Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Author's Note: I promised you'd find out a certain piece of information in this chapter, and so you shall... Also, you all know I like cliffhangers, don't you? Consider yourself forewarned.
Chapter 24
Very early Sunday morning, even before the sun had made an appearance in the clear, cold sky, Severus Snape found himself in the Headmaster's office once again.
He was still terribly angry with the old man for allowing the latest attack to proceed unhindered, but, as much as he hated to admit it, Snape understood Dumbledore's reasoning.
The success of the attack would prove his loyalty to Voldemort once and for all, in the Dark Lord's eyes, and since Snape was the supplier of the potion to be used in any further attacks, chances were that he would be included in their plans. Not only would this give him the opportunity to prevent further deaths, but also, in purposely sabotaging the missions, he could turn the Dark Lord's suspicions onto other Death Eaters.
"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster said, appearing from a side door to the office, dressed in a ridiculous, blue dressing gown covered in yellow stars. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?"
"There is something we need to discuss, Headmaster," Snape said stiffly, folding his arms across his chest.
"I do hope you haven't changed your mind about our agreement, Severus," the older man said, frowning slightly as he sat in an armchair by the fire and gestured Snape into the other chair. "You do realise it is for-"
"Yes, yes," the Potions master said impatiently, waving away the invitation to sit and pacing in front of the fire. "Don't worry, old man. You were right about that, as usual. I'm here about something else that has happened."
Dumbledore looked up sharply. "Something you neglected to inform me of last night?"
"No, something that has happened since then."
Dumbledore looked vaguely confused. "Have you been in contact with Tom again since-"
"Does everything I speak of to you have to be about the Dark Lord, Headmaster?" Snape cut in irritably.
In truth, Snape thought it would be far easier talking about Voldemort than informing the Headmaster of his earlier indiscretion with Hermione. It had to be done, though. If the Headmaster were to find out another way – and the old man had a knack for knowing everything that went on in the castle, given time – the results could be disastrous.
Dumbledore was leaning back in his chair, regarding Snape with a contemplative expression. At length, he said, "Of course not, forgive me. It's only that you have never seemed eager to discuss any other matters. You've never been one for idle chit-chat, Severus."
"This is hardly idle chit-chat, Albus," Snape said. "I fear I may have done something unforgivable."
The Headmaster stared at him over the rim of his half-moon glasses. "Sit down, my boy, before you fall down. You look even paler than usual. What is it you must tell me so urgently?"
He lowered himself into the armchair opposite Dumbledore and thought of how best to phrase what he was about to say. His throat suddenly felt very dry.
"I... I have... oh, dammit, Albus, I kissed Her- Miss Granger."
He leaned forwards to put his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, not wanting to see the disappointment in the Headmaster's eyes. The silence became stifling after some time, and he muttered, "Well, say something, old man. I didn't come here to confess to myself."
"Is that all?"
His head snapped up at the mild tone of the Headmaster's voice, and he found the older man watching him expectantly.
"Is that all?" he choked out. "Have you gone completely mad? I've just confessed to initiating an entirely inappropriate encounter with a student, and all you can say is, is that all?"
"I must say I am surprised, Severus," Dumbledore said, removing his glasses to polish them on a corner of his sleeve. "However, I am also relieved; I anticipated the reason for your presence here to be a much more serious one."
"More serious than a teacher kissing a student, Albus?" He felt lecherous just referring to what had happened in that way. Student was the last adjective he would have used to describe Hermione the previous night… before he'd come to his senses, anyway. Assistant, friend, companion... but not student. She'd long ceased to be that outside of class, in his eyes.
The Headmaster reached for a sherbet lemon on the coffee table between them, holding the bowl out to Snape, who scowled and glared at the old man. Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"So, tell me," he said at length. "What was Miss Granger's reaction?"
Snape stared at him incredulously.
"What in the name of Merlin does that to do with anything, Albus?" he snapped. "The school rules clearly forbid any such interaction between a teacher and a student in their care, and reprimands in the past have ranged from suspension to dismissal to Azkaban-"
"And when extenuating circumstances are present," Dumbledore interjected, "any reprimand is solely at the discretion of the Headmaster, based on his assessment of the situation."
"There are no extenuating circumstances, Albus," he said wearily.
"An existing friendship," the Headmaster offered quietly. "War. Both are sufficient justification for a momentary lapse of judgement, shall we say."
Snape stared at the Headmaster. "Are you telling me that-"
"Provided," Dumbledore continued, his voice suddenly firm, "that it does not occur again until you no longer hold a position of authority over Miss Granger, and she was in full acceptance of your actions at the time. So, I will ask you again, Severus, what was Miss Granger's reaction?"
Snape could feel the colour rising in his cheeks as he began, "She… when I… well, I suppose-"
"Oh, for pity's sake, Severus. Stop being such a prude. Did she or did she not kiss you back?"
"Yes!" Snape exclaimed loudly. "Yes, she kissed me back, until I came to my senses and pushed her away, and then she had the audacity to tell me she wouldn't object if I did it again."
He broke off, stood up and crossed to stand in front of the fire again, willing the colour to leave his face. If the truth was known, it wasn't only mortification at revealing such details to the Headmaster that was causing the reaction, but also the mere memory of the kiss, the remembrance of her lips on his, and the way her tongue had darted out hesitantly to taste him. He shook himself; inherently glad he had pulled away when he did... though a primal part of him was wishing he hadn't had the sense to do so.
"Well, Severus," the Headmaster said after some time. "It doesn't appear from your account that Miss Granger was at all unhappy with the situation. Quite the contrary, it seems."
Snape turned back to glare at the old man, who again had a suspiciously cheerful look about him.
"You shouldn't be so happy with the situation, Albus," he said. "How do you know I didn't force her, coerce her, slip her a potion? How do you know I'm not lying about her reaction?"
"Because I trust you, Severus," the Headmaster said simply. "As I trust Miss Granger."
Snape sat down again, shaking his head. "There is such a thing as being too trusting, you know, Albus."
Dumbledore seemed to ignore his statement, and said, "When I first asked Miss Granger to work with you, I must admit, I hoped you would realise there was more to her than just the persistent Gryffindor student you always saw. Dare I say, I hoped you might become friends, of sorts. You are, after all, very similar in your love of academia, if nothing else."
"Well, it seems you got your wish, Albus," Snape said snidely. "Friends... of sorts."
The Headmaster ignored Snape's tone, though, and merely chuckled. "I never imagined you would take to each other's company so well, or that your friendship would progress so quickly. Everyone needs somebody to confide in," he said seriously, "and I fear you have lost faith in me as that person, so I am glad that you have found someone else."
"Albus," Snape started to say. It was true; he had lost a little faith in the Headmaster as of late. Not as a leader or a mentor, but merely as a confidant. So often he found himself being manipulated as a result of his confessions, and the Headmaster's attempt at setting him up with Hermione – if only as friends – was yet another example of that.
"It's all right, Severus. I'll be the first to admit I twist things to my own ends, but I always have my reasons. Though, if I may say so, Miss Granger is a very determined young woman. I think she would have found her way into your life even without my gentle prodding."
The Potions master snorted. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"
He was relieved, though, that the Headmaster was so accepting of the situation. If Dumbledore had outlawed any interaction between he and his young assistant outside class, the next few months would have been even more unbearable than having her constantly near him was going to be.
Hermione slept late on Sunday morning, after returning to her room in the early hours. She was surprised she had slept at all, actually; her mind and heart had still been racing when she had crawled into bed, playing the earlier events over and over in her head.
She was sitting in the common room just before lunch, supposedly reading over her completed Charms essay, but actually staring at the parchment, her thoughts still on last night, when Harry and Ron plonked themselves down opposite her. Their faces were red and their hair windblown from the icy conditions in which they'd been practicing some new Quidditch tactics.
They must have said her name a few times before she answered, because when she blinked and look up, Harry was waving a hand in front of her eyes.
"What- oh, hi," she said sheepishly.
"Ah, you are awake," Ron laughed. "We thought you'd gone to sleep with your eyes open for a minute there."
"No," she said, rolling up her parchment. "Just thinking."
"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked. "You look a little flushed."
At that, Hermione felt her face grow even warmer, and muttered something about a fever.
That seemed to satisfy her friends, who nodded sympathetically, Ron adding, "I heard there's a nasty cold going around. Half of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team is sick... pity we're not playing them next weekend."
As Hermione followed her friends down to lunch, she found her thoughts again drifting to Snape. She was scheduled to be going down to his lab after lunch, as she had every Sunday for the past few months, although she was a little hesitant at the reception she would receive. They had parted slightly awkwardly in the early hours of the morning, and although she had every confidence that they would continue working together as they had before, she was foolish to think nothing would change. The mere memory of the kiss was enough to bring heat to her cheeks; how would she be able to work in the same room as him, stand next to him, and look at him, without a similar reaction giving her away?
Still, Hermione was nothing if not determined, so after lunch she parted with Harry and Ron and made her way to Snape's quarters. It was a little after one when she pushed open the lab door, and Snape looked up, surprised.
"You're early," he commented from where he was slicing something slimy on the workbench.
"Does that matter?" she asked hesitantly.
"No, it's good," he said, and she closed the door behind her, relieved. "I'm going to begin testing the charmed antidote this afternoon. You can help prepare the ingredients, if you wish."
She pulled up a stool and followed his directions of what to chop, crush or measure, until she heard a noise behind her.
Spinning around on her stool, she peered into the empty corner of the room but couldn't see anything. Even as she turned back to the table, though, she heard the noise again.
This time she hopped off her stool and lit her wand, inspecting the dank corner carefully.
"Did you hear that?" she said to Snape, who had stopped chopping to watch her curiously.
"What?"
"There's something in your lab that shouldn't be," she insisted. "I don't know what it is, but I keep hearing things rustling about whenever I'm here."
Snape frowned. "I haven't noticed anything."
"It always seems to happen when you're not here," she said, and he raised an eyebrow at her. "I know, it sounds silly, but it could be Doxies or spiders or... something worse I don't know about."
"I will have a look later," Snape assured her, and then smirked. "Though, if it turns out to be Doxies or spiders, I daresay they'll wish they hadn't chosen a potions lab to invade. My stores of both are rather depleted."
Hermione laughed and, with one last look at the corner of the room, went back to work.
They worked in silence for some time, then, and the light mood seemed to gradually evaporate from the room. Several times, it seemed as if Snape was about to speak, but then appeared to change his mind. She looked up at him and couldn't help but notice faint colour in his cheeks. He looked up, too, and caught her watching him, and she looked away again, confused. She was using a pestle and mortar to grind the Antipodean Opaleye dragon eggshells into a fine powder when Snape finally set down his knife and spoke.
"I informed the Headmaster of what happened earlier."
She dropped the pestle, which hit the side of the bowl with a loud clunk, and looked up at him, stunned.
"What did he say?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?" he said, picking up his knife again. "As are you."
"He accepted it?" she said in disbelief, but the momentary hope was short-lived as Snape shook his head.
"He accepted that I did something stupid in a moment of weakness."
Something stupid? Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but, seeing her incensed look, he continued quickly, "Not the action, Hermione, the circumstance was stupid. It was a bad decision on my part, and if it happens again, the Headmaster had made it quite clear he will not so understanding."
"And yet, he's willing to let me work in here with you for hours on end, alone," she mused.
"He trusts both of us to respect his wishes," Snape said.
"Easier said than done," she muttered under her breath. She didn't know the Potions master's excellent hearing had caught her complaint until she realised he hadn't resumed chopping. She looked up to find him watching her, something in his eyes akin to the look they had held the previous night, just before he kissed her.
After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself, and the look disappeared. He simply nodded, and said, "Yes, it is."
He went back to work, and Hermione picked up her pestle again, her mind on his admission.
Both of them realised the attraction between them was entirely mutual, and that was perhaps easier to bear – for Hermione, anyway – than had she discovered her feelings for the Potions master were completely one-sided.
She was relieved, as they continued preparing the potion, that they could still work together and converse as they had before. There was a slight awkwardness on occasion; he flinched slightly when her fingers brushed his as she passed him a flask, but soon the work required all of their concentration, and any discomfort was forgotten in the complexity of the potion.
Hermione was adding ingredients under Snape's instructions, while the Potions master performed various charms and incantations on the ingredients, and on the cauldron itself. Even the stirring was done by a charm, as the addition of any foreign object such as a ladle would disturb the active charms in the mixture.
By the end of the required hour of stirring, after which the potion had to simmer untouched for another hour, Hermione had a true appreciation for the difficultly of charmed potions.
Snape all but collapsed into the rickety chair at the lab desk, wiping at the perspiration that had beaded on his forehead from the effort of maintaining multiple and complex charms for such a length of time.
Hermione cleared away the last of the mess from the ingredient preparation, and then came to stand near Snape where he'd leant back in the chair and closed his eyes.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly.
"Mhmm," he murmured noncommittally, but didn't open his eyes.
She watched a rivulet of perspiration run down his temple and onto his cheek. Drawing her wand, she cast a quick cleansing charm, followed by a cooling charm, in his direction.
His cracked his eyes open as the spell washed over his face, and quirked a solitary eyebrow at her.
"Well," she said defensively. "I thought you would have had enough of charms for now."
He smirked and closed his eyes again, and Hermione watched his face thoughtfully. He actually did look quite relaxed, for a change, she noted, although perhaps it was just tiredness from making the potion.
There were less lines on his face, though; the deep frown line so often present between his brows had smoothed out, and his mouth was relaxed, instead of set in the thin, tight line Hermione had come to recognise as a measure of tension. They looked soft, pliable, almost the way they had felt when he...
She turned away abruptly and walked across the room under the pretence of collecting ingredients from the cupboard for the next stage of the brew.
Get a grip, Granger, she scolded herself, taking a deep, measured breath. You've got months of this to deal with before anything can happen… if anything will ever happen again. Don't start torturing yourself now.
She jumped a little as Snape came up beside her; she hadn't heard him move across the room. It took all her self-control to maintain a neutral expression on her face when, leaning past her to collect a jar from the highest shelf, his chest fleetingly brushed up against her shoulder.
She exhaled a rather unsteady breath as he took the jar back across the room to the cauldron, and gathered up her own ingredients to follow him.
Easier said than done might have been a gross understatement.
Dinner in the Great Hall on Monday saw another special publication of an Evening Prophet. The students, watching owls swoop towards the subscribers, realised by now that an evening newspaper was never published on account of good news.
If Hermione thought having some idea of what was coming would make it easier, she was wrong. The headlines read, 'You-Know-Who Targets Muggles', and a sub-heading beneath proclaimed, 'Fatal Poisoning at School Linked to Attempted Ministry Hit Last Week'.
A Muggle school. No wonder Snape had been so angry with Dumbledore, and so distressed at not being able to warn anyone. This wasn't a tactical hit as the attempted attack on the Ministry of Magic had been. This was Voldemort killing innocent people just because he could.
Hermione glanced up at the Head Table, but Snape's place was empty. Dumbledore was reading the article with a controlled expression on his face, while most of the other teachers were talking in low voices, shaking their heads and looking distinctly troubled.
"That's really low," Ron muttered, reading ahead of Hermione as she turned back to the article.
'Thirty-two Muggle children have died and dozens are in hospital after the water supply at their school was found to be contaminated with an as-yet unidentified substance. Muggle Liaison officers from the Ministry of Magic were dispatched to the school in Brighton after unconfirmed reports of children displaying Cruciatus-like symptoms. Upon further investigation, it was revealed the school's water supply had been tainted with the same poison that was discovered in the water at the Ministry offices in London, last week. An anonymous owl notified Ministry officials of the contamination last week and the supply was shut down without any casualties. The Muggle children today, however, were not so fortunate. Confused teachers were seen administering the tainted water to already-inflicted children, not realising their error until it was too late. An Auror spokeswizard said the Ministry is at a loss to explain why the Muggle school was targeted. No Muggle-born witches or wizards have ever attended the school, and a Daily Prophet source believes You-Know-Who has reverted to senseless, Muggle mass-killings - something not seen since before his first fall from power.'
'The Minister for Magic is currently meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister, and an operation is being planned to transfer the most serious cases to St Mungo's. Ministry officials refused to comment on how this event will affect the International Statute of Secrecy, but activists from the controversial Wizard-Muggle Harmony group are already protesting against talk of a mass Obliviation.'
Hermione shivered as she finished reading the article, though it was far from cold in the magically-warmed Great Hall. Senseless didn't even begin to describe the deaths of countless innocent children. She found it hard to comprehend what sort of monster could conceive of such awful strikes.
Students all across the Great Hall were looking horrified as copies of the Prophet made their way around all the House tables. Even many of the Slytherin students were looking uncomfortable and frightened.
The photo on the second page was perhaps even worse than the article on the first. It showed a scene of absolute chaos; people were running back and forth, young students were crying, and more than one could be seen on the ground, convulsing as though Cruciatus had been cast upon them. There was no sound, of course, but if there had been, Hermione was sure she would have heard agonised screaming.
Hermione shut the paper and pushed it away from her, not wanting to see any more. She saw Harry watching her out the corner of her eye, and turned to look at him.
"You knew, didn't you?" he said quietly, so that Ron could hear him, but no one else further down the table could.
She took a deep, shaky breath and replied, "I knew something was going to happen, but not this. I never imagined something like this."
She looked at him again.
"You knew, too, didn't you?" she said, suddenly realising he didn't look that shocked, either. Sickened, yes, but not shocked.
He nodded. "My scar was hurting this morning, in Potions. I know you didn't notice because you were sitting up the front, but Snape did. He saw me grimacing and rubbing it, but he didn't make a snide comment or anything; he looked worried."
Hermione looked at her empty plate, not saying anything.
"He knew it was going to happen."
It was a statement from Harry, not a question, but Hermione still felt compelled to set him straight.
"He knew, but don't blame him, Harry," she implored. "It's complicated. Professor Dumbledore forbade him to warn anyone."
"Ahh, that explains it," Harry said thoughtfully.
Other students were leaving the Great Hall after dinner, and Harry led Hermione and Ron out into the Entrance Hall, and then said, "I had a meeting with Professor Dumbledore last night. He started saying all this stuff that didn't really make sense at the time, about how we have to make sacrifices, and even after the fact one still wonders if they made the right decision. I bet he's wondering that just now."
Hermione nodded. "Professor Snape was furious with him the other night, but the Headmaster was trying to do the right thing by him. If anyone had been forewarned, he would have been killed. Voldemort was testing him."
"You-Know-Who doesn't trust him?" Ron asked, surprised.
Hermione shook her head. "I don't know the details, but the Headmaster thought this would prove to Voldemort he was loyal – seemingly," she added, seeing the look on Ron's face, "once and for all."
Harry exhaled a breath. "High price to pay."
The trio milled around in the Entrance Hall for a while, listening to the talk and speculation of other worried students. No one was thinking of something as trivial as homework, but finally it was Ron who mentioned he had yet to complete the Charms essay that was due the next morning.
Harry groaned and agreed that he, too, had yet to finish it. Hermione, as always, had finished it before the weekend, and though she had other homework from the day's lessons, she had other matters on her mind. When they reached the first floor landing, Hermione parted with her friends. Ron assumed she was taking the short cut to the library, but Harry gave her a knowing look and nodded.
The corridor near the portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith was deserted, and Hermione slipped quietly through the door into the passage to Snape's quarters.
The fireplace in the sitting room was lit, but the room was empty except for Snape's black eagle owl, perched near his desk, head tucked under it's wing. She'd never actually seen the bird in his quarters before, and wondered at its presence until she saw a copy of the Evening Prophet unrolled on his desk.
Opening the door to the lab, Hermione stopped and stared in wonderment. The Potions master was working on the charmed antidote again, and the room fairly glowed with the magic of the charms he was casting. Standing over the cauldron, his face was illuminated in a soft, golden glow from tendrils of magic that were wrapped around the outside of cauldron, twisting and turning. The only sound was Snape's low voice reciting a long incantation.
Hermione stood, transfixed, for quite some time before anything changed. A sudden wand movement from Snape sent the golden tendrils curling up and over the rim of the cauldron and into the brew, and then he raised his other hand. Hermione watched with astonishment as he used a second wand to levitate a small glass dish of what Hermione recognised as moonfilly droppings over the cauldron, evenly distributing the contents whilst still controlling the golden light within the cauldron with his other hand.
Directing the empty dish back onto the bench, Snape spoke another charm and the inside of the cauldron glowed with the brilliance of the rising sun for a moment, before the light subsided.
Breathing heavily, he adjusted the flame under the cauldron, tipped the hourglass on the bench and then sank gratefully onto the nearby stool, placing both wands on the bench in front of him.
Hermione had been too frightened to move earlier, lest she break his concentration, but now she went over and peered at the simmering potion. It looked the same as the normal antidote but for a slight luminescence where it met the side of the cauldron.
"Does it meet your approval?" the Potions master asked, smirking.
"Does it work?" she returned.
"So far," he said, exhaling a weary breath. "There is still one final charm to cast at the end, but the most complex stage is complete, and it appears to have been a success. We'll need more moonfilly droppings to make any more, though," he added.
"Complex is an understatement," she said, shaking her head. "That was amazing. How do you manage two wands and such complex charms?"
"Skill," he quipped, looking vaguely pleased with himself, and she rolled her eyes.
"Practice," he said, more seriously. "The main thing is concentration. Many witches and wizards, however accomplished at potions making, fail in making charmed potions simply because they lack the focus required to complete lengthy incantations."
Snape stood up, then, and crossed the room to the cabinet containing completed potions. He withdrew a small phial, unstoppered it and drank the contents; Hermione recognised it as a mild Pepper-Up Potion.
"I thought you said last night you didn't need that?"
"I had an assistant last night," he reminded her.
"If I'd realised you were doing this I would have been here earlier," she said apologetically, but he waved her off.
"Why are you here, anyway?" he asked, checking on the potion once more before leaving the lab for the other room. She followed, and he sat at his desk, pushing the Prophet aside. "Don't you have a meeting with Mr Malfoy and the Headmaster tonight?"
"I do, but not until eight," she said.
"And finished all your homework for the week, I suppose," he continued snidely.
"What are you, my Head of House?" she said, irritated. "No, I haven't finished it, but there are other things on my mind. I read the Evening Prophet at dinner, and-"
"Ah," he said, his voice suddenly distant as he glanced at his own copy, frowning at the headline.
"And you weren't at dinner in the Great Hall," continued Hermione, raising her voice a little in annoyance. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"Couldn't be better," he said in a false, cheery voice that sounded all wrong coming from him. "Dumbledore was kind enough to borrow my owl to deliver a copy to me."
Tonatiuh untucked his head from beneath his wing and hooted softly.
"You know what I meant, Severus," Hermione said witheringly.
"I'm perfectly all right, as you can see," he said in the same, odd voice as he sat back and ran a hand through his hair. "The bottle of Firewhisky is untouched, all the glass objects in the room are still intact... I must be fine."
Hermione crossed her arms at sat across from him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to take her question seriously. He looked away after a moment, and cleared his throat, then looked back, vaguely irritated to find her still watching him.
"I'm fine," he repeated, and stood up, muttering something about checking the potion again, even though Hermione knew it had to simmer for thirty-six hours now.
Hermione stood, too, frowning at his retreating back, but didn't follow. Instead, she walked over to where Tonatiuh was perched, and reached out to stroke the owl's silky feathers. The bird shuffled closer to her along the perch and ducked his head appreciatively as she scratched his neck.
"What can I do to help him?" she said softly to the bird. "I want to reach out to him, but I just don't know how."
The owl looked back at her with mournful eyes, seeming to understand her dilemma. Snape couldn't possibly be so unaffected by the attack after his reaction on Saturday night. He was clamping down on his emotions again, just as he had before he'd trusted her enough to let them show... she hated it, and she had no idea what do.
She was stroking the owl's soft feathers again and didn't notice Snape reappear in the doorway until he spoke.
"You're spoiling him."
She turned around to see Snape watching her from the entrance to the lab, where he was leaning against the doorframe. He seemed to have composed himself again.
"We were just talking about a, uh, mutual friend," she said lightly.
Snape narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, but didn't move from the doorway.
"Really?" he said. "And what, pray tell, were you saying about this friend?"
"Well," Hermione said evenly, meeting his gaze. "We're just a bit worried about him. He's been under a lot of pressure lately, you see, and we're concerned people are expecting too much of him. He won't say anything, of course, even if it is weighing him down. We just hope he knows his friends are here for him, if he needs us."
"Well," said Snape after a moment, a strange look on his face. "I'm sure your friend is… grateful… for your concern, and knows he can turn to you, should the need arise."
"He can," Hermione agreed. "Isn't that right, Tonatiuh?"
The owl hooted in affirmation.
Hermione held Snape's gaze in silence for a while longer, until the chiming of the clock on the mantle caught her attention.
"I have to go," she said, suddenly realising it was already eight o'clock. "I'll see you tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey asked for a couple of extra flasks of Pepper-Up. Apparently everyone is catching chills this winter."
She made a hasty exit before Snape could say anything, and almost ran upstairs to the Headmaster's office.
The staircase behind the stone gargoyle was closed when Hermione got there, panting slightly, and Malfoy was sitting on a stone bench in the corridor, a copy of the Evening Prophet in his hands. He shifted over slightly so there was room for her on the bench, too, but she eyed him suspiciously and chose to lean against the wall across from him, instead.
He shrugged to himself and glanced down at the newspaper, then at her again.
"Poor kids, huh?" he said, and Hermione was surprised at the lack of usual haughtiness in his voice. She still didn't trust him, though.
"They're Muggles, Malfoy," she said testily. "Since when did anyone in your family care what happens to them?"
The Slytherin's face darkened, but he bit back whatever retort he was going to make when the stone gargoyle opened to reveal the spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster's office. Without waiting, Hermione stepped onto the first stair and let it carry her up to the round room at the top.
The Headmaster made no mention of the attack aside from a dire comment upon seeing the paper in Malfoy's hands, but when their meeting concluded an hour or so later, Hermione had made up her mind to stay and talk to the Headmaster about Snape. Malfoy didn't seem about to leave though, obviously wanting to speak to the Headmaster alone, too, so in the end Hermione decided her conversation could wait until their next meeting, and bid the Headmaster goodnight.
Tuesday night, after her designated Head Girl patrol and a rushed dinner, Hermione entered Snape's lab to find the Potions master in an exceptionally good mood. Although the charmed Cruciatus antidote had only been simmering for twenty-four hours, not the thirty-six required with the original antidote, Snape had added the final charm and, when she arrived, announced it to be complete.
"How will we know if it works?" she said, relieved, but still wary of the untested potion.
Snape frowned, looking at the flasks of cooled potion. "There's only one way to find out, I suppose," he said, retrieving a small phial of the original Cruciatus potion from the warded cupboard.
"You're not going to drink that," Hermione said, staring at him.
"Actually, I am," he said. "After I've also drunk the preventative potion we've just created."
"You don't know that it works, though," she reasoned, memories of the last time Snape was forced to test his own potion flooding her mind. It wasn't something she wanted to see again, let alone him have to go through it again, if the preventative didn't work.
"We won't know, either, without testing it," he said firmly, taking an empty phial and measuring a dose of the preventative into it. Seeing her look of distress, he added, "Besides, there's always the normal antidote, if this doesn't work."
"Oh, that's rich," she scorned, as he returned to the cupboard and retrieved a phial of the original antidote, too. "What am I supposed to do, tip it down your throat while you're thrashing about on the floor?"
He glared at her, and she knew there wasn't really another way to be sure it worked, but she wasn't prepared to back down without a concession.
"Can we at least go into the other room so you can lie down while you take it? You could really hurt yourself in here if it doesn't work."
He exhaled a long-suffering sigh, but muttered, "Very well," and picked up all three phials, beckoning her to follow.
In the other room, he sat on the couch and looked over at her. "Happy?"
"No," she retorted crossly. "You're not lying down, but I suppose it's better than nothing."
He smirked, and popped the stopper off the top of the preventative phial, downing the contents in a single gulp, grimacing at the taste.
He then uncorked the Cruciatus potion, but didn't put it to his lips right away, instead handing Hermione the third phial.
"If the first potion has failed," he said evenly, "have the antidote ready."
She looked from his phial to hers, growing increasingly worried. "If it's as bad as you said it was last time," she said, "how am I going to get this into you?"
"I have every confidence the preventative will work, Hermione," he said, but then amended, "and if it doesn't, you'll manage. Stupefy me if you have to."
She gaped at him. "Stupefy?"
"I'm not joking, Hermione," he said seriously. "Whatever you do, make sure you cast Stupefy and not Petrificus."
"Why not Petrificus?" she asked.
"Because," he said carefully, "casting Petrificus on someone under the Cruciatus Curse causes all the blood vessels in their body to burst."
She swallowed and backed away. "No. No way. We are not doing this."
"We are not," he agreed. "I am." He downed the phial of Cruciatus Potion.
Hermione had already moved towards him, wand out, when she realised nothing had happened. There was silence for a full minute, and then Snape stood up, carefully, as though making sure he was still in full control of his body.
"Well," he said at length, turning to her. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes were shining. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it appears you won't be able to Stupefy me tonight."
"But are you sure it's worked?" she asked nervously, ignoring his joke. Her wand arm was still tensed to react, just in case. "It's not just some sort of delayed reaction, is it?"
He shook his head, taking the two empty phials from the table, along with the full one from her hand, and walking back into the lab. "If something was going to happen, it would have been evident immediately. We have a working preventative."
Hermione followed him. "That's wonderful, then," she said with a sigh of relief, hesitantly adding, "especially after yesterday."
"Yes," Snape said tightly. "Dare I hope there will not be a repeat of such an incident now we have the means to counter it. I had better inform the Headmaster of our success."
"Your success," Hermione corrected, and he turned back in the doorway.
"No, it is most definitely our success," he said firmly. "I wouldn't have had half as much time to perfect the formula without your assistance in brewing other things."
"You still deserve credit for what you've done," Hermione said quietly after a moment, but Snape had already left the room and Flooed to the Headmaster's office.
All three Cruciatus-related potions were an outstanding accomplishment for Snape, but she knew it was unlikely he would ever receive public acknowledgement for them. He wouldn't want to be known as the creator of the original potion, of course, but the theories he'd used in developing the potions could be applied to creating mixtures to replicate the effects of other spells, and counter them.
Of course, the Order would know of his work, but the thanks he would have received for creating the preventative would be overshadowed by the fact that it wouldn't have been necessary if he hadn't successfully created the other potion in the first place.
Hermione hated how so many of his efforts went unrecognised, from his achievements in potions to the dangerous game he played in Voldemort's circle of supporters. In her third year, Hermione had thought the Potions master was petty and childish in his anger at Sirius Black and the loss of a promised Order of Merlin, First Class. Now, though, she fervently hoped that at the end of the war he would receive that accolade and more, and be free to be recognised for something other than having the mark of a Death Eater on his arm.
Hermione set about making the Pepper-Up Potion Madam Pomfrey had requested, and was almost finished by the time Snape came back from speaking with the Headmaster.
"Was he pleased?" she asked, as he walked over to the small desk and started rummaging through piles of parchment.
"Very," Snape said. "He believes there is a way to deliver the preventative to potential victims without the Dark Lord realising it has come from me."
Parchment in hand, Snape strode back into the sitting room, but then reappeared moments later, frowning.
"Have you seen my notebook?"
"The one I gave you?" Hermione shook her head. "I haven't used it since late last week. Why?"
"It was here last night," he said, searching through the haphazard piles of parchments again. "I could have sworn I left it on the desk."
"Do you need something from it?" Hermione asked, straining the finished Pepper-Up into three large flasks.
"I was just going to add the incantations to the antidote recipe, seeing as how my notes are rather disorganised as they are. No matter," he said, still frowning, but placed his parchment of notes back on the desk. "I have some marking I can do instead."
Hermione nodded and stoppered the three flasks as Snape went back into the other room. She cleaned her cauldron and placed it on the shelf against the wall, and then turned around just as Snape reappeared in the doorway... dressed in his Death Eater robes.
"What are you-" she began, startled, but then her eyes travelled to his right hand, which was gripping his left forearm tightly. There was a grimace of pain on his face when she met his eyes again.
"I'm being summoned," he said. "Will you inform the Headmaster?"
"Of course," she said, following him into the sitting room, "but what's going on? Why he is calling you tonight?"
"I don't know," he said uneasily, taking a handful of Floo powder. "It may just be a meeting to plan further attacks… unless something has happened I'm not aware of."
He tossed down the Floo powder and the fire flared green as he called out his destination.
"Be careful," she said softly, as he disappeared and the fire returned to its normal colour.
She went back into the lab for a moment to make sure the cupboards were locked and warded. The room was completely silent as she closed the door behind her and Flooed through to the Headmaster's office.
Apparating into the centre of a circle of dark, hooded figures, Severus Snape barely had time to draw a breath before a spell hit him square in the chest, knocking him flat onto his back.
An excited murmur went through the gathered Death Eaters, and he realised it wasn't dirt, grass or snow on which he'd landed, but a rough slab of cold stone.
He heard a whispered spell from somewhere nearby, and his wand flew from his grasp. He tried to move, but another hissed word sent invisible cords coiling around his wrists and ankles, binding him to the crude mockery of an altar.
He gasped as the cold night air hit his upper torso, suddenly and disturbingly void of his layers of clothing. Heart pounding, he looked around at his fellow Death Eaters, seeking some indication of what was happening.
Snape had seen the Dark Lord demonstrate his displeasure on countless occasions, and this setting had all the makings of a severe reprimand... the kind from which the victim rarely walked away in one piece.
What could he possibly have done to displease the Dark Lord so?
There's plenty you've done to warrant this, you idiot, he reminded himself. Just nothing the Dark Lord should actually know about.
There was silence in the circle, broken only by soft, deliberate footsteps approaching him from behind.
Recognising the futility of fighting the magical bonds that held him in place, he lay quietly and closed his eyes, concentrating on clearing his mind.
"Hello, Severus."
The high, cold voice of the Dark Lord sent a shiver down his spine, and he opened his eyes again to see his former master standing over him, watching him carefully.
Fixing a look of confusion on his face, Snape said, "My Lord, what-"
"Silence," the sibilant voice hissed. "I have not given you leave to speak."
Snape averted his eyes from the glowing, red pools of anger, and Voldemort laughed softly.
"You disappoint me, Severus," he said loudly, pacing a slow circle around Snape's prone form. "You have been invaluable to our cause; your skills as a Master of Potions – a title, I might add, you would not have gained so quickly without my help – has seen you supply us with wondrous and deadly concoctions. You have kept us informed on the dealings of that old fool who seeks to bring about my end, and helped to educate and cultivate the next generations of my faithful servants."
Voldemort stopped at his left side and lightly caressed the Dark Mark with the tip of one, skeletal finger. Snape shuddered, feeling as though some revolting beetle was creeping over the skin of his arm.
"One might imagine," Voldemort continued, addressing Snape, but still speaking loudly enough for the entire assembled group to hear, "that you are one of my most loyal servants."
There was a pause, in which the ring of watching Death Eaters seemed to draw inwards a little, and Snape held his breath, hoping he was wrong about what was to come.
Pain shot through his arm as the Dark Lord grabbed his forearm, long fingers digging sharply into the Mark, which flared to life and burnt black for the second time that night.
"And now," Voldemort snarled. "I find you have been defying me all along."
A ripple of surprise and shock ran through the other Death Eaters, along with a few open exclamations of, "Him!"
"No, my Lord!" Snape pleaded, trying to look genuinely shocked over the frightening realisation that was coursing through his veins. "There must be some mistake, I-"
"Silencio."
His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
"No, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed. "You will not be so lucky as to talk your way out of your fate this time. I have spent years listening to your excuses as to why, despite that old fool's trust in you, you cannot deliver either he or Potter to me. I have tolerated your excuses because your other skills have benefited our cause. But not anymore, Severus, my dear Master of Potions. Now, I have proof that you are working against me from within my own ranks."
Proof? A flicker of fear must have shown on Snape's face, and although he quickly managed to conceal it behind a look of confusion, Voldemort was quicker still. He laughed and finally released Snape's arm from his vice-like grip.
"My Lord," spoke up a voice from the edge of the circle. "Tell us how he has defied you, for in doing so he has betrayed us all."
Snape recognised the superior tones of the elder Malfoy and fervently hoped he hadn't managed to bring Draco along with him tonight. With that unpleasant thought came another – could Draco be the cause of his predicament? Had the young Slytherin somehow learnt of his true loyalties, or – possibly worse still – what had happened between he and Hermione? He had caught the Head Boy watching her suspiciously on more than one occasion in his presence.
"Wormtail!" Voldemort called imperiously. "Come show our dear friend what you discovered whilst scratching around in the dark corners of Hogwarts."
The noises in the lab.
Snape felt a shudder of fear run through him as Wormtail scampered from the edge of the clearing to the Dark Lord's side. Hermione had been hearing noises for weeks. The first time she'd mentioned them, he'd dismissed them as an excuse for her nosing through his work. He hadn't actually heard them himself, but Pettigrew had obviously been choosing his moments carefully, making careless sounds only when Snape's excellent hearing was out of range.
Hermione had heard the sounds again just two nights ago, but he'd been too preoccupied to do anything beyond cast a detection charm a few hours later, which had revealed the room to be empty.
The Dark Lord took something from Wormtail's hands, and held it up for Snape to see. For all his practice as a spy, he was unable to mask the look of horror that crossed his face as he stared at the notebook Hermione had given him for Christmas.
Wormtail cackled gleefully at his expression, and Voldemort stepped closer, hissing, "Do I sense a trace of fear, Severus?"
His heart was pounding; there was no way out this time. Still, he stared back defiantly; he wouldn't give the Dark Lord the satisfaction of begging for his life.
One of the Death Eaters in the circle called out, "What is it, my Lord?"
"These?" Voldemort said, leaving Snape's side to walk slowly around the ring of Death Eaters. "These is Severus' most prized potions, kept in, might I add, the book given to him by his little Mudblood assistant – how touching."
Some of the watching Death Eaters snickered, and Wormtail, still standing beside Severus, turned to him and said, "You're dead this time, traitor."
Finding the silencio spell had been lifted, Snape spat, "Better a dead traitor than a snivelling excuse for a spy like you. Tell me, Pettigrew, does the Dark Lord know of the life debt you owe to young Potter?"
"Shut up," Pettigrew said, suddenly looking frightened, and he drew his wand and pointed it at Snape, his pudgy arm shaking.
"Wormtail!" came the imperious voice of Voldemort from a short distance away. "Take your place in the circle; the traitor is mine."
Pettigrew sneered at Snape and slunk off to the edge of the clearing.
"So," the Dark Lord said loudly, making a great show of opening Snape's notebook. "Here we have the Cruciatus potion, which Severus so ingeniously invented for my personal use."
Snape closed his eyes momentarily, shivering from the cold and the realisation of what was going to happen. Not only had he been discovered, but the Dark Lord had in his possession the instructions for making the potion, and the only copy of the antidote, save for his scribble of charms on scrap parchment back in the lab.
"And this," Voldemort continued, "is the antidote to the Cruciatus potion – a potion to which there should be no antidote."
He slammed the book closed, threw it to the ground, and crossed the clearing to where Snape lay.
"Do you still deny it, Severus?" he said softly, his eyes burning into Snape's skull, and he felt the prickling invasion of the master Legilimens.
"See for yourself," Snape whispered malevolently. Knowing he wouldn't survive the night, he derived a last bit of vindictive pleasure pushing various images of his betrayal to the forefront of his mind for the Dark Lord to see. Voldemort's eyes widened in horror, then narrowed as Snape pushed him from his mind before he was able to see anything else.
"So," he said softly. "My most trusted spy has been hiding things from me. My most trusted spy has actually been spying on me, not for me. What did he offer you that I could not, Severus? What could that old fool Dumbledore possibly have promised that turned my young Potions protégé against me?"
"Freedom," Snape spat, jerking at the magical bonds that held him in place.
The circle was getting restless at not being able to hear the exchange between them, and Voldemort held up a hand calling for silence. The murmurs stopped, and again the circle seemed to draw closer in anticipation.
"So," Voldemort said again, reaching into his robes. Snape was expecting him to withdraw his wand and cast Cruciatus or, if he was feeling merciful, end it quickly with the Killing Curse.
Instead, the Dark Lord withdrew a dagger from the folds of his robes, the sharp blade glinting in the light of the torches around the clearing, the handle engraved with etchings of some kind. It looked vaguely familiar to Snape, though he couldn't place where he'd seen it before, and he watched Voldemort run his finger carefully along the edge of the blade.
"Dumbledore thinks he can save you and give you freedom, does he?" Voldemort stepped up closer and fixed his eyes on Snape. The Potions master glared back defiantly, his hastened breathing the only outward sign of his fear.
Leaning down so his rancid breath caressed Snape's face, Voldemort whispered malevolently, "I am the only one who can save you from this."
White-hot fire exploded in Snape's chest as Voldemort drove the dagger in to the hilt, angling it upwards from its entry point below his ribs. The Dark Mark flared to life in his arm, too, and Snape heard himself screaming as a red haze started to cloud his vision. With a final twist of the dagger, Voldemort released the handle, leaving it buried deep in Snape's body, and turned to the watching crowd.
"Behold the traitor!" he yelled, and Snape heard the Death Eaters' answering cheers above the blood pounding in his head, and his painful, wheezing gasps for air.
The initial agony of the blade's entry passed, but it was sending sharp, stabbing pains through his body with every breath. He closed his eyes, willing it to be over soon, but knowing Voldemort would prolong the suffering of anyone who defied him.
"Such a pity for someone of your unique talent to die," Voldemort mused mockingly. "I can, of course, save you, and I'm willing to listen if you wish to plead for your life."
Voldemort wasn't lying, Snape knew; the Dark Lord could save him. He recognised the dagger as a Consanguinus Blade, a powerful implement of dark magic passed through the generations of some of the oldest wizarding families in the world. How the Dark Lord had come upon one, Snape didn't know. What he did know, though, was that only the person who inflicted the wound, or someone related to them by blood, could remove the blade; if anyone else attempted it, the blade would disintegrate and death would be quick. Left within the victim, death would come by slow and painful poisoning of the blood.
Snape wasn't fooled, though. The Dark Lord could save him from this fate, yes, but whatever else Voldemort had in mind for him would be far worse. This way, at least he would die with dignity.
"Go to hell," Snape spat. He gasped as the dagger sent another stabbing pain through his chest, but managed to choke out, "I'll see you there soon."
Voldemort stared down at him, disappointed, it seemed, that Snape refused to beg for his life.
"So be it," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should send you back to the old fool to die; a reminder to him that he cannot save everyone."
Snape closed his eyes and turned his head away. He didn't want Dumbledore to see this. As much as the Headmaster frustrated him at times, he was still the closest thing to a father Snape had known during his adult years. He knew Dumbledore hated having to ask him to return to Voldemort, time and again... there was just no other way.
But sending him back just to taunt the Headmaster, knowing there was no hope of him surviving... he didn't want Dumbledore to have to stand by helplessly and watching him die...
And then there was Hermione.
Despite the pain in his chest, he felt another ache, somewhere above the wound, when an image of her entered his mind. It was foolish to imagine his death wouldn't cause her pain now, and he cursed himself for letting her become so close to him. He should have known it would only hurt her, in the end.
"Well, Severus," the Dark Lord said, drawing him from his unhappy thoughts. "It seems you are of no more use to me, other than taunting the old fool, so back to Hogwarts you shall go."
Snape considered, for only one instant, to plead with his former master to let him die here, alone, but knew it would fall on deaf ears.
He watched as Voldemort withdrew his wand from his robes, picked up a rock from the ground and tapped it, saying, "Portus."
The Dark Lord released the magical bonds around Snape's wrists and ankles, but he found himself too weak to even raise his head from the stone, let alone launch himself at the monster.
Chuckling cruelly, Voldemort leant over him once more and whispered, "If you see Potter, tell him his time is near."
With that, Voldemort tossed the rock onto Snape's stomach, and he cried out in pain as the jerk of the Portkey tore him from the clearing.
He felt his body hit the ground hard, and a sharp pain as the point of the dagger shifted within him. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard the mournful cry of a phoenix. He tried to open his eyes, but the red haze he saw was quickly overcome with blackness, and he knew no more.
Wednesday morning dawned grey, a low fog hanging over the castle and grounds. Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the common room before breakfast, doing some last minute studying for the Defence Against the Dark Arts test they were to have during first lesson.
Professor Lupin considered practical tests much more indicative of skills in the subject than written ones, but, as he had told the class the previous lesson, the Ministry syllabus required at least one written test per year, and this was it.
Hermione had slept well for a change, despite Snape having been summoned the night before. Usually, she couldn't sleep unless she knew he'd returned safely, but when she'd informed Dumbledore of the Potions master's departure the previous night, the Headmaster had agreed it was probably nothing more than a gathering to plan further attacks.
In actual fact, the Headmaster seemed quite happy that Snape had been summoned, as it most likely meant Voldemort was pleased with the success of Monday's attack, and convinced enough of his loyalty to include him in the selection of further targets.
Reassured by the Headmaster's confidence, Hermione had gone to bed, awakening fresh and energised for the test, and the remainder of the day, which for her consisted entirely of Potions.
A quick glance when they entered the Great Hall for breakfast told her Snape wasn't there. Nor was the Headmaster, and she wondered if they were discussing whatever information Snape had managed to gain the previous night.
She, Harry and Ron were on their way back upstairs a while later to collect their books for the first lesson when she heard her name, and turned to see the Headmaster coming towards her on the first floor landing.
"Good morning, Professor!" she greeted cheerily. Harry and Ron echoed her, but then they drew closer to Dumbledore, and realised the old wizard was not smiling at all.
"Miss Granger," the Headmaster said solemnly. "I must ask you to come with me now. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, kindly inform Professor Lupin that Miss Granger will not be attending your lesson this morning."
"But we have a test, Professor!" Ron said.
"It's okay," Hermione said slowly, placing her hand on Ron's arm, though her gaze didn't leave Dumbledore's. She suddenly had a horrible feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach.
"Hermione?" Harry said questioningly, looking from her to the Headmaster.
"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely. "Go on to class. You will be informed of the situation if and when I am able."
Harry and Ron went on upstairs reluctantly, casting many backwards glances at Dumbledore. Hermione thought she would be led to his office, but he took her down the first floor passage, instead of upstairs, and stopped in front of the door that led to Snape's quarters.
"What's happened?" she whispered, as he opened the door with a touch of his wand and ushered her into the hidden passageway.
"Miss Granger," his voice said in the dark, "I must apologise to you. I fear I have made a grievous error, one that I cannot rectify."
Hermione lit her wand with a muttered, "Lumos," and stared at the old wizard for a moment. He looked haggard in the soft light.
"What are you talking about?" She moved off down the passage towards Snape's quarters, overcome by a sudden urgency she couldn't explain, brought on by the Headmaster's words and the awful, defeated look in his eyes.
"Miss Granger," he said as he followed her. "I fear I have misjudged the danger Severus is in each time he goes out at my bidding. His dedication and determination to do what I ask of him has lulled me into a false sense of security, one that I believe I shall regret hereafter."
The only sound was their footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
"Severus has been discovered."
Hermione stopped dead.
"No," she whispered, turning back to the Headmaster. The grave, sad look in his eyes spoke volumes more than any further explanation could.
"Come, Miss Granger," he said, gripping her arm gently and leading her towards the door at the end of the corridor. "I have left him alone, but for Fawkes, to fetch you."
"Is he hurt? How did he manage to get away?" They reached the end of the corridor and emerged into Snape's sitting room. She looked around, but it was empty; even the fire was dead.
"Tom sent him back."
She turned to look at the Headmaster again as he closed the door to the passage.
"I don't understand," she said, confused. "If Voldemort knows... why would he do that?"
"I believe Tom is mocking me," the Headmaster said heavily. "He has sent Severus back, knowing there is nothing I can do to save him."
Hermione stared at Dumbledore. She must have misheard him. He couldn't possible have just said...
"Nothing you- what are you saying?"
Dumbledore bowed his head for a moment, and then stepped closer to Hermione, taking her by the shoulders. She could see now that his eyes were bright, too bright, and he cleared his throat before he spoke again, his voice filled with sorrow.
"Miss Granger, Severus is dying."
To be continued
