Sixth Year: The Half-Blood Prince

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Hermione Granger stood in the courtyard watching Snape. He had halted, standing stock still before breaking into a wide smile. She followed his gaze to Katie Bell and realised this must be the first time he'd seen the girl since she'd come back. She knew Katie owed her life to Snape. She thought that if Harry and Ron could see Snape now, even they would find it hard to see him as someone on the side of the Dark. Her throat constricted as he quickly melted back into the shadows before others could see him. Would he never be able to have any of the good he'd done appreciated in the light of day?

She followed him to his office, shutting the door behind her and catching up to him at his desk.

"I can see right through you," she said, keeping her voice casual.

He crossed his arms and perched on his desk and smirked as if to say, "Well, this will be amusing." She couldn't stop herself. She kissed him.

His lips were soft and warm under hers, opening as she pressed against them, driving from him a low moan. She tangled her hands in his hair, which felt soft to her touch, only to have him grasp her wrists and firmly push her away. He then released her to cup her chin with a hand, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His voice sounded hoarse, his breathing ragged. "I take it you have had one of those idiotic Love Potions put into your pumpkin juice as a prank. I have the antidote in the storeroom. The only other possible explanations being that this is your idea of a joke or some ploy to make Ronald Weasley jealous."

"Or that I care about you, care about what happens to you. I've been sick with worry ever since you took the cursed D.A.D.A. position. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Frankly, yes. You don't know me, and what little you have seen could hardly have been endearing."

"I know you're brave and brilliant and loyal and—"

"—have little patience for this conversation." But he kept tracing her jaw with his fingers, as if reluctant to pull away completely. The calluses on his fingers made him real, sent a warm tingle radiating through her entire body. She couldn't stop herself from leaning into the touch. He sighed and dropped his hand. "Thank you for your … sympathy. I hope you will be happy in all your future endeavours." He left her standing frozen by his desk. "Should you need it, the offer of an antidote stands." He stood for a moment by the doorway before fleeing his own office.

For a long time after he'd closed the door behind him, she just stood there, numbly tracing her lips with a finger. He had tasted delicious. She knew no potion to cure this. She'd even peeked, when Harry hadn't been around, at the Prince's Potions text looking for one.

Hermione Granger leaned against the wall of the staff room, sobbing while pushing down the impulse to cast an Unforgivable. Across from her, surrounded by grieving staff, was Snape—who she believed had murdered the man she'd seen as a second father.

I can see right through you, she thought, but dared not speak aloud. She refused to believe Harry was involved. She had to believe him when he said he remembered nothing. Why not? Snape was as expert in Memory Charms as in everything else. She'd herself awoken with no memory of how she'd been knocked out, the corpses of Luna and Professor Flitwick beside her.

Maybe she should take comfort that Harry lived. But if, as she suspected, Snape knew of the prophecy—and given all the articles in the Daily Prophet about the "Chosen One," he very well might—he'd need Harry to get rid of his rival.

Sprout laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Severus. Who'd have foreseen Malfoy as the author of such destruction? Merlin! Albus, Minerva, Filius, Hagrid, our young D.A.D.A. instructor, and all those children dead."

"I should have known." An artful tear coursed down his face. "My own House—still, I'm sorry I couldn't have saved Draco. The way those Death Eaters turned on him … "

"And yet," Hermione said, "you alone managed to face them and remain alive to tell the tale."

"I'm sure Albus and Minerva accounted for more than a few of the attackers—beyond that it was dumb luck."

Or Felix Felicis—assuming he had planned this with Draco all along and had known exactly when the Death Eaters would invade Hogwarts.

Ron had died last July. Now, she'd lost everyone else she could trust. Ron had taken it upon himself to wear the cursed ring housing one of Voldemort's Horcruxes rather than allow Dumbledore to take the risk. Not even Pomfrey's skill could save him. This year, Hermione had formed a defence study group when the current D.A.D.A. instructor proved as incompetent as Umbridge last year. Almost every single member had rallied to her call. And almost all of them lay dead, leaving her sick with grief and her conscience raw.

Dumbledore had cautioned them not to place all their hopes on Harry. Just because a prophecy said Harry could kill Voldemort, didn't mean someone else couldn't, too. Prophecy was too amorphous, he'd said, to be relied upon—one reason he'd been tempted to abolish study of the subject. The centaurs, acknowledged masters, didn't think it possible to prophesise for something as petty as the lives of an entire generation of wizards—even centuries seemed trivial to them.

She wished she had that kind of perspective, but what she wished for more was a handy Dementor to give Snape the only kind of kiss she'd ever want to gift him with. Despite herself, she began to think of who was left in the Order. It wasn't in her to ever give up.

to be continued