BLEEDING FROM EVERYWHERE
This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.
Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.
WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.
Hermione was washing her hands in the bathroom nearest the library when Moaning Myrtle popped up through the drain hole in the sink next to her.
The last two weeks had been so dreary. Her roommates still weren't talking to her, except to make nasty comments about Know-it-all sneaks who stole other people's boyfriends. Ron got offended every time she went anywhere without him, but he still hadn't said anything about getting together. Dean spent all his time muttering darkly in corners with Seamus about his ousting from Ginny's affections and from the team (by Katie Bell's return) alike. Ginny was determinedly ignoring Dean and pretending not to notice Harry pretending not to notice her. So they weren't talking either - except about Quidditch.
All anyone in Gryffindor was talking about was their upcoming match with Ravenclaw: what score they needed to snatch the Cup, or to grab a respectable second place or, at worst, to avoid abject defeat. Every so often, she'd get completely desperate and have to make up a get-away excuse. Today, when Ron had rushed off to throw up from nerves again and Harry had tried to switch his Quidditch-talk to her, she'd told him she needed to consult Professor Vector on her Arithmancy homework, then nipped off to the library instead for a blessed respite. But sorting through old newspapers left her hands inky and it was almost time for dinner.
Myrtle snickered.
"You'll never guess! You'll never guess!" the ghost chanted. "Harry Potter's in big trouble!"
"What? Why? What's happened?"
Moaning Myrtle shot up to the ceiling, turned a somersault and did a swan-dive into Hermione's sink. Hermione jumped back hastily. There was a gurgling sound from the pipes, then the ghost's head popped up right in front of her.
"Ooh, wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes, I would, please Myrtle. Harry's my friend."
"He told me he might come back and talk to me, but he never did," sniffed the ghost, shaking her head and setting her pigtails flying. She came out and perched above the tap. "He never did. He never did. Naughty Harry Potter. But I don't care. I've had that nice blond boy to talk to this year. The one Harry Potter –" she put her hands on her hips and her chin up "– tried to murder."
"Harry wouldn't try to murder anyone!'
"He did more than just try! He came in and they started to fight and then Harry Potter," she spat the name and continued self-righteously, "shouted some spell I've never heard and my poor blond boy started bleeding from everywhere."
Hermione recoiled, gasping, "No! He couldn't have!"
"He did, then! And for a moment I thought I'd have a nice blond sweetheart to keep me company forever and ever – he's ever so handsome when he's not pouring blood everywhere – and I was glad. But then –" She stuck out her lower lip in a discontented pout and flew once around the room.
"Then what?"
"Professor Snape came and healed him and took him away." Back down the drainpipe went Myrtle, her voice echoing faintly from the distance, "Ooh, Harry Potter's in big, big trouble."
Hermione rushed out of the bathroom with wet hands, then paused in the hallway wondering where to find her friend. If Professor Snape was the one who caught him – the blond boy must have been Malfoy - was Harry going to be expelled? Only they couldn't, could they? Not when he was the only one – Oh, she'd told him to forget about Malfoy, she'd told him!
She took a deep breath. He wouldn't have gone down to dinner. He'd either be up in Gryffindor Tower or in a teacher's office probably. It didn't sound like he'd got hurt himself, so not the Infirmary. Besides, she didn't want to bump into –
Hurrying around a corner, she almost slammed into the very person she was trying to avoid, but strong hands held her off for just long enough to steady her before they dropped from her arms.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for running through the halls."
She looked up into black eyes and a blacker scowl. Her mouth went dry.
"Sorry, professor. I – I heard –"
"About your friend's murder attempt? Perhaps you had prior knowledge of his foray into Dark magic? Something you borrowed from the Restricted Section?"
She gulped and bit her lip. It was so like him to find a way to blame her, whether he believed his accusations or not, but –
"N-no, sir." You know everything I've borrowed from the Restricted Section this year.
Do I? Something you bought in Knockturn Alley then?
How did you know – That's not fair, you were fishing!
And you're proving to be a very poor student. How will you keep my secrets if you can't even keep your own?
His eyes narrowed as he continued aloud, "Fortunately for both of you, Draco will survive. He may even be lucky enough to escape permanent injury –"
Draco? Who cares about Draco-ruddy-Malfoy? What about Harry?
Thin lips drew back from crooked yellow teeth in a snarl. Hermione quailed. She hadn't meant to think that to him. 'Idiot!' she told herself.
I didn't – I mean – Sorry, sorry, sorry –
"Fifty points for an unprovoked attack on a teacher. Next time you'll be serving Saturday detentions with Mr Potter for the rest of the term."
He swept off in billowing rage and Hermione stared after him, her teeth worrying her lip. Only detentions? That was a very mild punishment for almost killing someone, especially that someone. Even if it did mean Harry would miss that blasted Quidditch match he'd been nattering on about. Had McGonagall or Dumbledore overruled Snape again, like in second year?
"That was harsh," said a Hufflepuff bystander sympathetically. "Sixty points just because you were in a bit of a hurry. What's got his knickers in a knot?"
"Just the usual," Hermione said, trying to ignore the hollow, guilty feeling in her chest. She moved off in the direction of the Great Hall, rather more slowly this time. He'd have let her know somehow if Harry was hurt, just like he did when Ron was poisoned. "He's never liked Gryffindors."
But he did like Malfoy. That had been obvious from their very first lesson. And not just a little bit. It must be an awful lot or he wouldn't have put his life on the line and made an Unbreakable Vow to protect him. And Malfoy had told him to break it. The boy he risked his life for didn't care if he died.
But maybe it wasn't about Malfoy at all. His mum would have been at school with Snape, wouldn't she? And Narcissa was very pretty, even if she was as snooty as a female camel. Hermione frowned. She'd always just assumed Snape was the sort of miserable grouch who didn't want friends or family in his life. But maybe she'd had it topsy-turvy. Maybe he was a miserable grouch because he couldn't have them. Because if there ever had been anyone he liked, he'd have been risking their lives to tell them.
She hunched her shoulders and trudged on, a burning ache in her throat. Professor Snape didn't want her sympathy. He'd hate it.
Somehow Snape's "terrible thing" was connected with Malfoy's mysterious "job", she was sure. If she knew one, she could deduce the other. If Harry was right – Harry was never right – then Malfoy was behind Katie's cursing and Ron's poisoning. In which case, he was trying to kill someone. The poisoned mead had been in Slughorn's possession, but it was meant for Dumbledore. That was a mistake Malfoy might have made – he probably didn't know Slughorn well enough to realise it wouldn't get passed on – but even he must know that Slughorn would be the one more likely to find a gift necklace so enticing that he'd forget to check for curses before touching it. Anyone even slightly acquainted with Dumbledore would have known to send cursed lemon drops instead.
It just didn't make sense. More likely Malfoy had had nothing to do with either attempt. All they knew for sure about his plans was that he'd wanted to know how to fix something and there was a similar object in Borgin's shop that he'd told him not to sell. And whatever it was - presumably the thing he was working on in the Room of Requirement – he didn't seem to have fixed it yet.
With a start, she realised she was in the Hall. Might as well eat then, not that she was hungry any more.
"Hermione will know," Neville said to Colin as she sat down. He turned to her. "Everyone's saying that Harry was seen running through the corridors, soaking wet and bleeding. What happened? Is he all right?"
"I don't know, I wasn't there." She scanned the table with disinterest and put a single boiled potato and a spoonful of peas on her plate.
Neville gave her a doubtful look.
"You don't seem very worried."
She sighed and stared at her plate, chopping her potato into little pieces with the side of her fork.
"It wasn't his blood. At least, not according to Moaning Myrtle. He had a fight with Malfoy in her bathroom."
Just then, Pansy erupted into the room.
"It was Potter again!" she called as she reached the Slytherin table. "He's always hexing Draco and this time he tried to kill him!"
Hermione flinched as the Slytherins began to hiss and jeer. On the other hand, why eat when you're not hungry? She pushed her plate away and got up. If she was going to hear all about it, she'd rather hear it straight from Harry – and preferably while she could still muster up enough patience not to blast him.
It seemed she wasn't the only one bursting to blast him. As she approached the common room, McGonagall was winding up what had obviously been a pretty thorough telling-off. Harry was looking damp and pale and small, but at least he was no longer covered in Malfoy's blood.
Ron was already there and Ginny arrived a moment later, just as Harry started to explain. He'd found Malfoy crying and instead of having the tact to leave, he'd stared at him until he turned and saw he was being watched. Of course they immediately got into a duel and he'd used a spell he'd learnt from that Potions book, just in time to stop a Crucio.
She'd told him there was something wrong with that Prince person and he shouldn't just trust everything he read! She'd told him! And still he wouldn't listen to her. He was actually planning to go back and fetch the book from the Room of Requirement as soon as Snape stopped watching him; he was actually planning to learn more spells out of it and trust it again.
She tried to make him see what a bad idea this was. If he didn't care about the danger or about almost murdering someone by accident – even if it was someone he despised as much as Malfoy – didn't he care that it had already got him in deep trouble? After he'd been so obsessed with this Quidditch match coming up, didn't he even care that he'd let himself and his team and his house down by following the suggestions in the book?
Of course, Ginny took his side. Hermione had always known her best girlfriend loved Harry even more than Quidditch, but still it made her too angry to say another word. He'd just have to learn the hard way.
The last thing she wanted to do that evening was go to another lesson with Snape. He'd already docked her 60 points today and was probably planning to make it an even 600, knowing him. But it wasn't the points that bothered her. She knew he'd be in an absolutely foul temper and after what she'd mind-said to him earlier she could hardly blame him.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I'm really sorry." Malfoy was a git, but she shouldn't have paraded her dislike to one of the few people in the school who did truly like him. Besides, she didn't really want him hurt – though an eternity with Myrtle did seem a rather appropriate fate.
He didn't look up from his marking.
"Don't indulge your propensity for lying at my expense, Miss Granger. I know you too well to be taken in," he told her.
"I'm not a liar!"
"Aren't you? I've sometimes thought you'd have been sorted into Slytherin if you weren't a Muggle-born."
Chewing on her lip, she stared at the floor. How did he know? She'd even lied to the boys about that once, told them the Hat had considered Ravenclaw. But knowledge for her was a means to an end, not an end in itself.
Shame made her lash out.
"Are you saying that all Slytherins are liars?"
His glower made her sorry she'd provoked him into looking up. His lips thinned, then twisted into a smirk as he thought of a worse punishment than anger. Nothing hurts more than the truth.
"I'm saying that you're cunning and ambitious and you know the value of a well-placed lie at the right time or to the right person. That is to say, to someone you're capable of deceiving. Lying to Professor McGonagall or –"
Her head jerked up.
"I never lied to Professor McGonagall!"
"If I have to enumerate your lies over the last six years, we'll be here a long time," he said acidly. "The troll in the bathroom?"
"Oh." She hadn't thought he knew that one.
"As I was saying, lying to Professor McGonagall or Umbridge serves a purpose. Lying to someone who knows when you're doing it does not."
Her eyes prickled and her hands clenched.
"You'd know all about lying, wouldn't you?"
He gave her a long dark look.
"I won't tolerate your tone, Miss Granger."
She leaned forward, lifting her chin.
"Sorry, I meant to say, you'd know all about lying, sir."
He sucked all the defiance out of her gaze with one flaming glare. Fidgeting, she lowered her head and looked away.
"Naturally," he agreed. "Deception of all kinds is a spy's stock-in-trade."
A sleeping doubt reawakened at this smug admission. He'd told her in their very first lesson that he'd convinced both Voldemort and Dumbledore that he was on their side and deceiving the other. Was it all a big trick then? How did she know whose side he was on?
Her mind raced over the evidence. These lessons had been the headmaster's idea. He'd talked of making back-up plans for the future and told her that Snape would make any sacrifice to further their cause, that sometimes he had had to do terrible things. And he'd indicated that he trusted Snape completely. In fact, he'd said it again to Harry after he overheard Snape offer to help with Malfoy's "job". Apparently Dumbledore knew and endorsed Snape's plans.
But Snape knew all about lying, lying and deception of all kinds. What if he'd told Dumbledore to expect one thing and was actually planning another, something worse, something Dumbledore wouldn't approve? Something that would betray them all?
"The problem with lying is that people learn not to trust you," she said, feeling her way.
"Indeed. No one does trust me but for my two masters. And one of them, at least, is wrong."
"But Dumbledore wants me to trust you."
He pointed his quill at her.
"If you're asking how you know you can trust me, I told you at the outset that you'd have to decide that for yourself. We both know that he's far too trusting of the wrong people sometimes."
"But none of the others can lie with the truth like you do. He must have a very good reason to trust you or he couldn't be so adamant about it. And it can't be Veritaserum because you could fake it, or Legilimency because you're too good an Occlumens, or Imperio because that's an Unforgivable and he wouldn't use it."
Snape nodded, pushing away a marked paper without taking another.
"What, then?" she continued. "An Unbreakable Vow?"
He contemplated her for what seemed a very long time, running his finger around his firm, thin lips.
"A shared history," he said at last. "The secrets I've kept, the consequences I've faced, even the lies I've told on his behalf when truth would have served me better. And that's as much as I will tell you."
Her head reared back to study him with narrowed eyes.
"A shared history? I thought there'd be more."
He turned the quill over as if examining it, his face intent but shadowed by his hair.
Shrugging, he said, "What more does one need? Why do you trust your friends and why do they trust you? Because you've been forged in the fire together. You know each other's strengths and weaknesses as he and I know ours. Even mistakes strengthen the bond, if you face them instead of hiding from them."
She thought she knew what he meant.
"You mean, we'd be stronger if we faced our responsibility for Sirius dying?"
He frowned at the quill as if it was an accusing skeleton, his mouth tightening and relaxing. Puzzled, she waited through a long silence. He shook his head.
"Is that all you can see? The self-inflicted death of one man? How many innocents have died since you broke the stalemate and loosened the Dark Lord's hand?"
"I don't understand you." But she did. The killings hadn't started until their little jaunt to the Ministry forced Fudge to admit Voldemort was back. She slumped onto the chair and buried her face in her hands. "You mean that was us? Brockdale Bridge, Amelia Bones, Florean Fortescue, Ollivander, everyone?" she whispered despairingly.
"Do you think it was you?" he asked.
Emmeline Vance, Hannah Abbot's mother, the Puckles… Octavius Pepper, little Damian Montgomery… She conjured a bucket only just in time and drowned the upheaval of her mind in the upheaval of her stomach.
When she lifted her head finally, she found a vial and a handkerchief by her hand.
"Too much Dreamless Sleep?" asked Snape as she wiped her face. "Drink that."
She picked them up gingerly, expecting the potion to rekindle her nausea, but it tasted of nothing. She sipped it gratefully and rubbed again and again at her eyes.
"Miss Granger, you didn't kill them." He sounded almost gentle, but his knuckles were white and his shoulders stiff. "Death Eaters did. You're not responsible for other people's choices. Only your own."
The bitter set of his mouth told her he was thinking of choices of his own now, choices that hadn't turned out well. It gave her no comfort.
"If not for us, most of those people would still be alive."
"Perhaps. And perhaps if you hadn't ended the deadlock, the enemy would have had time to grow so strong while the Ministry slept that eventually thousands more would have died. We can't know. This is war. People die and we can't always stop them."
Sniffing, she wrung her hands and gulped, "We were so stupid."
"Yes, you were. But you're none of you killers. Even Potter."
A/N All the victims (except the Puckles whom I invented for ch 7 and the Montgomery boy's first name) are canon. The "Dreamless Sleep" comment also references my chapter 7, whereI drew a non-canon link between too-frequent use of the potion and nausea.
The action, but no dialogue, is set in ch 24, Sectumsempra.