Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.


Chapter 23

Potions on Wednesday afternoon was a strange affair. Hermione tried not to act any differently towards Malfoy than she had before, but she was finding it hard to treat him with indifference when she had to sit next to the Slytherin and work with him.

For his part, the Head Boy was civil to her, but not overtly so. Unlike when he'd gestured for her to precede him into the classroom on Monday, Hermione could detect no insincerity in the way he spoke to her, making her wonder if Snape's suspicions were, indeed, true.

She caught Snape watching them a few times throughout the lesson, a contemplative look in his face.

By the end of Potions on Friday, she couldn't deny Malfoy was a dab hand at the art, and an excellent lab partner, too. His ingredient preparation was as precise as her own, and while their potion base was simmering for the required half hour, they worked out a schedule of brewing and charming which would give them both an opportunity to try the new skill.

Hermione hung back at the end of the lesson, planning to accompany Snape to his lab, but Malfoy also seemed to be taking a long time to pack away his parchments and quills, and was watching her out the corner of his eye.

She frowned and left the classroom without acknowledging Snape. Slowing her steps once out in the corridor, she sensed Malfoy a short distance behind her. When she reached the junction of the corridor that lead to Snape's quarters and the stairs to the upper levels of the castle, she chose the stairs. It seemed to throw Malfoy as she had hoped, because even though she waited for some time in the Entrance Hall, he didn't appear.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she made her way quickly to the first floor and let herself into the passage to his rooms. He was already sitting at his desk, marking papers with a scowl on his face, when she arrived. A small hourglass sitting next to the pile of essays was presumably for the steaming cauldron she could see through the open door to the lab.

"I thought you weren't coming tonight," he said, not looking up.

"Malfoy seemed rather interested in why I was hanging back after the lesson," she explained, sitting down opposite him at the desk. "I went upstairs to try to confuse him, which obviously I did, because he didn't follow once I left the dungeons.

"Hmm," Snape said, scratching a large 'A' on the essay in front of him and picking up the next one from the pile.

Hermione quietly retrieved a shrunk package from within her book bag, enlarged it, and sat it on the desk between them.

He glanced at the silver-grey parcel, and then up at her.

"What's this?"

"Happy Birthday, Severus," she said softly.

He looked surprised, then pleased, then... almost regretful.

"It's not much," she said quickly, trying to forestall any attempt to refuse it. She had spent some time deliberating what to give him since she'd found out the date of his birthday just after Christmas. She didn't want to embarrass him, or presume to gift him with anything too personal, but at the same time she wanted her gift to mean something.

"You didn't have to..." he began. "I didn't expect-"

"I wanted to," she said firmly.

He set down his quill and stared at the package for a long moment before reaching for it.

Hermione bit her lip and watched his long fingers unwrapping the box which, when revealed, was plain, glossy black except for gold embossed writing on the front.

"Ogden's Old Firewhisky," he read aloud, his mouth curving into an appreciative smile at the irony of her gift.

"Much better than that cheap imitation stuff," she said, returning the smile. It had been an even chance whether he would be offended or amused by the gift, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief that it was the latter.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, tracing the writing on the box thoughtfully with one finger. "I'm sure I'll make use of it in the near future."

Her smile dropped a little, but he waved the comment off with a short, forced laugh, set the bottle aside carefully, and picked up his quill again.

She took that as her cue to leave him to his work, and went into the lab to make the next monthly batch of potions for the Hospital Wing. She'd met with Madam Pomfrey earlier in the week to take inventory of the stocks. Quite a few things needed replenishing, for which she was thankful, as it gave her something to concentrate on the following evening, Saturday.

When she arrived shortly after dinner, Snape was pacing the lab again as he had the previous week; four flasks of the potion, instead of two, were lined up on the workbench.

She went straight to work on her own potions, trying to block out the soft thud of Snape's boots as he crossed the room, swung around, and walked back the way he had come in a ceaseless circle of steps. She knew by now that 'mindless chatter', as he was apt to call it, didn't help alleviate the trepidation of what was to come, and Snape preferred to be left to his own quiet thoughts, whatever they may be.

Just after seven he strode from the room, flexing his left hand in obvious discomfort, and returned moments later with his cloak. Hermione left her cauldron as he shrank the flasks into phials again, and as he tucked them into his pocket, she came up next to him, murmuring, "Be careful".

He turned to her and nodded briefly, apprehension and resolve in his dark eyes.

Then he was gone, and she turned back to her cauldron, infinitely glad to have something to occupy her mind.

Two and a half hours later, three different potions sat cooled and bottled on the workbench. Hermione didn't want to start something else, since she was sure Snape would be returning any time now, so she made sure the lab was spotlessly clean and withdrew to the sitting room to await his arrival.

After sitting idly in one of the armchairs for ten minutes, she stood up and went to the vast bookshelf for something to read. Her eyes drifted to the Muggle fiction shelf, and she perused the titles, selecting with some difficulty a small, very old, leather-bound version of The Canterbury Tales.

She made it through the prologue before she glanced at the clock, realising again how long Snape had been gone compared to last week; it had been over three hours.

He could be back, talking with the Headmaster, she thought, and for a moment considered Flooing Professor Dumbledore to check. She dismissed that thought, though. If Snape was there, the two teachers would most likely not be pleased with the interruption, and if he wasn't... it would only increase her worry.

Settling more comfortably in the chair and tucking her legs up beneath her, she continued on to the next part of the book, The Knight's Tale. Hermione found herself drawn into the story, and she lost track of time, as she was apt to do when reading a new book.

Even the soft chiming of the clock on the mantle didn't distract her until, near the end of the tale, she leant back to stretch and her gaze fell on the clock once more.

Half-past twelve! She jumped up from her seat and crossed to the workroom door, opening it and peering in to reassure herself he hadn't returned by the other passage and gone straight to brewing. It was empty and cold.

She replaced The Canterbury Tales on the shelf and began pacing in front of the fire, shivering despite its warmth. Surely he should be back by now?

And if he'd returned but been held up by Dumbledore, surely he would have thought to Floo her, if only to dismiss her for the night. He knew she wouldn't go back to Gryffindor Tower until he returned.

Half an hour later, she was pacing a full circle around the room, telling herself with each pass of the fireplace that on the next one, she would Floo the Headmaster.

Her resolve was almost set when the flames turned green, and the Potions master stepped from the fireplace, pulling off his cloak as soon as he exited the hearth.

Hermione crossed the room in three strides and, before Snape could protest, pulled him into a relieved hug. She felt his surprise in the momentary stiffening of his shoulders, but then he relaxed and wrapped his own arms around her with a soft sigh, his fingers unintentionally tangling in the haphazard curls hanging down her back.

It was only when Snape made a quiet enquiry over the top of her head that she realised she was shaking.

"You were gone so long," she whispered, turning her head to one side so her words weren't muffled in his frock coat. "I thought something had happened."

"I'm fine," he said. "You shouldn't have worried. I've been gone much longer than this before."

"I know, but not last week. You were back so quickly, then, and I thought this week would be the same."

Snape didn't answer, but tightened his embrace a little, one hand coming up to rest on the back of her head. Her right ear was pressed against his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, through the layers of clothing. It soothed her, and she drew a shaky breath, trying to calm her own racing heart.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked after some time, his hand moving back and forth over her hair in the lightest caress. She nodded as best she could, and drew back, a little uncomfortable at the concerned look he was giving her.

"Really, I'm okay," she said. "I shouldn't have worried; I was just being silly. I'm sorry."

"I thought we'd agreed you were going to stop apologising all the time," he said sternly, though there was a faint glimmer of something in his eyes; not amusement... appreciation, perhaps.

"Besides," he continued, "your concern, misplaced as it was tonight, is welcome nonetheless."

She smiled a little, and he picked up his cloak again, withdrawing four empty phials from within its folds.

"Are they the ones you took tonight, full?" she asked, following him into the lab.

He nodded, his back turned as he set them on the workbench and cast the charm to return them to their original-sized flasks.

It dawned on her then why he'd been gone much longer.

"You helped to distribute it tonight, didn't you?"

"Yes," Snape said, sitting at the cluttered desk and rummaging through the piles of notes for something. "A fact of which I am considerably thankful for, as it has allowed me to give fair warning to those who have been targeted."

Hermione sat on the stool at the end of the nearest bench, deep in thought, while Snape found the parchment he was searching for.

When he turned to face her, she said, "Won't he suspect you?"

Snape shook his head and leant back in his chair, preparing for a long explanation.

"There were twelve of us working together tonight; he will suspect all of us, but be reluctant to take any serious action against anyone without a further, shall we say, individual test of loyalty."

"Who was targeted?" she asked. "Aurors? The Order?"

Snape shook his head. "No, I was wrong in the assumption he would continue such small-scale attacks with such a mass weapon. Tonight, we added the potion to the water supply at the Ministry of Magic."

Hermione stared at his calm face him with a horrified expression, imagining the hundreds upon hundreds of wizards and witches working in the Ministry. Even with the potion diluted in the water, it would still be potent enough to seriously harm people, depending on how much they consumed. There were drinking fountains all over the Ministry building, fed magically through the pipes from the water supply, not to mention the cafeteria and the thousands of cups of tea and coffee consumed every day. It would be a disaster of catastrophic proportions. Half the Ministry would be in St Mungo's before they realised what was happening.

"Thank God you were included in this, or they'd have had no warning," she said quietly. "Can they cleanse the water or clear the system?"

Snape shook his head again. "I don't know what they plan to do. Dumbledore is aware of the contamination, and has contacted the appropriate Ministry officials to handle it. I've made them aware the potion is only viable for a week, so the worst that can happen is they'll have to shut down the system for that length of time."

"He's not going for subtlety anymore with these attacks, is he?" she commented.

Snape was reading the parchment in his hands, but he answered, "It's my understanding that he wants things to come to a head sooner rather than later. He has realised the longer he leaves it to rid himself of Potter – or so he thinks – the harder it will be. These large scale attacks seem to be aimed at drastically reducing the number of capable wizards and witches who would be fighting against him in the shortest possible space of time."

"What will he do when the attacks fail, then?" Hermione asked.

"This one has failed, Hermione," the Potions master reminded her. "That's not to say any future ones will. It may have merely been a stroke of luck that I was privy to the details tonight; it may not happen again."

He turned back to the desk, and picked up a quill, scribbling quickly at the bottom of the parchment. She ventured forwards and peered over his shoulder, trying to interpret the long, complicated Arithmantic equation he was writing.

"What's that?" she started to ask, but he hushed her with an abrupt, "Shh," and continued to write, grabbing another piece of parchment and starting the equation again, slightly different from the last one.

When he'd filled half the page, and crossed out much of what he'd written in between, he sat back, studying the final equation with narrowed eyes.

Hermione's head was spinning just from trying to decipher the first line. It seemed to be a formula relating to the opening wand movement of an incantation, but it was too intricate to comprehend, even with her NEWT-level knowledge of the subject.

"I think it might work," Snape said slowly, crossing out one figure and replacing it with another.

"What is it?" she asked again.

"If it works," he said cautiously, "it is the Arithmantic formula for an incantation to charm Cruciatus antidote into a preventative potion."

She stared at the formula, and then at Snape, who was frowning, his lips moving slightly as he checked the formula once more.

"That's brilliant," she breathed.

"It hasn't worked yet," he warned her. "Some things that seem theoretically sound are a complete disaster in practice."

"Well," she said frankly, "that formula makes absolutely no sense to me theoretically, but it's still brilliant."

He smirked at her. "Arithmantic incantations are extremely complex. I don't think Professor Vector even touches on them in her NEWT class." Hermione shook her head. "You'd likely have to be studying for a Masters in the subject before you attempted creating your own formulas."

"You have a Masters in Arithmancy and Potions?" she concluded incredulously.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Actually, no. But the Master of Potions I apprenticed under did have, and he taught me a lot of Arithmantic theory in relation to Potions."

'Useful," she commented, and he nodded in agreement. "Are you going to test it on the antidote, then?"

"The incantations must be carried out during the actual brewing," he explained, "in much the same way as the potion you're working on in class at the moment. We will begin a new batch of the brew during the week, time permitting. I still have the actual potion to make in time for next Saturday."

"Let's hope you can find out what he plans to do with that, too," Hermione sighed.


Tuesday morning, the Daily Prophet carried a front-page story of a mysterious contamination of the water supply at the Ministry of Magic. Sources at the newspaper said Ministry officials had not revealed the cause of the contamination, though they had assured their employees and the wizarding community that the supply would be restored within the week.

From Harry's expression as he read the article over Hermione's shoulder, it was obvious he knew more than what the paper was saying. As with all of their conversations, she hadn't mentioned anything Snape had told her to either of her friends, but in a quiet moment before first lesson on Tuesday, she and Harry filled Ron in on what they knew.

Dumbledore had spoken of the attempted attack to Harry, including Snape's role in preventing it, and Hermione had been pleased to see her friend nod to the Potions master as they entered the classroom on Wednesday. Snape raised an eyebrow, but returned the gesture, and then graced Hermione with a questioning look. She shook her head and mouthed, 'Dumbledore', just as Malfoy sat down next to her.

They had finished brewing the base of the Indicii Memoria, and were working on adding the first ingredients with matching incantations. Despite her misgivings, Hermione found herself working quite well with Malfoy. Although they seldom strayed from talking about the task at hand, they both managed to refrain from sarcastic retorts.

Worryingly, she caught Malfoy watching her a number of times at meals in the Great Hall, and watching Snape, too, on the rare occasion the Potions master actually put in an appearance. The Slytherin also made a point of being one of the last to leave the Potions classroom at the end of each lesson, preventing Hermione from speaking to the Potions master. She was sure Malfoy was doing it deliberately, having sensed something amiss between the teacher and student, and she found herself being extra careful when using the hidden passageway into Snape's quarters.


The week passed in a flurry of lessons, assignments, brewing and a nail-biting Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin in which Harry narrowly caught the Snitch ahead of Malfoy.

Hermione left the celebrations in the Gryffindor common room on Saturday evening to go to Snape's lab. There was no real need for her to be there as far as brewing went. The potion stocks for the Hospital Wing were up to date again, and she'd just finished a cauldron-full of the original antidote. Snape hadn't yet had time to test the incantation he'd created for the preventative brew.

Saturday nights with Snape had become something of a habit, though, and aside from her own uneasiness at not knowing whether he was safe or not, she knew he had come to take some unspoken measure of comfort in her presence each time he returned from Voldemort.

He wasn't pacing this time, for which she was thankful, but she stopped when he scowled darkly at her presence in the doorway.

"What?"

"If you've just come to gloat, you can turn around and go back the way you came," he said darkly from where he was sitting at the cramped desk in the lab.

She frowned in confusion, but then looked down and realised she still had her Gryffindor scarf draped around her neck.

"Sorry," she muttered, pulling it off and shoving it on a stool under one of the benches. "We were celebrating."

"No doubt," he sighed. "You might as well join them again. Everything seems to be in order here. There's no use making more antidote until I can attempt the charmed one."

"I'm up-to-date with the potions for Madam Pomfrey, too," she said, "but I thought I'd just come down and... I don't know... see if you needed anything."

"Some of that Firewhisky, maybe," he said with a grimace. "I'm not looking forward to the Dark Lord's reaction to the failure of the last mission."

"But you said he wouldn't-"

"No, I don't think he'll start throwing curses," Snape said quickly. "But he will be suspicious of everyone, and may decide to test us."

Before Hermione could ask what he meant by that, he hissed and clenched his left hand into a fist.

She stood silently as he gathered his cloak and the phials of potion, and then followed him into the sitting room.

"Go back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione," he said, taking a pinch of Floo from the jar on the mantle.

"But-" she began.

"There's nothing for you to do here," he pressed. "There's no point in you sitting here for hours. Go back to your friends, or your schoolwork, and I'll see you tomorrow."

She bit her lip, reluctant to leave, and to have to wait until the morning to see how he fared.

"Get some rest, Hermione," he said, and at her doubtful glance, offered, "Come back as early as you like in the morning. I'll be here."

At that concession she finally nodded, and he stepped into the fireplace.

She took a breath and opened her mouth to wish him luck, but he was already gone.


By the time the Quidditch celebrations were over in the Gryffindor common room it was just after midnight. Hermione retreated to her bedroom, but found herself unable to sleep, worry for Snape sitting like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach. Just after one, she found herself still wide awake, peering out the window at the darkened grounds below, hoping to see a glance of the elusive figure moving through the shadows upon his return.

Half an hour later, she decided she had to know what had happened. She knew if Snape had returned he wouldn't be sleeping, not if Voldemort had requested the potion again for next week. He would be angry at her, perhaps, but he had said she could return in the morning... and it technically was morning.

The castle was cold and quiet as she made her way out past a very grumpy Fat Lady and downstairs to the first floor. She shivered, glad she'd thought to pull her jacket, gloves and scarf – not her Gryffindor one, though - on over her jumper. She made it to the first floor door without encountering even Mrs Norris or one of the ghosts, and slipped through into the passage that led to Snape's quarters.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the velvety cloak discarded over the back of an armchair, but her mood dropped somewhat when she also noticed the new bottle of Firewhisky she'd given him, now open. It didn't look like much had been consumed, but it must have been a hard night for him to have had a drink at all, she surmised.

As she shrugged off her jacket, gloves and scarf, noises from the lab reached her ears, and she remembered she'd been meaning to speak with Snape about the strange sounds she'd been hearing. These sounds were different, though, and as she opened the door the tap, tap, tap of a knife on the wooden bench top became clearer.

Snape glanced up as she entered the room, closing the door behind her, and she had to stop herself from taking a step backwards. The look on his face was... there was no other word for it but murderous. He looked absolutely furious, and he was slashing the roots of the plant on the bench with none of his usual precision. Where his strokes of the knife were normally quick but accurate, he was now taking vicious swipes at the roots, and sweeping them into an accumulating pile before grabbing another chunk from the jar to repeat the process.

When he'd finished, he scooped them up and spun around, throwing them into the cauldron behind him. Turning back to the bench, he took the next jar he had lined up, filled with pickled tube-worms, and scooped out a handful of the slimy ingredients. Hermione watched with a mixture of fear and concern as he began his brutal assault with the knife again. The preserving liquid still clinging to the tube-worms was making it difficult, and he pulled his hand away with a hiss as the knife slipped, cutting his finger. Blood dripped onto the ingredients, rendering them useless, and he grabbed his wand, banished them, and snarled a hasty charm to close the wound.

When he took another handful of the worms and began again, Hermione started across the room towards him to put a stop to it. She was at the end of the bench when the knife slipped again, and he slammed it hard into the top of the bench. An instant later, a sweep of his arm cleared the bench of everything; jars and phials shattered as they hit the stone floor.

Hermione uttered a squeak of surprise and fear at the violent outburst, and instinctively stepped back in case he turned on her next.

He didn't though; instead he sank onto a nearby stool and bowed his head, breathing heavily. He brought his hands up to clasp the back of his neck, oblivious of the rivulets of blood running down into the sleeve of his black shirt from the second cut on his left hand.

Hermione stood, indecisive, wondering what could possibly have put him so on edge. He didn't seem to be hurt aside from his hand, so Voldemort obviously hadn't called his loyalties into question.

She took a hesitant step towards him again, hating herself for being afraid, but she'd never seen his temper so volatile. Certainly, every student in the school knew his mood could become explosive very quickly, but she'd never seen him physically violent before, even if his anger seemed to be directed mostly at himself.

When she reached his side, she said his name softly so as not to startle him and reached for the bloodied hand. He let her draw it down from behind his head to rest on the workbench, and stared at the movement of her wand as she healed the cut and cleaned the blood away with a quick series of charms.

She left him sitting there, and moved around to the end of the bench to the mess of ruined ingredients on the floor. Hermione was aware of him watching her as she quickly and calmly Evanescoed everything but the shattered glass, and then cast, "Reparo."

She crossed the room with the clean jars and phials, and placed them in the cabinet with the other empty ones, then turned back to Snape. He seemed to have calmed down slightly, though he still hadn't moved from the stool. She pulled another one up close and sat facing him, her knees almost touching his thigh.

"I apologise," he said after a few minutes of silence. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's okay," she replied softly.

"No, it's not okay," he said. "I've just ruined galleons worth of ingredients; allowing them to mix like that could have been disastrous, not to mention I could have hurt you if you'd been standing any closer."

"Do want to talk about it?" she said after a moment.

"No." Snape shook his head.

"Something has obviously happened to upset you," she pressed. "It might help, and you know you can trust me."

"It's not about trust, Hermione," he snapped, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand. "Dumbledore has forbidden me to speak of it to anyone."

She frowned. "Surely he wouldn't mind-"

"And specifically not to speak of it to you," he said, getting up suddenly and leaving the room.

She stared after him, confused, and made to follow. As she left the lab, she heard rustling in the corner again, but was too preoccupied to turn and see the source of the noise crossing the floor.

Snape was pouring another glass of Firewhisky as she closed the lab door behind her, but he didn't sit down, choosing instead to stand in front of the fireplace and rest his glass on the mantle.

Hermione stood a short distance away, watching him until he finally glanced in her direction and grimaced.

"I suppose I'll have to tell you something now, won't I?"

She nodded and sat on the armrest of the couch. "I swear I won't tell anyone."

"I know that," he scorned. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to... how did he put it? Share the burden of knowledge of what is going to happen."

"Okay," she said slowly.

He took a long drink from his glass and refilled it before he began speaking again.

"You know, last weekend, that I was able to bring warning of the attack on the Ministry because there were enough Death Eaters involved in the mission to avert suspicion from myself?"

She nodded silently.

"You also know that I predicted the Dark Lord may test us individually in the future to try to discover who was sabotaging the mission. As ill luck would have it, he decided to test me first."

Hermione gasped softly, thinking of the Pensieve scene Dumbledore had shown her, when Snape had been required to demonstrate his loyalty before Voldemort once before. The Potions master read the horrified look on her face correctly and chuckled bitterly.

"No, it's nothing like what you're thinking, Hermione," he said, pushing his lank hair back from his face. "When I delivered the potion tonight, the Dark Lord instructed me to distribute it at a certain location. No one else knows of it, so if the attack is foiled in any way, he'll know I've betrayed him."

Hermione nodded slowly, trying to absorb the unpleasant news. It was ridiculous to think there wouldn't be casualties sooner or later, and that Snape would be privy to and able to stop all Voldemort's attempts to distribute the potion.

She said as much, and he scowled.

"You sound just like the Headmaster. Neither of you have any idea of what this means."

She frowned, and said, "It means people will die, Severus, but you have to consider the people you'll be saving in the long run."

"Oh, yes," he sneered, taking another sip of Firewhisky. "What was the term Albus used? Regrettable casualties? Should that make it easier to bear their deaths on my conscience, Hermione?"

"No, but it's not-"

"Then spare me the empty reassurances!" he exploded, his dark eyes flashing as he turned from the fireplace and strode angrily across the room to stand in front of the bookshelves instead. "I've already heard them once tonight and they mean nothing. If the Dark Lord is testing me, doesn't that mean he'll test all the other Death Eaters present last weekend? That's twelve of us – eleven other attacks of which I will be able to bring no warning, because only the Dark Lord and the one carrying out that night's task will be aware of it."

She inhaled a breath sharply, not having considered it from that point of view.

"People are going to die, Hermione," he continued. "Innocent people. Muggles. Children. And there isn't a thing I can do to stop it without being exposed."

"That's not an option," she said.

"Oh, believe me," he sighed. "Exposure is a very attractive option at this moment. I can see only ruin in my continued duplicity."

Hermione jumped up from her place on the armrest of the couch and moved across the room, too, standing next him. She took the almost-empty glass from his hands and set it carefully on a space between two bookends, grasping his hands in her own instead.

"No," she implored. "We need you. If you're discovered, who will be able to warn us in the future?"

He snorted. "If I'm exposed, Hermione, there'll be no need for warnings. The Dark Lord won't have the potion anymore, will he?"

"The potion isn't the only weapon he possesses," she reasoned desperately. "Yes, it's terrible that innocent people have to die, but the Headmaster is right. The Order can't afford for you to lose your position in his ranks."

He nodded, turning his back to the bookshelf and leaning his head back against it for a moment. "I know. I'm just… I hate this, Hermione," he confessed in a low voice. "I just don't see the point in what I'm doing anymore."

"The point? It's-" she started to say.

"Oh, I know," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Helping the Order, gathering information, protecting Potter so he can finally be rid of the Dark Lord, and all that. I just don't see how the Order is better off with my contributions lately than they would be without. We're fighting a war for freedom, but it seems I'm taking more lives than I'm saving."

Hermione watched the despair cross his face and a sense of complete helplessness threatened to overwhelm her. She'd heard Snape complain before, about Dumbledore's latest plan, or a decision the Order made in regards to his activities, but never had she heard him sound so bleak, so hopeless.

Normally, any setback only increased his determination to see the end of Voldemort, but now... he seemed not to care anymore.

She found herself unable to conjure any adequate words of comfort, and instead settled for grasping his hands more firmly, imploring him to meet her gaze.

When he did, she was distressed to see the dullness in his eyes, which were normally so expressive. They were tired and resigned, the eyes of a man sick of giving to the world and receiving nothing in return. He looked ready to give up... on his work, on the war... on himself.

It frightened her.

But along with that fear came a strange ache in her chest, and she realised, in a moment of sudden clarity, something she'd been trying not to acknowledge for weeks.

She loved him.

It wasn't some silly schoolgirl crush, as she'd told her mother at Christmas. Crushes were borne of admiration for a figure who was seen but not really known; the image of a person rather than the reality.

She knew Severus Snape now. Perhaps better than anyone else, save for the Headmaster. And the more she discovered of the man behind the stoic Potions master façade, the more she liked him. Who ever would have guessed the heartless teacher of her earlier years could have such integrity, compassion and determination?

She loved the man she'd finally discovered behind that cold exterior, and the despair she felt at seeing him so distressed made her determined to do whatever she could to ease some of his burden.

"Let me help you," she said softly, her eyes not leaving his own. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

"There's nothing you can do," he sighed, turning away and pulling one hand from hers to reach for his glass again. He emptied it in a single gulp, replaced it on the shelf, and added resignedly, "Dumbledore has made his decision, and I'll do as he asks, as I have always done, regardless of the consequences."

"Severus," she said softly, and when he turned to face her again, she moved her hands to his shoulders.

"I want to help you," she said earnestly. "There must be something I can do to help. Anything. Tell me what you want me to do."

He didn't answer, but held her gaze intently for what seemed like an age to Hermione. She realised how close they were, and her heart started beating just a little bit faster.

She hardly dared to blink as the fathomless depths of his dark eyes seemed to draw her in, and she could feel the soft caress of his breath on her forehead.

Had she leaned forwards, or had Snape moved closer of his own accord?

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the flames in the fireplace, and a slight hitch in her breathing as she realised – no, hoped – she knew what was about to happen.

Everything around her seemed to be happening in slow motion.

They were close... so close... too close for it to mean anything else.

Her gaze drifted from Snape's eyes to his mouth, and she found herself unconsciously wetting her lips. When she met his eyes again, she could see the reflection of the fire across the room burning in their depths.

Hermione's hands were still on his shoulders, and now she felt his own hands come around her back, pulling her closer still.

She closed her eyes, and a moment later felt his thin, warm lips gently brushing her own... once, twice, three times, in a frustratingly chaste kiss. Sighing softly, she moved one hand up his shoulder and into the soft strands of hair at the base of his neck.

He tightened his hold around her back in response, and pressed his lips to hers again, a little harder this time. She could taste the sharp tang of the Firewhisky on his mouth, warm and bitter, and instinctively darted her tongue forwards to taste it.

The moment her tongue touched his lips, though, he drew back as though burned, her fingers tearing through a tangle in his hair as he pushed himself away from her.

She stared at him, confused, her breath coming in short gasps, her lips still tingling with sensation. She made to reach her hand out to him, but Snape moved again, backing clean across the room to the hearth, a mortified expression on his face.

"What have I done?" she heard him whisper as he faced the mantle, one hand pressed across his mouth.

She stared at his back, and the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he tried to calm his own breathing.

She took a single step towards him, but one word halted her movement.

"Don't."

He didn't turn around.

"Don't what?" Her voice came out shaky and uncertain, and he looked around at her, something akin to fear in his eyes.

"Don't come any closer." He was clearly struggling with himself, because his own voice was hoarse and unsteady.

"Why?" she asked softly, taking another step closer.

"Dammit, Hermione!" he said desperately, holding out a hand in a vain attempt to stop any further advance. "Because I shouldn't have done that, but I'm tired and my self-control is in tatters, and..." his voice broke as he finished, "if you come any closer I don't think I can stop myself from doing it again."

She took another step and his eyes closed, his arm still extended in a feeble protest.

"Who says I would object if you did?"

Surprise flitted across his face as his eyes flew open, dark with desire, but not without that same hint of fear. Hermione noticed his bottom lip was just slightly swollen, and was suddenly overcome with the urge to feel those lips on hers again.

She crossed the space between them in measured, even steps, though her heart was pounding fit to burst. She was almost close enough to touch his face, only to be stopped by a firm hand on each of her shoulders.

When she looked up into his eyes again, there was none of the earlier fire, but only a stony resolve.

"No," he said firmly. "Hermione, we cannot. We must not."

"Why?" she said again, and before he had a chance to respond, added, "Don't try to tell me you don't want this, after what you just did."

"I shouldn't have done it," he replied. "It was an inexcusable moment of weakness, and one that I hope you can forgive me for."

"What, a moment of weakness where you just reached out to whomever happened to be near and willing at the time?" she said, stricken at the thought she'd misinterpreted his actions so grossly.

"No!" he exclaimed.

"It was convenient, is that it?" Her voice was becoming shriller with each accusation, and she was fighting a losing battle to hold back the tears she could feel building behind her eyes. If he pushed her away now...

"You believe I think so little of you?" he asked incredulously.

"Honestly, Severus, I don't know what you think of me," she said, stepping back so that his hands fell from her shoulders. "I don't even know what I think of you, anymore."

It was her turn to put distance between them as she crossed the room to the large window. It was snowing again, and the darkness outside was absolute, broken only by the icy particles gathering at the edges of the windowpanes.

There was silence for a long time, and Hermione could see Snape's reflection in the window, lit by the flickering flames of the fire. He was standing in the same place she'd left him, but he'd turned to face the wall, both elbows resting on the mantle, his head in his hands.

Finally, the Potions master broke the silence.

"I think," he said slowly, "as tired as we both undoubtedly are, there's no sense putting off the rest of this conversation until the light of day."

"Is there even anything left to say?" she asked bitterly, looking from his reflection to the real figure. He, too, turned to face her, and though his face was thrown into shadow, she could still see his eyes glittering.

"There is."

The two words hung in the air between them, and Hermione suddenly felt a glimmer of hope.

He gestured for her to return to the fireside and she complied, sitting on the edge of one of the armchairs. Snape didn't sit, instead choosing to pace across the hearth, his arms folded.

"I make no excuses for what I did," he began, an edge of nervousness in his voice. "It was uncalled for, though apparently not entirely unwelcome."

He looked to her in askance and she blushed a little, nodding.

"However," he continued, "regardless of whatever needs or desires might have been fulfilled by my – our – actions, it cannot happen again."

"I don't-" she began.

"No, Hermione, listen to me," he said firmly. "I am a teacher, your teacher, and as such I am bound by a code of conduct which absolutely forbids any sort of... incident... like the one that occurred here tonight."

"But it's not like you took advantage of me," she protested. "I'm of age, in this world and the Muggle one. Surely I can make up my own mind as to who I... I..."

"Age doesn't matter, Hermione," he sighed. "For as long as you are a student at this school, I hold a position of authority over you, and can be accused of exploiting it for my own personal gain."

"But you wouldn't-"

"I know I wouldn't, but a third party would be unlikely to view the situation from my point of view. Wizards have gone to Azkaban for far less, Hermione."

Her stomach dropped. In her haste to convince him what had happened was entirely welcome, she hadn't thought of the consequences if anyone were to find out.

"No one has to know," she said quietly, pleadingly. "No one has any idea we've become friends these past months."

He looked down at her and sighed again, dropping onto one knee so that his face was level with her own.

"Even my being friends with you would be frowned up by most, Hermione. You know secrets are never safe for long in this place. Is this-" he gestured between them, "-really worth putting your schooling and my job in jeopardy for?"

She hesitated and he shook his head.

"We're friends, but as for anything... more... it cannot happen," he repeated firmly. "Not now."

"Not ever?" she asked, bowing her head for fear him seeing the hurt his inevitable answer would cause.

She felt a hand under her chin, though, gently tilting her head up until she met his gaze again. He seemed pensive... almost sad... and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes.

"Not yet," he said evenly.

She stared at him in astonishment and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile.

"Not yet," he said again, brushing the pad of his thumb lightly across her bottom lip as he withdrew his hand and stood up.

She stayed seated for a moment, fearing her legs wouldn't hold her if she tried to stand. A relieved, joyous smile broke out across her face, and she only realised Snape was still watching her when she heard him chuckle lightly.

"Not yet," she echoed, wondering how long it would be before her resolve, or his, crumbled.


To be continued

Author's Notes:

Thank you, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed. I feel I have to apologise because I told quite a few people we would learn the identity of the spy this chapter. Again, more happened than I anticipated (did it ever!) and not everything originally planned for this chapter made it through. We will, without fail, see the spy next chapter. I swear it on... Snape's life. :P

To forestall the inevitable questions about Potions master versus Master, here's my rather confusing attempt at an explanation:

Snape has the title of Potions master in relation to his teaching position at Hogwarts. In this story, however, he is also a Master of Potions, having earnt this title through further study as an apprentice to another Master after leaving school. The correct way to refer to someone with such qualifications is not Potions Master, but rather Master Snape. Although he would be well within his rights to except to be addressed so at Hogwarts, he has elected not to flaunt his qualifications to the students, who are largely unappreciative of his mastery anyway, preferring the generic teacher addresses of Potions master and Professor. Confused:P

As always, the next chapter is posted at OWL. See my profile for the link!