up, making a cage of her hands. Mrs Weasley and Harry turned to her.

"Sorry," she whispered, for much more than startling them. This was no time for moping and wool-gathering. She held quite a prize, of which only she knew the significance. She left Harry, who'd finally closed his eyes to sleep, to search for a jar. It was time for her and Miss Skeeter to have a little talk.

Maybe she couldn't serve the cause with Gryffindor bravery tonight. But a kind of Ravenclaw books and cleverness, and even some Slytherin deviousness had great value, too. And if Snape showed one thing, it was that you didn't lose access to the qualities of the other Houses at the drop of a hat.

Hermione Granger stood by Harry's bedside as Snape strode forward, past her and Mrs Weasley, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Dumbledore.

"There," said Snape. "Satisfied? No Dark Mark. I don't serve Voldemort. I call no man master." He pushed his sleeve back down angrily.

No, Snape served only himself. Hermione put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder to quiet him. He was visibly upset at what he could only see as an attack on the man he considered a father. After what he'd undergone tonight, she had no wish to add to his burden.

They had repaired quite a bit of their relationship this year, brought together in the common goal of making Ron's affliction as easy as possible.

They'd even struggled, without much success yet, to become Animagi since Lupin had claimed that his friends' companionship as animals during his time of month had helped so much. She smiled despite the circumstances, seeing the humour in that way of putting it. No one had accused her yet of turning into a monster at a certain time of month.

Ron liked to joke that he'd now finally accomplished something none of his brothers had achieved. He acted far less the clown now, and part of her felt sad at the necessity. As the three of them had pulled together, Malfoy and Harry had fallen away again to her great relief.

Ironic that they'd learned tonight that Black and Lupin had been telling the truth. Harry had seen Pettigrew among the Death Eaters. She had seen it cost Harry a lot to admit that. She couldn't imagine his feelings when he had time to reflect on how he had contributed to the death of his godfather and another of his father's closest friends. She could only hope it would make Harry wonder about how Snape had manipulated him. She'd been surprised the Headmaster had allowed her and Ron in when he'd questioned Harry, but besides saving questions later, she had no doubt that, especially since he couldn't keep Snape away, he wanted to foster Harry's other connections.

After the Headmaster left and Harry took a Sleeping Potion, she wandered to the window. Seeing a beetle with a distinctive mark, she quickly slammed down her hand to capture it. She left then in search of a jar. She felt her next step marked her break with childhood, sharing her secret with the adults rather than Harry or Ron.

The next morning, she intercepted Dumbledore before he could make his way to the High Table. She held up the jar in her hand showing him the fat beetle inside.

"Headmaster, I come bearing gifts. I want to fight for Harry." She knew he'd hear more than the surface words—that she meant far more than the fight against Voldemort. She wanted Harry free of the hold Snape had over him.

Dumbledore's slow nod was a call to arms.

to be continued