Chapter Ten: Dogbane
Hermione had returned to Hogwarts early. The loneliness that plagued her during the rest of her winter break had been unbearable, along with the grief and the guilt that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her heart with the absence of her parents. It was as if her parents had truly died, and they might as well have, because there was a very real chance that she would never see them again.
No amount of list-making or homework had eased her mind, not even with the funeral preparations for her parents. There had been a lot of time to ruminate, made worse by each poorly made meal that she ate. Years of Hogwarts meals and holidays at the Weasleys' had spoiled her and her own attempts at cooking were pathetic in comparison, though she had got rather good at making cheese toasties.
She was ruminating again when she caught sight of Harry, Ginny, and Ron near the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Harry! Ginny!" she shouted at them to grab their attention, and then ran up to them to give them a hug. She ignored Ron, not sure how to act around him after the events of Slughorn's party. It had not been as satisfying as she thought it would be to invite McLaggen in his place, and she did not know how to deal with that.
She gave Harry the scroll Dumbledore had handed to her earlier as they stepped into the common room.
"So how was your Christmas?" Harry asked, as they found a corner to sit in. The tension that had plagued her since Christmas eased at the sight of Harry's familiar concern.
"Oh, fine," she shrugged. "Nothing special. How was it for you?"
Harry looked as if he was about to say something about how his holidays at the Weasley's went, and then thought better of it. Instead, he told her the story of what he overheard between Snape and Malfoy during Slughorn's party.
Hermione hesitated. She knew Harry had a—somewhat justifiable—hatred of Malfoy and Snape, but it was frustrating to deal with his obsession with the two, which had only grown after Sirius' death.
"Don't you think—?"
"—he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing?"
"Well, yes," said Hermione.
Harry huffed, and they debated Snape's actions until he grudgingly admitted to Hermione's assessment of the situation, but it was obvious he had not changed his mind about Snape. It was slowly becoming very irritating being stuck between Harry and Snape in their feud with each other, and neither men even knew that they had put her in this position.
Two days later, Harry filled in Hermione on his latest lesson with Dumbledore.
"Horcruxes...Horcruxes...I've never even heard of them…" Hermione said, brow furrowed. She didn't think very highly of Harry's chances of getting Slughorn's memory by approaching him, and wondered what was so important about it. When Harry mentioned Ron's suggestion of just talking to Slughorn, there was a familiar rush of irritation and sadness, but not the rage that she had felt before Christmas.
But Hermione did not feel sad enough to break her silence with Ron. Potions class that afternoon had her huddling near Ernie's side of the table as to avoid Harry and Ron, and she felt a strange sense of vindication that the lesson on creating antidotes would force Harry to confront the fact that he could not rely on someone else's shortcuts forever.
But of course, Harry would show her up by missing the point of the lesson by cheating yet again; and, of course, Slughorn would fawn over Harry for presenting a bezoar as a solution. And then compare Harry to his mother, who sounded like someone who actually understood potions. It wasn't fair.
Hermione felt a little guilty about her satisfaction with the fact that Harry failed to get Slughorn's memory after class. She knew it was irrational of her to be jealous of Harry when it wasn't even Harry's potion-making skill that was being praised; she knew she was jealous of the Half-Blood Prince, whoever they were. It didn't stop her from feeling the burn of envy when she saw Harry being praised for not even thinking in class.
The next few weeks, Hermione spent even more time than usual in the library, reading the foulest of Dark Arts texts, but still could not find anything useful about Horcruxes.
All she could find was a short fragment in Magick Moste Evile: "...of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction…"
It was disappointing that the book was more show than substance; the entire search was maddening. The contents were not particularly evil, there were no hexes placed on it, and the only remotely Dark thing it did was wail and moan occasionally. Hermione briefly wondered if perhaps she was spending too much time with Snape and was becoming too used to the Dark Arts—then she realised. Snape.
"Professor?"
Severus did not look up from his marking. He grunted in acknowledgement.
"Do you know anything about Horcruxes?"
Severus lazily scrawled out a comment for the student to double-check their references—magical references, not fictional—before his mind caught up to Granger's question.
"Where did you hear about Horcruxes?" he asked, fixing his gaze on Granger.
"Well...that is...you see…" She fidgeted in her chair. Severus continued staring.
"Dumbledore mentioned them in a lesson with Harry and we need to figure out what they are," she said.
"Is that all?" Severus sat back in his seat, and crossed his arms.
Granger peeked up at him from below her lashes and immediately looked away. She appeared to debate with herself for a few moments before speaking.
"Voldemort has a Horcrux," she finally said. "We think."
Severus had figured as much when she had brought up the topic, but he felt a strange need for her to tell him so.
"I cannot recall what Horcruxes are off the top of my mind, but they sound familiar. What do you know of them so far?"
"Only that they're very Dark," Granger said with a frown. "I've checked all the books on the Dark Arts in the library and there's no information on them."
Severus thought for a few moments. "I own books that the library does not," he finally said. "We can look through them together."
Granger's lips parted in surprise, and Severus frowned.
"I have many books and I don't have time to deal with Potter's research that he's obviously foisted on his more able friends again," he added, so things were clear.
As January eased into February, snow melted and rain began to pour again. Severus' insomnia eased a little, though his low-grade sense of unease grew in his waking hours as both the Death Eaters and the Order were silent—both Dumbledore and Voldemort had left their organisations, stating they had business to take care of elsewhere. Severus wondered if they were searching for the same thing; Voldemort had seemed very interested in wand makers as of late, which he thought was strangely belated as the problem between his wand and Harry's wand had been known for some time now.
Severus contemplated his own wand, which was made of cedarwood and dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches long, somewhat rigid. He wondered what the Voldemort could be looking for—he had accomplished such great and terrible feats with his phoenix core wand Severus had a hard time imagining a wand that would better suit his needs. Surely the Priori Incantatem issue with Potter could be worked around, though Severus supposed it was a small mercy that Potter continued to live due to Voldemort's obsession with finishing him off with a Killing Curse.
It was a quiet evening in early February when his Mark began to burn. He had been combing through Dark Arts texts with Granger while a cauldron of purple Murtlap tentacles sat pickling in the corner in preparation for making Murtlap Essence. There was a faint tang of pickle brine in the lab.
"Miss Granger." Severus stood up, and carefully locked his books away in his warded desk drawers.
Granger looked up from her own text, face softening from her earlier look of fierce concentration.
"I must go. You may keep this text to read until we meet again," he said, clenching his left fist. "Please keep it safe. It was my mother's."
Her eyes darted down to his clenched fist, and he knew that she had figured it out.
"Yes, sir," she said. She hesitated before she blurted out, "Please stay safe."
He shot her a sharp look but inclined his head briefly before he left.
He stalked through the dungeon corridors until he reached the portrait of the Drowning Man who guarded his quarters.
"Dogbane," he said quietly under his breath, and strode into his chambers without waiting for the portrait to close. The password had been a bit of a whimsical choice. Severus had changed his password to "Dogbane" after being forced to brew another foul concoction for Fang's arthritis in a fit of pique, for which Hagrid had been grateful as always, but he also liked the symbolism as dogbane stood for deceit. He liked to have small reminders that were meaningless to people other than himself that what he was doing was all a farce, because sometimes he found it difficult to remember where Severus Snape the Spy and Severus Snape the Death Eater began or ended.
He Floo'd to Spinner's End, where he kept his mask and robes, and then pressed his wand to the Mark and Apparated.
In his early days as a spy he had kept his mask and cloak at Hogwarts, but he had discovered that Flooing to his home to Apparate was faster than leaving Hogwarts by foot so he could Apparate from the grounds. The chance of running into students while dressed as a Death Eater, even Disillusioned, was also avoided.
His feet landed on the ground with a muffled thud in the middle of a small village, next to an ancient pub with the sign "The George & Dragon". A dog barked in the distance. In the slight evening fog, the village looked like something out of a fairy tale, as if time had frozen four hundred years ago, and there were no signs of life except for an increasing number of dark figures appearing out of thin air, black voids in a dim silvery landscape.
Severus held his breath as he counted the number of Death Eaters. There were more than twenty members of his brethren present, many of whom had recently been incarcerated in Azkaban. The only upside to the breakout from Azkaban was that Lucius Malfoy was back, which meant Malfoy Manor had been open for guests and Wormtail had finally moved out from his home.
He felt a chill go down his spine as he caught sight of the Dark Lord standing in the middle of the road.
"Good evening," Voldemort said. "I have been gifted a wand guaranteed to bring victory by a…friend overseas. Let us see if he was a liar or not." His noseless features moved into a twisted parody of a smile, then he walked to the nearest cottage.
Voldemort knocked on the door theatrically. Severus prayed no one would answer the door, but after a few moments a tall man dressed in flannel pajamas opened it.
"Hello? What do you want so late at night?" the man asked, his voice rough with sleep.
"Is that any way you should greet a guest? Such rudeness," Voldemort said, his smile widening to show teeth. He pulled out from his robes the ugliest wand Severus had ever seen.
"Is this some sort of joke?" the man demanded, eyes widening at the sight of Voldemort's noseless face, posture suddenly straight.
Voldemort ignored his answer and raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!" he cast languidly. There was a flash of green light, then the man fell.
"Thomas?" A woman's voice came from inside the house. Severus cursed under his breath and hoped they didn't have children.
"Avery. Come, let us teach our foul Muggle hosts a lesson in manners," Voldemort said, gracefully extending his arm in the direction of a masked man. Severus closed his eyes when he heard the high-pitched screams of small children, and then cursed inwardly when doors to other houses began opening. He thought fast and shot sticking spells at the rest of the doors that he could see, and then the slaughter began.
Death Eaters laughed as they shot Killing Curse after Killing Curse at the men who emerged with rakes and shovels. One man had a hunting rifle, which Severus spelled to hit Death Eaters from a distance, but it wasn't enough. Soon, all the Muggles fell, though several Death Eaters who had been slow with Shield Charms had been heavily wounded.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
"Stop," Voldemort commanded. He looked down thoughtfully at his newly acquired wand.
"That's enough for tonight. Greyback, have your companions give these bodies a makeover. We shall meet later," he said, and Disapparated.
Severus watched dispassionately as Greyback and two other werewolves slashed away at the dead bodies. The Muggles were going to be on alert for large animal attacks for days now. He shielded himself behind a tree and waited until all the others had left to cast a quick Finite on his sticking charms that were keeping the doors of the rest of the villagers closed. When the confused voices of villagers filled the night air he Apparated away, trading in the sound of rapidly approaching sirens for the suffocating silence of Spinner's End.
He slid down his front door and crouched in his hallway, his fists clenched to stop the shaking of his hands, as he tried to stop thinking of everything he could have done differently.
Severus barely noticed when Granger started speaking again.
"Of the Horcrux, the only known cure exists in The Blodlyf, written by Myrddin Wyllt, now lost to the Mists of Thime," she read aloud from a passage on 'Miracle Cures' in Bloodletting and Miracle Cures.
Severus stopped his grading and moved to lean over her shoulder. His movements were slow and stiff; he was Occluding heavily to not let the events of the previous night affect his actions, but he could still feel momentary pangs of rage and helplessness break through his mental defences. The fact that he had not slept at all did not help ease the pain in his joints. Despite all this, he could still make out the soft scent of vanilla and something floral coming from Granger—and he abruptly pulled back when he realised it.
"Is there more?"
"No, this is it."
Severus straightened up and looked into the distance. "The Blodlyf…that text sounds familiar," he said.
"Who is Myrddin Wyllt?" Granger asked.
"That was a name Merlin took on for a while, meaning Merlin the Wild. It was said he went 'wild' for a time due to grief after his Lord died, and performed many miraculous cures as penance," Severus answered. "And of course, we cannot forget that he was a Slytherin."
"Of course not," she said under her breath. Under other circumstances, Severus would have smirked at this, but not on this day. "Should I look more into this?"
He grimaced. "That book is written mostly on legendary miracle cures. It is exceedingly unlikely such a book by Merlin exists."
"It does seem pretty unlikely...it's really strange, isn't it, that a Horcrux should be an ailment? At least now we know we're looking for an illness," she said.
"Strange, perhaps. I would not be so hasty to assume it is an illness. Some consider all Dark Arts an affliction, so this does not tell us much we did not know before. And all manner of folklore are associated with Merlin, most of them not true. But...to specify Myrddin Wyllt..." Severus drifted off, lost in thought for a moment. "We can look into it when we have finished the texts on the Dark Arts," he said, stepping away from Granger and back to his desk.
They found nothing remotely related to Horcruxes or Merlin the Wild after that, but Severus spent some time staring after Granger when she returned to her dormitory that evening with a spring in her step. There was still something innocent and soft in her, though he knew she was now of age and had grown up in a time of conflict. She was resourceful, but even the most resourceful people needed help sometimes, and he was tired of feeling helpless.
It was Ron's birthday, March first, and Hermione had gone to help out in the Hospital Wing to avoid him.
She winced as more snot splashed onto her apprentice healer's robes. This was not the way that Hermione had expected her career in medicine to start.
Madam Pomfrey had sent for her at the beginning of February, with a note to start her training. After quizzing her on basic anatomy (Hermione thanked her precocious reading tendencies and her parents for buying her a copy of Gray's Anatomy when she was nine), as well as basic healing spells (here Snape was to be thanked), Madam Pomfrey had put her to work immediately with restocking the Hospital Wing's potions stores and healing all manner of minor scrapes and hexes. She also let Hermione observe her at work on the more complicated accidental spellwork and injuries.
There were a lot of injuries that happened at Hogwarts, many of them probably preventable. Why had anyone thought moving staircases were a good idea? Wizards paranoid of Muggle invasion was Hermione's bitter conclusion.
But Hermione was dealing with a small Slytherin first year who had been hit by a Bat-Bogey hex gone wrong, and was cursing the fact that vanishing the black snot coming out of the boy's face would probably hurt his sinuses, because the snot was disgusting.
A chime suddenly sounded through the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey appeared next to Hermione. "There's been an emergency," she said, looking calm as ever. "I need you to stay here and tend to Adrian until he has finished expelling all the fluid, no matter what you hear, do you understand?"
Hermione felt alarmed. Her first thought was that Harry had been injured, or Snape—but she swallowed and nodded.
Instead of Snape, she heard Harry's voice explaining to Madam Pomfrey that Ron had been poisoned and that Harry had temporarily saved him with a bezoar. Guilt coursed through her at the fact that she had not considered that Ron could have been injured, instead of Harry or Snape. She tried not to think of it as she focused on vanishing the black mucus from the basin which was catching it, and weakly offered an encouraging smile to the boy who was still trying not to cry.
Finally, Madam Pomfrey finished whatever she was doing with Ron, and relieved Hermione from watching over the small boy.
Hermione rushed to the bed where Ron slept. He didn't look any worse for wear in his sleep, and Hermione felt something loosen up within her chest. She blinked back tears as shame burned through her for giving Ron the cold shoulder since Christmas despite the fact that he had been (albeit weakly) trying to reconcile. She was glad she had his birthday gift—new Keeper's gloves—in her bag in case she changed her mind about their silence. She set the gift down by his bedside table, and then sat stiffly beside him waiting for him to wake up.
Fred and George arrived two hours after Harry and Ginny were allowed in, shortly after the clock chimed ten. Harry and Ginny both gave her gentle hugs and then continued a conversation they had started earlier while they were outside.
Hermione was just berating herself for being so distant with Ron when he nearly died again when she heard Ginny say something interesting. "...Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas...so the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore."
"Then the poisoner didn't know Slughorn very well," said Hermione, "Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself."
"Er-my-nee," croaked Ron unexpectedly from between them.
A hush descended upon them after that, and they all remained silent until Mr and Mrs Weasley hurried into the ward. Hermione stood by awkwardly as Mrs Weasley engulfed Harry in a hug and expressed how grateful she was to Harry for coming to the rescue of her family yet again. She wasn't sure how the Weasleys would receive her, but her worries were settled when Mr Weasley made eye contact with her over their heads and smiled in a fatherly way. She felt a pang in her chest watching Ron's parents fuss over him. She missed her own.
Once the elder Weasleys arrived, Madam Pomfrey started shooting them pointed looks, so Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid decided to give the family time with Ron and left the Hospital Wing.
Harry and Hagrid instantly began a discussion on the attacks and what Dumbledore thought of them, and then Hagrid dropped a bombshell.
"Well—I jus' heard Snape sayin' Dumbledore took too much fer granted an' maybe he—Snape—didn' wan' ter do it any more—" Hagrid said, and then explained to Harry that he had overheard Snape and Dumbledore speaking in the Forbidden Forest.
Hermione felt a sense of foreboding press on her shoulders, which was soon proven accurate when Filch appeared out of nowhere, keen to dock points for students out after curfew as always. She hurried to the common room with Harry after Hagrid intervened with Filch, but could not shake the unease that had settled over her long after the encounter in the corridors. Harry looked like he was convinced again of his 'Snape Is Evil' theory, but Hermione was concerned about what Dumbledore had asked of Snape.
Severus was still livid. He had found out what a Horcrux was in an ancient crumbling tome earlier in the day—Spiritual Magicks had looked like a religious text at first, but if it was then it was an intense perversion of one—and Dumbledore had refused to tell him what went on in Harry's lessons yet again. Severus was the most skilled to assist Potter in the destruction of Voldemort's Horcrux, and was the best placed to find out where it was, but Dumbledore yet again showed that he did not trust him, or, worse yet, preferred Potter. A Potter over himself, yet again. After all the years it still rankled.
And after what he had recently witnessed, he was very tired of feeling like he could do nothing to change things.
Dumbledore had promised Severus earlier while they talked in the woods that he would show his trust later in his office, and Severus was headed in that direction. It was later. He would have his answers.
Severus briefly stopped in front of the hunched gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office.
"Sour Fizzy Flobberworms," he said, with a distasteful wrinkling of his nose.
The gargoyle let him pass, and soon he was seated in front of Dumbledore's desk. He kept his gaze trained ahead, the strange gold and silver moving contraptions in the office no longer holding interest for him.
Fawkes studied him with his round bird eyes but did not make a sound.
Severus was about to get up to look for Dumbledore when the Headmaster emerged from his study.
"Ah. Good evening, Severus. On-time, as always," he said, walking over to a bookshelf.
"You said you would tell me things tonight," Severus said stiffly.
"I realise you are not pleased that I am keeping information from you Severus, and for that, I truly apologise," Dumbledore began, briefly making eye contact with Severus before gazing out the window. "There is some information that cannot be shared between you and Harry until the time is right."
"What information?" Severus asked.
Dumbledore continued on as if he had not heard him. "Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?"
"But what must he do?"
"That is between Harry and me. Now, listen closely, Severus. There will come a time—after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."
"For Nagini?" Severus asked, too tired of Dumbledore's cryptic ways to be astonished anymore. Dumbledore had a faraway look on his face, and Severus had the feeling Dumbledore was not all there in the room.
"Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him, under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."
"Tell him what?" Severus asked, trying to ignore the urge that he had been nursing for the past few minutes—years really—to tell the old man to get to the point.
"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building…" Severus' mind ground to a halt. "...while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."
There was a dull sound of roaring in his ears. Dumbledore couldn't possibly be saying what he was saying.
"So the boy...the boy must die?" he asked calmly.
"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."
Severus felt like laughing. It sounded like a punchline to a joke, but it wasn't funny.
"I thought...all these years...that we were protecting him for her. For Lily." Dumbledore had said they were protecting Harry in honour of Lily's sacrifice. Severus focused on his breathing, barely restraining the urge to punch Dumbledore in the face.
"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength...Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will, truly, mean the end of Voldemort."
It was amazing. This was particularly ruthless, even for Dumbledore.
"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"
"Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?" Dumbledore said mildly, lifting a brow. Boiling rage rose through Severus' body instantly—yes, he had killed in the past, indirectly—but that was before—and to have Dumbledore throw his past in his face like that to equivocate his current actions was low.
"Lately, only those whom I could not save," Severus spat out, reminding Dumbledore of his many decisions which resulted in death. He pushed back his chair and stood to face Dumbledore. "You have used me."
"Meaning?"
"I have spied for you, and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—"
"But this is touching, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted. "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"
"For him?" It was absurd. The entire conversation was absurd. "Expecto Patronum!"
From the tip of his wand emerged a silver doe, indistinct at the edges. It was amazing he could even conjure up a Patronus.
"After all this time?" Dumbledore asked, eyes shining.
Severus hesitated. He knew what Dumbledore thought, but he was not a good man. Perhaps he had been good, once upon a time. Good men acted out of love; Severus Snape acted out of vengeance and atonement. Still. The driving motive came from the same origins.
"Always," he replied.
The two men lapsed into silence for a moment.
"So there is no other way," Severus stated.
Dumbledore shot him a look, eyes dry now. "You know best of all we cannot afford to be sentimental in a time of war..."
"Are we not protecting anyone anymore?" Severus asked, weary.
"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Be glad you do not have these choices weighing upon your soul," Dumbledore said heavily.
"No, I just have to deal with the consequences."
"For that, I am sorry. But we are at war."
Severus sneered, though Dumbledore took no notice of his expression. "Of course. We are at war," he said.
AN: Hi everyone! Thanks for sticking around! My posting hiatus is over for now, though I will now be posting every 3-4 weeks until I finish writing this fic. I have an update on my writing progress so fun on my tumblr (as "viridiantly"). Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! :)