Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 28
On Tuesday morning, Hermione made her way down to the common room at first light to put the finishing touches on her Arithmancy essay, due after lunch. Normally she would have finished it days ahead of time, but she'd been somewhat preoccupied and had let all her homework catch up with her.
She was just rolling up the four-foot-long parchment and placing it back in her bookbag when Harry and Ron came down from the boy's dormitories.
"Morning, Hermione," Harry said, Ron echoing the greeting, adding, "You're up early."
"Just finishing some homework," she said with a smile, earning her an odd look from both her friends.
"What?"
"It's been a while since I've seen that expression on your face," Harry said, returning the smile. "Should be assume there's good news?"
Hermione nodded and then looked around. Other students were starting to filter down to the common room, so she beckoned the boys to follow her back up to her own room, closing the door behind them and adding a Silencing Charm for good measure.
Sitting on her bed, she explained to her friends briefly what had happened the previous night,
"Ah," mused Ron. "That's why you weren't at dinner. We wondered when we saw Dumbledore, McGonagall and Lupin all here at once – that hasn't happened for ages."
"It was that obvious?" she asked worriedly.
"Only to us," Harry reassured her. "So, when is he coming back to teaching? I think I might have actually scraped an E with Friday's brew. I better enjoy it while it lasts."
"I don't know whether he's coming back," she said in a low voice. "The way Dumbledore spoke at breakfast last week, it doesn't sound like it."
She frowned at Harry's audible sigh of relief.
"Oh, I know, Hermione," he said quickly, before she could admonish him. "I'm glad he's okay because he's good for the Order and because you were worried about him, but he's still the same person to me."
"I'm working on that," she murmured quietly.
"I wouldn't go to too much trouble," Ron chuckled.
"Yeah," Harry added. "It's not as if the feeling isn't entirely mutual."
"Yes, well," she said tersely. "I just thought you'd be interested to know, anyway, and you did ask."
"We are, Hermione," Harry said. "Thanks."
"So, does that mean we'll be seeing more of you?" Ron asked hopefully.
"I don't know," Hermione sighed. "I mean, obviously more than you have in the last week, but it's going to look strange if I stop making potions for the infirmary and the place stays fully stocked. I'm sure Dumbledore will work something out, though. Besides, Severus doesn't seem to be up to brewing just yet, and I need to take the Wolfsbane up to Professor Lupin each night this week, so…"
She trailed off, realising Ron was staring at her as if she'd gone mad.
"What?"
She looked at Harry, confused, but he looked away and glanced at Ron instead, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
"Tell me I'm hearing things," Ron said, looking to Harry with a vaguely pleading expression.
"You're not," Harry said. Upon seeing Hermione's confused expression, he sighed and added quietly, "You called him Severus, Hermione."
She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The address had become almost second nature to her outside the Potions classroom, which was the only place she spoke to him in the presence of others. Of course Harry wasn't surprised – he'd seen her interact with Snape the night the dagger came out – but he was still looking slightly disturbed by the easy address. Ron looked positively green.
"This is Snape we're talking about here," he said.
Here we go again, she thought, wondering how her red-haired friend would react in she ever told him the truth about her feelings for Snape. Best to keep that to herself, at least for the time being.
"What is going on with him? You don't call him that!" Ron continued in confusion.
"I do call him that, Ron," she said, exasperated. "He's my friend, just like you. What do you want me to call him? Mr Snape?"
Harry choked back a laugh and she glared at him, unimpressed.
Ron shook his head. "Sorry, Hermione, but that's just... wrong."
"Why?" she asked, her voice getting louder. "Why is it wrong? Because you don't agree with it? Because you don't like him?"
"Well, I-" Ron spluttered. "He's just not someone you have for a friend."
"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Ron," she snapped. "Everyone has friends, and he just happens to be one of mine, just like you... or like you were, if you're going to continue acting like this. You don't have to like it, but there's nothing you can do about it."
"You're right," he said, standing up, and angry look on his face. "I don't like it."
With that, he stormed from the room, slamming the door in his wake.
Hermione and Harry stared at the closed door for a moment, and then she sank back onto the edge of her bed.
"I should never have told him anything about this," she sighed.
"We can't shut him out, Hermione," Harry said, sitting next to her. "We're a team, remember?"
She snorted. "Yeah... some team. It just infuriates me how one-eyed he can be. I know Snape was cruel to him in class, but no more than to anyone else, and not half as cruel as he was to you. It's almost as though Ron hates him on your behalf."
"Mmm," Harry murmured. "And I don't even hate him anymore… not really."
Hermione looked at her friend in surprise.
"Well," Harry amended. "It's not as if I like him or anything. I just... I guess I understand him a bit better now."
Hermione laughed.
"That's a small wonder. Even I don't understand him most of the time."
There was silence for a moment, and then Harry turned to face her, a serious expression on his face.
"Hermione," he began. "You're my friend, one of my best friends, okay? You're the closest thing I've ever had to a sister."
She looked at him curiously.
"What's really going on between you and Snape?" he asked flatly.
She stared at him, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks even as she said, "Don't you start, too, Harry. I've had enough of all these accusations with Ron."
"I'm not accusing," he said. "I'm just asking. I know you, and the way you were looking at him the other night was beyond friendship."
"I thought he was dying, Harry," she countered. "I was worried, and I was upset, just as I would have been if it had been you or Ron in his position."
She looked away. Hermione hated not telling him the truth, though she hadn't exactly lied... just side-stepped his question, really.
"How far has it gone?"
"I – what?" She stared at Harry, her face blanching momentarily before she felt the heat rising in her cheeks again.
He was watching her closely, clearly waiting for an answer, and try as she might she found she couldn't muster the scorn to reply with a scathing, "Nowhere," or "You've got to be joking."
Instead, she shook her head and said, "I don't see how that is anyone's business."
"God, I was right," Harry muttered, taking her lack of protestation as confirmation of his suspicions. He stood up and walked to the window.
"Harry, I-" She broke off, having no idea what to say to her friend, yet feeling the need to say something, even though it really wasn't any concern of his.
"Just don't tell me you're in love him or something," he muttered. "I might be more understanding than Ron, but even I have my limits."
She looked down at her hands and heard the soft rustle of his robes as he came back to stand in front of her.
"Hermione."
She looked up and met his eyes, seeing the look of disgust cross his face. She sighed, realising she would have to explain herself now, lest he jump to the wrong conclusion.
"Harry," she said, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside her. "It's not what you think."
"You don't want to know what I'm thinking," he said with a visible shudder.
"Look," she said. "It's hard to explain. I know a completely different Severus Snape to the one you know, the one most other people know. Yes, Severus is still sarcastic and short-tempered, but he isn't cruel or nasty for the sake of being so. He's brilliant, and I've learnt so much from him, and I... I just honestly enjoy spending time with him, Harry. Can you understand that?"
Her friend was silent for a moment, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.
At length, he said, "And there's nothing else going on between you?"
She shook her head. She was being truthful… mostly. One little kiss wasn't worth mentioning, and that's all it was… for now.
"I can't understand it," he said with a sigh. "But I can accept it, I think."
"That's good enough for me," she said softly, relieved. "Will you try to talk some sense into Ron, though? I just don't think he'll listen to reason from me, and I don't want us fighting… not now."
After almost losing one friend, she didn't want to remain on bad terms with anyone else.
"I'll try," he said, "but don't hold your breath. You know how he is."
Yes, I do, she sighed inwardly, and they left her room and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
The day of classes flew by, and before Hermione knew it, she was finishing her Head Girl patrol after dinner and making her way up to the Headmaster's office, Flooing through to Snape's quarters from there. She had to take another goblet of Wolfsbane Potion to Professor Lupin, and Dumbledore had cautioned her against appearing from the hidden first-floor passage with the potion in her hands, suggesting instead she enter and leave via the Floo in his office.
Appearing on the sitting room hearth and dusting her robe off, she was surprised to see Snape sitting behind his desk, a book open in front of him, and another small pile nearby.
"You're up," she said. "I thought you'd still be in bed."
He didn't answer right away, and she realising he wasn't reading, as she'd first assumed, but gazing down at his left arm where it was resting on the desk. His shirtsleeve was rolled up to his elbow, and he had turned the limb a little, staring at the pale, unmarked skin of his inner forearm as he had done the previous night.
After a moment, he seemed to visibly shake himself and looked up at her, a wry smile crossing his face.
"I just have to keep checking," he said quietly, "to make sure it's really gone."
She crossed the room and shifted a pile of parchments from the corner of his desk, lifting herself up to perch on the free space. He raised an eyebrow at her temerity, but she ignored it and reached for his left hand, pulling his arm into her lap. When she was sure he wasn't going to pull it away, she reached for his sleeve, unravelling the soft material down his arm, hiding the unblemished skin.
She looked up at him as she finished buttoning the small sleeves of his cuff, and he drew his gaze from where he'd been watching her fingers to meet her eyes.
"It's not going to come back," she said quietly.
"I know, I'm just…" He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly with the fingers of his right hand as he withdrew his left from her lap. "It's daft, I know, but I can't seem to help myself."
"It's not daft," she insisted. "It will just take some getting used to."
She studied him more closely, noting the dark circles like smudges under his eyes. "Are you sure you're feeling well enough to be up?"
"I've been in bed for a week, Hermione," he said dryly. "I'll go stir crazy if I stay idle any longer."
He stood up as if to prove his point, taking the closed books on his desk across the room to the shelves and slipping them back into place amongst the other dusty tomes. Hermione noticed that, despite his assurance, he wasn't moving with the swift grace she'd come to associate with him in the past seven years. There was slight hesitancy in his movements, as if he didn't quite trust his body to fully support him again just yet.
She hopped down from his desk and crossed the room to join him.
"Has Professor Dumbledore spoken to you yet?"
"No." He turned from the bookshelf, the last book still in his hands. "He's coming down later tonight, as a matter of fact. I don't think I'll like what he's going to have to say."
"You don't know that," she reasoned.
"He all but forbade me to leave these rooms until he's spoken to me," Snape replied darkly. "That does not bode well."
"You think he might keep you here?" she asked.
"I wouldn't put it past him," he muttered.
Unable to think of anything reassuring to say – she had the feeling Snape was right, anyway - Hermione went into the lab to retrieve a fresh goblet of Wolfsbane Potion to take to Lupin.
"Can I Floo straight through from here?" she asked, returning to the sitting room to find Snape back at his desk.
He shook his head. "Albus warded the fireplace. You can only go to his office. You'll have to Floo there and then again to Lupin's classroom."
She sighed. "Okay, I'll be back in a moment."
She returned five minutes later with an empty goblet. Snape was back at his desk, but he'd turned the chair around to face the windows. As she crossed the room to join him, a soft hoot startled her, and she noticed his black owl sitting on her perch in the corner.
She detoured to greet the bird softly and give it a scratch on the back of its head. She stood next to the owl for some time, watching Snape, who was staring out the window. The absolute darkness outside and the reflection of the wall sconces in the room left little to look at, and she noticed he was rubbing his arm absently again.
"I wouldn't worry about what Professor Dumbledore is going to say," she said conversationally after some time.
He looked up sharply. "Do you know what he has planned?"
She shook her head. "Beyond the fact that he more or less told the whole school you won't be teaching Potions anymore, I'm as confused as you are. He means well, though; he was very worried for you."
Snape snorted. "He was worried about the loss of his Potions teacher and spy."
"No, worried for you," she insisted. "Potions teachers and spies can be replaced, albeit with difficulty. No one can replace Severus Snape."
"How touching," he said with a trace of his old sneer, but she couldn't help noticing he looked vaguely pleased.
"I'm serious, you know," she continued. "It wasn't until this last week that I've realised Dumbledore really does care for people beyond their usefulness to him. Whatever he decides, I'm sure it will be for the best."
He snorted. "Albus often has a very different idea of what 'for the best' is than the rest of us."
"Like this," she said with a small smile, gesturing between them.
He smirked a little. "Yes, well, this was one of his notable exceptions."
Her smile widened and Snape extended his hand, gesturing for her to come closer. She joined him at the window and he pulled her close to his chest. Putting her arms loosely around his back, she turned her head so that her cheek was against the soft fabric of his shirt and she could follow his earlier gaze out the window, but she could only see the room reflected in the glass. She fixed her gaze on the reflection of Snape's face, his eyes closed, chin resting atop her head.
"Where do we go from here?" she murmured.
"I don't know," he admitted quietly, his long fingers tracing a path through the tangled curls of her hair. "Whoever would have thought it would come to this?"
"I'm glad it has," she replied softly.
She felt the rumbling murmur of his response but missed his words, so she tilted her head up and said, "What was that?"
He looked down, his face inches from hers, and she felt his breath warm on her face as he repeated, "I said, as am I."
Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, he lowered his head. Pulling away was the last thing on her mind as his lips met hers, soft and warm. The memory of their last kiss had played over in her head countless times since it had happened, but this was real, and so much better than any memory could be. He didn't taste like Firewhisky this time, she noted. Just like... him. It was an intoxicating taste, though, and she opened her mouth against his, inviting him to deepen the kiss.
He complied willingly, and she shivered as his tongue traced a gentle path around her lips before delving further in.
She fisted her hand in his hair, drawing her nails across his scalp a little. The action elicited a soft groan from him, which thrummed a soft vibration through their joined mouths. He drew back after a long, breathless moment, resting his forehead against hers, his breath hot and uneven on her cheek. She opened her eyes – she didn't remember having closed them – to see him watching her, so close it seemed her whole being was filled with the deep black fire in his gaze.
She drew in a shaky gulp of air, glad his arms were still around her because she didn't think her knees would support her at that moment. Her heart was racing, and as he straightened a little and she moved her head to rest on his chest, she could feel his heart beating a thumping cadence, too.
They stood together for some time until Snape finally broke the silence.
"I realised I never properly thanked you for everything you've done this past week," he murmured into her hair, "though I daresay I don't yet know the full extent of your contribution."
She drew back from his chest and looked up sharply, wondering whether he had somehow found out about the moonfilly already, but then realised he simply meant no one had told him what had happened in the week he'd been unconscious beyond the fact that she had hardly – and then only reluctantly – left his side.
"No thanks are needed," she said, and then, trying to draw his attention elsewhere in case he asked her to explain what had really happened, added jokingly, "Although, if properly thanking me involves doing what you just did, more thanks would be very welcome."
He narrowed his eyes, but there was amusement in them, and the corner of his mouth curled up in an appreciative smirk as he lowered his lips to hers once again.
The kiss was more forceful this time, now he was sure she wasn't going to object, but he reluctantly pulled away after what seemed like far too short a time to Hermione, saying by way of explanation, "Albus could be here at any moment."
His hands trailed from her back to her shoulders, and he lifted one hand to brush a lone fingertip across her lips. "It wouldn't do for him to see you looking so thoroughly kissed."
"You look rather well-kissed yourself," she said, amused by the flushed look about his pale features. "How are you going to explain that to him?"
"Well," he said, raising an eyebrow, "at least if you're not here it might not be immediately apparent. I can always hope he's misplaced his glasses."
She let out a soft snort of laughter and stepped away, causing his hands drop from her shoulders.
"Will you let me know what the Headmaster has to say?" she asked, crossing the room to the door leading out to the first floor corridor.
"Tomorrow," he agreed, moving to the bookshelves again.
She opened the door, hesitated, and turned back to him. He had selected a large tome from the shelf and was flipping through it, searching for a particular page.
"Severus?"
He looked up, letting the book fall closed again.
"It's good to have you back," she said sincerely.
He smiled faintly and nodded, and she left, closing the door softly behind her.
On Wednesday, the last lesson before lunch was Potions, and Hermione tried to talk to the Headmaster at the end of the class. The aging wizard looked rather more tired than usual today, and she wondered if it was a result of his discussion - or perhaps argument - with Severus the previous night. She wanted to have some idea of what to expect when she went down to the former Potions master's quarters later that day.
The Headmaster disappeared promptly at the end of the lesson, though, even before the students had finished cleaning their cauldrons.
"Are you coming to lunch, Hermione?" Harry asked, walking up to her as she stuffed her potions text back into her bag with a frown.
"No, I don't think so," she said, looking around to check that Malfoy had exited the classroom. "I have work to do," she added meaningfully.
Harry sighed. "Oh, right."
"Besides," she added, following him from the classroom and closing the door behind her, "it's not like Ron is in any mood to talk to me yet. He certainly wasn't at breakfast."
"I did talk to him last night," Harry said as they climbed the stairs to the Entrance Hall. "He's just being stubborn. Give him a few days and he'll come around."
"I hope so," Hermione murmured before bidding her friend farewell and heading for the first floor corridor.
Her afternoon class was Medicinal Potions, which she used as her time to brew for the infirmary, and she had a short list from Madam Pomfrey of the brews and salves required in the next few days.
Snape was in the lab when she arrived, but he only grunted in response to her greeting. She frowned, expecting a slightly warmer reception after the previous evening. Perhaps she'd been fooling herself. He was still the same person, after all, and not one prone to overt shows of affection.
She looked at him properly, then, to see that his face was fixed in a scowl.
"What's wrong?" she asked, crossing to the opposite side of the bench from where he stood. He held up his hand, and she belatedly realised he was counting the number of stirs he was making with the glass rod in his hand.
He looked even more tired than he had last night, she noticed, and wondered at the outcome of his conversation with the Headmaster.
Peering into the cauldron, she recognised the Wolfsbane Potion, and was about to ask why he was brewing it – she had made enough for the current moon cycle earlier in the week – when she saw the parchments next to the cauldron, filled with scribbles and scratched-out variations of the original brew.
She knew well enough by now not to disturb him when experimenting; the Wolfsbane was fairly safe to brew, but if Snape was adding extra ingredients or changing quantities he couldn't afford to lose concentration.
Retreating quietly to her own corner of the room, she set about preparing the ingredients for the basic Pepper-up Potion. The mediwitch had almost run out of her last batch of the potion owing to the abundance of coughs and colds going around the student body this winter.
As it turned out, Snape didn't need Hermione to distract him. About an hour after she'd entered the lab, she heard a loud curse from across the room, followed by a hissing noise as the cauldron he was working with slumped to one side, melting.
Murky grey liquid flowed from a hole in the cast iron onto the bench, over Snape's hand, which he pulled away with a jerk, and onto the floor. Snape leapt back as the liquid splashed his boots, grabbed his wand, and cast a quick succession of Vanishing Spells as the mixture continued to bubble and spread.
Hermione was across the room in an instant, throwing a quick stasis spell over her cauldron before adding her own Evanesco to Snape's mess.
When it was finally contained, Snape dropped his wand with a hiss of pain, the wood falling to the newly-cleaned floor with a sharp clatter. She glanced at his hand to see it still covered in the grey liquid.
"Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath, turning to the nearby cupboard to retrieve a cloth. One of the first lessons Madam Pomfrey had taught the Medicinal Magic class was never to use Evanesco on a person's skin. If the skin was broken, the spell could damage it further.
She reached for his hand to wipe the slimy substance away, but he pulled it from her grasp.
"No, burn-healing paste," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Hurry."
She flew across the room to the storage cabinet, grabbed the large jar, and then followed Snape across to the small sink on the far wall of the room, where he shoved his hand under the cold tap, rinsing of the ruined potion.
By the time his skin was clean, his hand was painfully swollen, blisters along his fingers making them look twice their normal size. Without a word, she uncapped the jar and scooped as much of the sticky orange paste onto her fingers as she could.
Taking his wrist above the burn, she spread the first dollop across the back of his hand. He drew a breath sharply as the coolness of the salve stung again the heat of the burn.
"Sorry," she said, pausing her ministrations for a moment.
"Just get on with it," he bit out, though not nastily.
She spread the paste carefully from wrist to fingertips, leaving a thick layer all over his skin. It worked best when it was left to absorb naturally for several hours, healing the blistered skin so it wouldn't peel or scar.
She had some difficulty spreading it between his fingers, swollen as they were, and she found his eyes tightly shut when she glanced up, a grimace knitting his brow as she finished.
"There," she said quietly, releasing his wrist. "That should be okay in a couple of hours."
He opened his eyes and held up his hand, examining it. It looked at though he was wearing a large, shiny, orange glove.
"Is it still hurting?" she asked.
"Smarting a bit," he admitted, turning to survey the ruined cauldron, slumped grotesquely on the bench. "It was lucky we both acted so quickly. Thank you."
She brushed off his thanks as he strode back across the room, picking up his wand with his good hand. He looked at it closely, frowning, until she asked, "What is it?"
"It didn't react as well as it should have," he murmured, turning it over between the fingers of his left hand.
"Well," she reasoned, "It's different from your usual wand. Maybe you're just not used to it yet."
His main wand had never been returned to him after his last summons, and he was using the spare wand he'd last used at Christmas. It was slightly longer and thinner than his old one, and the wood, while still dark, had a rich red hue when held in bright light.
"Hmmm," he muttered noncommittally, still frowning at the length of wood.
"What caused the potion to react so violently, anyway?" she asked.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't have done it, would I?" he snapped, and she took a step back, chastened.
Red-faced, she crossed back to her own cauldron, lifting the stasis spell and vanishing the contents, realising she'd lost count of the precise number of stirs required to make the potion.
"I apologise, Hermione." His voice echoed across the silence of the room. "That was uncalled for."
"Yes, it was," she said stiffly, turning to face him. He was sitting at the small, cramped desk, his back to her. She relented her sharp tone with a sigh and made her way to stand next to him.
"I suppose what I meant was, what were you doing when it went awry?"
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly with the fingers of his uninjured hand. "Exactly what I normally do with the Wolfsbane Potion – exactly what you've done to brew it, too. I hadn't even reached the stage to make any variation tonight. I just lost concentration."
"You just lost concentration?" she repeated in disbelief. "You're a Master of Potions; you never just lose concentration!"
"Oh, yes," he snapped sarcastically. "Call the Prophet. Severus Snape ruins a potion. That's sure to be front page news."
She opened her mouth to retort that if his name was in the Prophet, it would probably be speculation about his rumoured demise and his true loyalties, but she bit her tongue, realising what had distracted him in the first place.
He pulled a parchment filled with formulas from a pile on the edge of the desk, but then, reaching for a quill, realised his right hand was useless for the time being. He pushed the parchment aside again and sighed tiredly.
Shifting the pile of parchments, she sat on the hard, wooden surface, facing him.
He looked at her then, clearly irritated. "Is it too much to ask that you use a chair?"
"Yes," she replied. "You can't ignore me if I sit here, and I won't go away until you tell me what's bothering you."
"How long do you have?" he enquired sarcastically.
"As long as it takes," she said evenly, "unless you have another pressing engagement?"
His face darkened and he met her eyes.
"I have all the time in the world," he said softly, though his voice was tight with anger, "now that Dumbledore has decided to render me completely useless for the rest of this war."
"Useless?" she repeated carefully.
"Albus has decided," he began, then paused. "No, demanded, that I remain here. Indefinitely. Until the conclusion of the war."
"At Hogwarts?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not just at Hogwarts. That, I could possibly handle. No, I'm to be confined to these rooms."
"He wants you to play dead, then," she stated flatly, realising her earlier speculation had been correct.
"He wants me to hide away like that mongrel Black did," he spat. "Completely and utterly useless. I'm going stir crazy in here after two days, Hermione. How long is this war going to last? Another month? A year? Longer?"
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but realised she didn't have any argument. She was glad, of course, that Dumbledore wasn't risking Snape's life by making it known he had survived, but she'd seen the result of keeping a man caged before – it was Sirius' frustration at being confined and helpless that had led to his untimely death.
"And the old man had the audacity to congratulate me on my freedom," he added bitterly. "What sort of freedom is this?"
"Well," she reasoned, thinking quickly, "at least you'll be safe, and there are still things you can do here, aren't there?"
"Oh, yes," he said sardonically. "I can still experiment with potions – like this one tonight – though Albus didn't say how we might put any successes to use without raising questions as to where the potions have come from. I can give the Order information based on what I know about the way the Dark Lord operates, and targets he might choose, but it's all based on speculation. It's no match for current information from someone within his ranks."
He stood up and brushed past her, disappearing into the sitting room. Hermione stared after him for a moment before following.
He was sitting at one end of the couch, staring blankly into the unlit fireplace, his injured hand hanging over the side of the armrest.
She sat sideways on the couch next to him, crossing her legs underneath her.
"He means well, you know," she said quietly. "It would be a death sentence for you to leave Hogwarts. Even here, if Voldemort finds out you're alive, he could find a way to get to you and finish what he started. Professor Dumbledore is only trying to keep you safe."
"He's exchanging my safety for the lives of others, Hermione," he said, leaning forwards to rest his head in his hands. "Death Eaters could attack the school, the Ministry, Hogsmeade, anywhere, and we have no means of warning. I couldn't prevent every attack while I was in his ranks, but I was able to do something. I was able to stop some of the carnage."
Hermione realised that it wasn't news of his confinement in itself that was bothering him the most, not even the fact that he was being forced to do exactly what he'd mocked Sirius for having to do two years ago and hide away for his own safety. It was his inability to prevent something which he had no control over – Voldemort's attacks - that was the root of his frustration.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will find another way to get information," she said, but he snorted derisively.
"Oh, yes," he sneered. "There are spies in the Dark Lord's ranks just queuing up to take my position. It's not that simple, Hermione. It took me the better part of twenty years to work my way into a position of trust in his ranks."
"You make it sound like you'd rather be back out there," she murmured.
"Perhaps I would."
She turned to stare at him, his mouth still fixed in a tight line.
"You don't mean that," she said, and he looked down at her.
"Don't I?"
She stood up, folding her arms as she said angrily, "After everything Dumbledore has done for you, you want to throw it back in his face and get yourself killed?"
"Everything he's done?" Snape glared up at her. "What has he ever done for me – for any of us - that hasn't suited his own ends as well?"
"I-" She stalled, and he sighed.
"You'll learn, Hermione," he said quietly, looking away from her. "You'll see the way he works eventually, and don't expect me to be around to say I told you so."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said resignedly. "It doesn't matter, now."
She frowned, wondering if there was something he wasn't telling her. She didn't get a chance to dwell on it, though, because in the next moment there was a flutter of wings, and Snape's black owl landed on the back of the couch next to him.
"She'll have to go, too," he said quietly and reached up with his good hand to scratch the back of Tonatiuh's neck.
"Go?" Hermione questioned, sitting on the edge of the couch again, facing Snape and the bird.
The owl hooted, seeming to glower at Snape, who addressed his familiar directly, saying, "Well, I can't have a bloody bird flying in and out of here if I'm supposed to be dead, can I? Someone will notice."
"Oh, of course," she murmured. "Can she stay in the Owlery?"
"Yes," Snape said. "I was hoping you'd take her tonight, actually."
She nodded. The owl was watching her master with bright eyes, knowing something was wrong.
"She'll be bored up there," Hermione said. "Can I use her to write to my parents sometimes? I'm sure she'd enjoy the long flight."
"A good idea," Snape agreed, holding up his forearm for the owl, who promptly hopped on, clasping his shirt-sleeve with her sharp claws as Snape stood up.
Hermione stood up too, as Snape gestured for her to come closer. She did, and he urged Tonatiuh to hop across onto her shoulder. The bird did so, very reluctantly, and Snape stroked the owl's feathers once more, then dropped his arm and cleared his throat.
"I don't think I ever asked you – so much has happened since then - how are your parents faring in their new home?"
"As well as can be expected," she sighed. "They're safe, and that's what matters, although I don't think they'll be happy until I'm there with them."
"You plan on joining them?" he asked lightly, beckoning her to follow him to the lab again. His voice held an odd tone.
"No," she said, and though she might have imagined it, she thought she saw his shoulders relax slightly. "But they don't have to know that. I won't leave before the end of this war, and I won't visit them in case I lead Death Eaters there. We were lucky once, thanks to you; I won't take the chance again."
He nodded and opened the door to the passage leading down to the Potions classroom. She stared at him in confusion.
"You shouldn't be seen with Tonatiuh coming from anywhere but the my office downstairs. Some of the older Slytherins might recognise her as my owl. If you're coming from the dungeons and are questioned, you can merely say Albus asked you to take her to the Owlery."
"Okay," she agreed. "Shall I come back afterwards? Madam Pomfrey needs the Pepper-Up as soon as possible."
He shook his head. "I'll take care of that tonight. It won't take long."
"What about your hand?"
He held it up to examine it. The swelling had gone down a little already, and his skin had absorbed much of the sticky orange paste, leaving a thin film over his hand.
"It will be usable soon," he said at length. "I can manage with my wand until then. Perhaps you might come and get the potion tomorrow to deliver to the Hospital Wing?"
"Okay," she agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
She glanced at his hand once more, then at the owl on her shoulder and slipped through the door.
"Hermione."
She turned back a short way down the dark passage. Standing in the doorway, Snape's face was obscured in shadow as the light from the lab shone behind him.
"Thank you."
She smirked. The words had taken on a new meaning since the previous day, and she responded cheekily, "You can thank me properly next time I see you."
His chuckle echoed into the dark tunnel before he closed the door, and she lit her wand, making her way to the dungeons. It was heartening, in a way, to know that she could still make him laugh despite everything.
To be continued
Author's Notes: Many thanks, as always, to everyone who had read and reviewed.
As always, the next chapter can be found at owl dot tauri dot org.
