Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 34
"Professor Lupin," Hermione managed to croak. Snape was halfway across the room, still trying to pacify the owl. The Defence teacher turned from watching Snape to look at her and, seeing the look of horror on her face, stepped around the desk and followed her gaze to the rat.
His face blanched, and he staggered forwards a few steps, grasping the back of the nearest armchair for support.
"Severus!"
Tonatiuh, realising the other occupants of the room had discovered the problem even if her master hadn't, suddenly quieted, landing on Snape's outstretched forearm without a sound.
Snape shook his head in disbelief and walked over to her perch which still sat in the corner of the room, coaxing her from his arm onto the wooden rung impatiently.
"I don't know what's wrong with that-" he started to say, breaking off when he finally turned and looked at Hermione.
"What is it?"
He looked at Lupin and then followed both their gazes to the floor.
She finally found her voice enough to whisper, "It's Pettigrew."
Once comprehension dawned, Snape acted faster than either of them. He whipped out his wand, aiming it steadily at the rat even from across the other side of the room.
"Lupin, get your wand out," he commanded, moving closer. "Hermione, step back."
"But-"
"Don't argue. Just do as I say, for once," he snapped.
She backed a short distance across the room, standing so she could still see what was happening. Lupin hadn't moved; he was staring at the rat with a pale, shocked expression on his face.
"Lupin!" Snape snapped again. "Get your wand out! He might not be dead."
As if shaking himself from a trance, the Defence teacher finally managed to comply, his wand trembling slightly in his grasp. Hermione noticed his nostrils were flaring and he was breathing quickly through his nose; his shocked expression seemed to transform suddenly, and there was an odd glint in his eyes, of anticipation and triumph. It was unnerving to see such an expression on the normally placid man.
She turned back to Snape, who was approaching the motionless rat slowly, his wand still trained steadily on its small form. He cast a spell Hermione didn't recognise, and the rat glowed for a moment.
"Dead?" Lupin questioned hoarsely, but Snape shook his head uncertainly. He cast another spell, its syllables slightly different from the first, but with the same result.
"It could be a trick," he said, eyeing the rat keenly. "When an Animagus remains in their animal form for prolonged periods of time, it alters their anatomy. They no longer respond correctly to spells designed for humans, but nor are they really an animal."
"There's only one way to find out," Lupin said. "Force him to resume his true shape. Shall we?"
Snape looked over at him for a moment, nodded, and then turned to Hermione.
"Take your wand out and keep back," he instructed.
There was no room for argument in his tone, so she did as she was told, the length of wood shaking slightly in her hand until she tightened her grip determinedly.
At a sharp nod from Snape, the two wizards raised their wands in a mirror movement. No words were spoken, but there was a blinding flash of light and an accompanying bang!
When Hermione could see again, the rat had vanished. In its place, sprawled out grotesquely on the stone floor, was a very dead Peter Pettigrew. The small but deep claw marks on the rat had expanded on his human form into long, ugly gashes, some of which were still oozing blood. His face was fixed in a horrible, twisted expression of pain, eyes clenched shut in an effort to stave off his unfortunate end.
After a few tense minutes and another series of spells, Snape finally lowered his wand. "He's dead," he confirmed, glancing at Hermione briefly, an unreadable expression on his face, and then to Lupin.
The Defence teacher didn't utter a word, but sank into the nearby armchair, his wand hanging loosely from his fingers as he stared at the body.
Hermione put her own wand away and stepped forwards. The rancid stench of blood, sweat and fear reached her nostrils, and she fought the urge to gag. Snape muttered another spell, passing his wand over the length of Pettigrew's twisted body in a horizontal arc.
Nothing happened until his wand drew level with the breast pocket of the dead man's torn, shabby coat, and then the air around the pocket glowed a dull yellow.
"What does that mean?" Hermione asked.
"It means there is a magical object in his pocket," Snape replied, frowning. "It can't be a wand, not in a pocket that size."
Carefully, using his own wand rather than his hands, Snape nudge the pocket open and managed to prod and poke the item until it fell out, sliding down the sticky mess of blood on the dead man's chest to fall on the floor.
A small, rusty tobacco box.
Hermione stared at the innocuous object, Snape's sharp, "Don't," startling her as she took another step closer.
She looked up at him, but he was glancing around the room, clearly searching for something. His eyes fell on the small pile of serviettes next to the sandwich plate. Taking one, he covered the box and picked it up, placing it on the edge of the table, careful not to touch it directly. Hermione followed him, peering down at it as he removed the cloth again.
He held out a cautionary arm as she leant too close, and she looked at him curiously again.
"If this is what I think it is..." he murmured, casting a spell at the small object. It glowed the same yellow as the pocket, and Snape nodded.
"It's a Portkey," he stated flatly. "I think we can imagine where it might take anyone unfortunate enough to touch it when activated."
Hermione took an involuntary step backwards, then. After her last near-experience with a Portkey at the hands of Voldemort's young servants, she was surprised to find herself not retreating clear across the room.
Snape continued to scrutinise the Portkey, his wand half-raised as though deliberating what to do.
"Shouldn't it be destroyed?" she asked.
Frowning, he eventually shook his head, saying slowly, "No, I... no."
It seemed to Hermione that he'd been about to say something else, but when he didn't go on, she turned back to the other occupant of the room.
Lupin was still sitting in the armchair, staring somewhat vacantly at the body on the floor.
"Professor?"
His eyes flickered in her direction as she stood in front of him, and he seemed to shake himself mentally.
"Hermione." His voice was falsely cheerful as he stood up. "What can I do for you?"
"Er..." she faltered, thrown by his odd tone. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Oh, yes," Lupin said vaguely. "Quite all right."
She turned to Snape in confusion, to see him watching the other man with a frown.
"Hermione," he said after a moment, "will you Floo Albus and ask him to join us?"
With a perplexed backwards glance at the Defence teacher, she went to the fireplace, stepping carefully around one outflung arm of Pettigrew. Taking a pinch of Floo powder and tossing it into the flames, she called out for the Headmaster to join them.
The old wizard stepped through onto the hearth a moment later, brushing off his robes. He started quite violently at the unexpected spectre of the dead man.
"Upon my word!" he exclaimed, looking from Hermione to Snape, still standing by his desk, and Lupin, still looking vaguely stunned. "What is... how is this- who…?"
It was the first time Hermione had ever seen the eloquent Headmaster lost for words.
"It would seem my owl has developed a taste for merely killing rats rather than eating them," Snape spoke up, gesturing to the other corner of the room where Tonatiuh was preening herself on the wooden perch.
"Well, I..." Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses, absently rubbing them on one billowing sleeve. Putting them back on, he murmured, "This changes things."
Hermione was about to enquire what he meant by that when he spoke again.
"Forgive me, Miss Granger, but I think I might ask you to excuse us while we deal with this matter," the Headmaster said, gesturing to the body on the floor. "It is not something a student should have to witness."
"But, sir, I've already seen-"
"I'm sure you have many questions," Dumbledore continued firmly, "but I would ask that you refrain from asking them at the present time. This matter must be dealt with immediately, and there is much to be done. I'm afraid questions will have to stand unanswered for now."
Hermione could see the Headmaster's point, but was it really necessary for her to leave? She looked at Snape, but he returned her questioning gaze impassively, and that gaze turned to a glare when she realised he wasn't going to protest.
With strict instructions from the Headmaster not to tell anyone what had happened yet, she exited the room, leaving the three men to deal with the dead traitor.
Five minutes later, she reached the Fat Lady's portrait at the same time as the throng of students returning from dinner in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron caught her eye, and she knew by the look on their faces they could tell something was wrong. She sighed and, when they entered the common room, gestured for them to follow her to her own room.
"I can't tell you anything," she said flatly as soon as she closed the door. "Besides, I'm sure you'll know soon enough."
"Why'd you bring us in here if you're not going to tell us anything?" Ron complained, plonking himself down on the end of her bed.
"Because," she sniped, "I didn't want you badgering me to tell you in front of everyone else. Then they would all want to know."
"Can you tell us anything?" Harry asked, sitting down a bit more carefully next to Ron. "You looked a bit... disturbed."
She eyed both of her friends as she pulled the chair out from under her desk, turned it around and sat facing them.
"We made quite a disturbing discovery tonight," she admitted, wondering how much she could let on without directly disobeying the Headmaster. "But, once the initial shock wear off, I think you'll be... relieved."
"Is it something to do with Remus?" Harry asked. Both of her friends knew of Snape's success with the new potion, and that the Defence teacher was to be testing the brew tonight.
"Not directly." At Ron's curious look, she elaborated, "He was there when this whole thing happened."
About a half an hour later, Hermione was developing a headache from all the roundabout talk, in which Harry and Ron were trying to gain as much information as possible without her actually telling them anything.
Thankfully, a sharp rapping at her door distracted the three friends from their discussion. Hermione rose from her seat, but before she reached the door, it opened of its own accord, and McGonagall stepped into the room.
"I thought I may find you all in here," she said briskly. "Mr Potter, if you would come with me, please. The Headmaster wishes to see you."
Harry stood up and moved to the doorway where McGonagall waited. Ron made to follow, but the Head of Gryffindor shook her head.
"Not you, Mr Weasley, nor you, Miss Granger," she said firmly, her eyes travelling from Ron to Hermione.
"But when will I know-" Ron began.
"Can I tell Ron what I know now, Professor?" Hermione interjected. She assumed the Deputy Headmistress was already aware of what had happened, and it didn't seem fair she and Harry knew when Ron was still in the dark; he had just as much right to know what had happened to the man who had masqueraded as his pet for the better part of his life.
McGonagall deliberated the request with a frown, but then nodded.
"Very well, but make sure you are not overheard," she cautioned firmly, before leading Harry from the room and closing the door behind her.
Ron blew out a breath as Hermione sat down again.
"It must be serious," he said.
Hermione nodded and proceeded to tell Ron everything that had happened earlier, from the Wolfsbane potion and the appearance of Snape's owl, to the discovery of the dead man and the Portkey in his pocket.
"Bloody hell," Ron murmured when she finished the short tale with her own departure from Snape's quarters. "I bet Crookshanks will be disappointed he couldn't do the honours. He's been wanted to eat Sca- er, Wormtail since third year."
"And with good reason," she retorted, though without a sting in her voice. She knew her friend still felt guilt over having unknowingly sheltered Pettigrew in the past.
"How do you think Harry will take it?" he mused, half to himself.
"Well, if his reaction is anything like Professor Lupin's, I'd say not well. His expression when he realised Pettigrew was dead was..." She shivered involuntarily. That momentary expression of suppressed triumph on the Defence teacher's face had really frightened her, not that she could blame him for feeling it, and so had his later shocked silence.
"I suppose part of Harry will wish he'd been able to kill Wormtail himself," Ron murmured thoughtfully, leaning back on his elbows and staring at the canopy above the bed.
"I think there are lot of people who wish that," she said, standing up to pace the length of the room. Something Dumbledore had said was bothering her, but she couldn't quite work out why.
At length, she said to Ron, "One of the first things the Headmaster said was that this changes things. I wonder what he meant, aside from the obvious?"
Ron frowned in thought and was silent for some time. Always the strategic thinker, he finally said, "Wormtail owes Harry a life debt from third year. Maybe Dumbledore was hoping to use that to our advantage."
"I don't think Harry would have liked that," she commented, ceasing her pacing to sit next to her friend.
They sat in silence for some time, before Ron said, "I know Professor Lupin was shocked, but I'll bet he was pleased, too. Of everyone, he's been hurt the most by Pettigrew, and for the longest."
"Even more than Harry, you think?"
The redhead frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I think so. Harry lost his parents, but he was fortunate in that he didn't know what he had lost at the time... does that make sense?"
She looked at him curiously, and he elaborated.
"Lupin lost two of his best friends the night Pettigrew betrayed them, one to death and one to Azkaban. Three friends, if you count Lily. Not to mention the realisation Sirius thought he'd been the one spying on them. He didn't kill Pettigrew when he had the chance four years ago, either, and the bastard escaped and helped You-Know-Who to rise again. And, because of that, he lost the one friend he'd regained after all those years, this time for good."
Hermione couldn't help but be impressed with Ron's logic. She'd known all along Lupin must hate Pettigrew for what he'd done, but she perhaps hadn't considered how deeply that hatred ran, and how all the losses in the quiet Defence teacher's life led back to the pitiless spy.
Yes, Harry had lost his parents, and it was a terrible tragedy, but he was lucky, in a way, that he'd been too young to recognise the loss for what it was. Lupin had lived with knowing what he had lost for almost half of his life.
Some time later, there was a quiet knock at the door and Harry re-entered the room. Hermione and Ron stood immediately, uncertain what to make of the strange look on their friend's face.
Harry crossed the room and plunked himself down into the desk chair Hermione had earlier occupied.
"One down, one to go," he said, his voice carrying a hard edge.
"Harry?" Hermione said, taking in her friend's expression worriedly. "What do you mean?"
His lip curled into a feral smile, his eyes holding that same glint Lupin's had earlier in the evening as he said, "Pettigrew was half the reason my parents are dead. Now, there's only Voldemort."
Hermione exchanged a worried glance with Ron as they sat down again, too.
"He's definitely dead, then?" Ron asked tentatively. It was a fair question, after all. Pettigrew had fooled wizards far more intelligent than himself before.
"Yes, finally," Harry said, leaning back into the chair and suddenly looking tired rather than angry. Thinking back on how Lupin's demeanour had changed, too, Hermione asked after the Defence teacher.
"He's relieved, if a bit shocked," Harry said. "I wanted to talk to him without Dumbledore there, but they still had some things to discuss when I left. Arrangements, I think."
"Arrangements?" Hermione questioned.
"I'd imagine they'll have to report it to the Ministry," Ron put in, and Harry nodded.
"With Pettigrew's body, they can prove Sirius' innocence." He smiled bitterly. "It's a bit late, but at least that snivelling coward will no longer be recognised as a hero."
"Better late than never, I suppose," Hermione murmured, and Ron nodded in silent agreement.
"Anyway," said Harry, standing up again. "Remus is probably back in his office by now. I need to talk to him; I just thought I'd let you know what's happened."
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said. As something of an afterthought, she added, "Are you okay?"
He regarded her for a moment, his green eyes unreadable, before he simply nodded.
"Hermione said something about a Portkey?" Ron asked suddenly.
"Yeah," Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Now that was strange; it wasn't an ordinary Portkey. Dumbledore cast some detection spell on it for Dark magic. He thinks it has a locating spell woven into it, so rather than taking one to a specific location, it locates a specific object or person and takes the holder there."
"To Voldemort," Hermione finished.
He nodded again. "Dumbledore said it was the same spell as on the one Crabbe and Goyle had for you."
Hermione felt her stomach drop.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.
"What happened to this Portkey?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. She knew the last Portkey had gone to the Ministry for evidence against the two young Slytherins, but this one wouldn't be needed for that purpose. The Mark on Pettigrew's arm was enough.
"Dumbledore put it in a cabinet in his office," Harry said. "It's locked and warded; I doubt Merlin himself could get to it if Dumbledore didn't approve."
Hermione nodded, still feeling slightly sickened.
"Well, I'm going to Remus' office," Harry said, turning for the door. "I'll see you both later."
"Later," Ron echoed, but before Harry opened the door Hermione stopped him again.
"Was Severus in Dumbledore's office, too?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron make a face at her use of his first name, but she ignored him.
"Yeah, he was there for a while," Harry said shortly. "He left us to our – what did he call it? Oh, yeah, pleasant reminiscing, or something like that."
Hermione frowned, then murmured, "I think I might go and see him in a minute."
Ron made another face.
"Don't start, Ron," she warned. "Besides, Severus is as much a part of this as we are; Pettigrew ferreting around the castle is the reason he's confined as he is."
"I suppose you're right," Ron said slowly, and Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to defend her actions again. It was becoming tiresome, but Ron finally seemed to be accepting the time she spent with Snape.
Ron followed Harry out into the common room and Hermione closed the door behind them, leaning against its cool surface for a moment to gather her thoughts.
She hadn't planned to linger in Severus' quarters for long after the Wolfsbane experiment tonight; she had another mock exam the next morning, for Arithmancy, and some of the more complex formulas were still confusing her, despite hours of study.
After their earlier interlude, before Lupin and Dumbledore had arrived, she knew she wouldn't be staying; she would never get any work done in the same room as him after that.
Now, though, both Arithmancy and more pleasant ways to pass the time couldn't be further from her mind. Severus might have spoken with his usual sarcasm in the Headmaster's office, from Harry's account, but she knew better than to take that at face value. Hermione was certain Pettigrew's death had rattled him just as much as it had Lupin. Besides, Harry's revelation about the Portkey had disturbed her to the point she didn't fancy spending the evening alone.
Sighing, she gathered her Arithmancy books from her desk. She doubted she would be able to concentrate on her formulas and incantations, but at least she could appear in his quarters with the intention to study.
Snape glanced up at the fireplace as it flared green again. His frown of annoyance changed to surprise when Hermione appeared. He hadn't expected to see her again tonight, though her presence was most assuredly welcome.
She brushed off her robes with one hand, her other clutching a bundle of parchments and books.
"Uh, hi," she said a little breathlessly, glancing down at the spotless hearth but consciously stepping around the spot where the dead man had lain not two hours before. Snape raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"I, uh- Harry told me you'd left Professor Dumbledore's office. Is it all right if I work in here?"
"Of course." There was an unspoken concern even in such simple words, and he knew the pretence of studying was really just an excuse to join him for a few hours. He'd long since given up trying to brush aside her concern, accepting it for what it was and never mistaking it for pity anymore. It amused him that she still felt obliged to ask whether or not she could stay. These quarters had become hers almost as much as they were his these past months.
He had scolded himself quite severely one night, not so long ago, when he'd caught himself wondering if the rooms might ever officially be 'theirs'. Such hopes were useless, especially in these times, and especially given what he was. Still, a small part of him thought it pleasant to imagine what might be, were circumstances different.
She dropped her books and parchments on the coffee table and sat down on the rug, her back resting against the couch near his feet.
He watched idly as she laid everything out in front of her, carefully uncapped the ink bottle and retrieved a rather battered quill from a pocket.
She had undoubtedly spoken to Potter at length and been informed of everything that had taken place in the Headmaster's office. Snape wondered at her resolve to study, given what had happened, but if the truth were told he was glad for the quiet company.
He turned his eyes back to the large book sitting open across his lap where he sat lengthways on the couch; he hadn't really been reading it before she had arrived, instead staring into space and contemplating the Dark Lord's reaction when he heard of Pettigrew's death. It would not be pleasant, of that much he was certain.
Half an hour or so later, Hermione tossed her quill down on the low coffee table and leant back against the base of the couch with a low growl of frustration.
"Is something the matter?" enquired Snape, glad for the distraction. He had lost count of the number of times he'd read the same line.
"I can't concentrate on this," she complained.
"I'm sure you know it by heart, anyway," he replied, not unkindly.
"That's not the point," she said. "We have a mock exam tomorrow morning in Arithmancy, and if I mess it up I'll only worry even more about the real thing when it comes around. How can you sit there so calmly when all I can think about is that bloody rat?"
He sighed and closed the heavy tome, setting it on the table as Hermione turned to face him, leaning back against the coffee table instead.
"Distractions can prove fatal, in my experience," he said. "That's not to say I haven't been thinking a great deal on the matter. I haven't managed to read all that much, or haven't you noticed I've yet to turn a page?"
She shook her head, smiling wryly. "I was too distracted to notice."
Standing up and stretching, she motioned for him to shift his feet so she could sit lengthways facing him on the couch, leaning against the opposite armrest. She drew her feet up so she could rest her chin on her knees, watching him silently.
"I'm glad he's dead," she said finally.
His gaze snapped back to hers sharply. For all he knew she must have hated Pettigrew as much as he, and as much as Potter, such a harsh pronouncement still sounds strange coming from her.
"I know it's an awful thing to say about anyone," she went on, "but he was an awful person."
"I don't think anyone who has crossed paths with him would disagree with you," Snape said, folding his hands in his lap. "He was never capable of such evil as the Dark Lord, but his malice more than made up for his cowardice. He would sell anything and anyone to secure his own safety."
"Harry's parents," she said with a nod, "Sirius, and you. I wonder how many others are dead or otherwise incapacitated because of him?"
"I'm sure the list doesn't end there," he said quietly.
Hermione didn't reply, and he watched the expression on her face change as she undoubtedly recalled the events of earlier in the evening. He saw her visibly shiver, and was about to speak when she opened her mouth again.
"Did you see Professor Lupin's face when he realised Pettigrew was dead?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "That look in his eyes was frightening."
"Lupin has many more reasons to hate Pettigrew than I do," he said. "From what I know, he was closer to his friends than his family, and Pettigrew is accountable for all their deaths, one way or another. I think the only thing Lupin regrets is that he wasn't able to kill Pettigrew himself."
"I expect he isn't the only one to regret that," she replied. "I'm sure Harry does."
Snape snorted. "Potter, who stopped Lupin and that other mongrel from killing him four years ago?"
"Harry wanted the worst for Pettigrew," Hermione said firmly. "The Dementors were worse than death, according to Sirius, and-"
Snape looked away, scowling, and she broke off, evidently realising her error. Black wasn't the only one to have spent time at the mercy of the Dementors.
"I would imagine," he said at length, "there are many who would have liked to kill him, but fewer with the resolve to carry out the task."
Hermione studied him for a moment, and he realised she probably knew exactly what he was thinking. Her words a moment later confirmed it.
"You could have."
"Yes."
He knew what he was capable of; he had done as many evils in his past as good deeds trying to make up for them. She had seen both sides of who he was, in memory and reality, and he knew she could understand the gravity of his hatred for Pettigrew.
He could feel her eyes still on him, and he turned around to sit properly on the couch, leaning his head back, before he spoke again."
"I don't deny I would have liked to kill him, given the chance, and to cause him pain for all that he has done – to both myself and others," he said carefully, "but I am satisfied that he is dead, by whomever's hand it happened."
"Or claw, as the case may be," Hermione corrected, glancing across to where Tonatiuh sat on her perch, preening her feathers and looking as though she had never left.
He snorted, twisting his head around to follow her gaze to the bird.
"You needn't look so bloody proud of yourself," he said with a growl. "It was only a combination of natural instinct and dumb luck."
The owl ruffled her feathers in annoyance and Hermione laughed.
"I think that owl is anything but dumb," she said. "I'd be willing to bet she knew that wasn't an ordinary rat. Crookshanks knew, back in my third year; if only we hadn't let Pettigrew get away then."
"I try not to think about that," Snape muttered. Being knocked unconscious by three third-year Gryffindors wasn't exactly a highlight of his teaching career.
"I don't think any of us were thinking straight that night," she replied softly.
She was right, too. Why had the three students been out in the grounds so late? Why had Lupin followed them out there on a full moon night? And why had he not gone straight to the Headmaster when he had seen them all on the open Marauder's Map in Lupin's office? He knew the answer to the last question, at least.
A few hours later found them lying side by side, both staring up at the canopy of his bed, lost in their own thoughts. The Invigoration Draught he'd been taking throughout the day had finally worn off, and she had made no comment when he'd been the first to rise from the couch and announce he was retiring to bed.
He heard her departing via the Floo as he undressed, but knew she wouldn't have left for the night so abruptly. She returned a short time later, when he was already in bed, shrugged off her robe and climbed in next to him.
A murmured word extinguished the torches on the wall, the room only lit by a sliver of the new moon shining through the open curtains.
All the enticing ideas for the evening that had occurred to him during their heated encounter earlier that day seemed out of place now. If the lingering stench of blood wasn't enough to turn his stomach, the memories Pettigrew's reappearance had brought with it certainly did. He was trying not to think about the last time he had encountered the snivelling rat in human form.
Clearly, the traitor's death had put just as much of a dampener on her mood as his. Several times, he thought he sensed her shiver, but he wasn't close enough to know for sure, and it wasn't at all cold tonight.
He didn't know how long they had been lying there when she finally turned to him.
"Severus?"
"Hmmm?" he murmured. He didn't move to look at her, but he sensed her open her mouth to speak, close it, and then finally try again.
"Do you think that Portkey was meant for me?"
He did turn to look at her, then, her eyes wide in the darkness and unable to conceal a hint of fear. Snape wondered that she hadn't mentioned it before, and it had crossed his mind that Potter might not have told Hermione everything he had learnt in the Headmaster's office. He should have known better than to think the boy would have kept it from her.
"It's possible," he said at length. He didn't want to frighten her, but there was little point in glossing over the truth.
"Why?" she said, the tremor suddenly audible in her voice. "Why can't they just... leave me alone?"
He shifted nearer to her, then, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against him. The same thought had occurred to Snape when he had first discovered the Portkey, that Pettigrew's journey there was a last-ditch effort to capture the young witch whom the Dark Lord believed capable of brewing the Cruciatus potion. It was a disturbing thought that Voldemort would risk someone as useful as Pettigrew – yes, he was a snivelling coward, but a useful one – to take her.
"I said it was possible, Hermione," he said, brushing stray bits of her hair away from his face as she rested her head on his shoulder. "The truth is, we have no idea what that Portkey was for, or even if it was meant for someone at Hogwarts. For all we know, Tona could have captured him miles from here."
"Where else would he have been going, if not here?" she murmured.
"Hogsmeade?" Snape suggested, feeling her shake her head against him. He sighed, thinking it may have been better not to be completely honest with her, after all.
"It could have been for anyone in the castle, if this was even its destination," he reasoned, "Potter, Albus, another Order member, perhaps even another student, a follower of his. The point is, whoever it was meant for, it will not be reaching them, and in apprehending it we have hopefully foiled another of the Dark Lords plans."
Hermione was silent, but she seemed to calm slightly in response to his words.
"What would anger Voldemort more?" she asked after a while. "Finding out Pettigrew is dead, or wondering whether he has betrayed him and rejoined our side?"
"Either would infuriate him," Snape replied after a moment, "but I don't think he would believe Pettigrew capable of switching sides again, not after all the people on this side of the war he has wronged. If he disappears, the Dark Lord will most likely assume him to be dead. He will know soon enough, anyway; the Ministry will not be able keep this quiet. The man who received a posthumous Order of Merlin betrayed the Potters to their deaths and then lived as a rat for twelve years before rejoining his master; I'll give it two days before it makes the Prophet."
"At least everyone will know what really happened," she murmured sleepily.
Some of it, Snape thought, but he said nothing aloud. He doubted whether anyone would ever know all the details, all the horror, of Voldemort's deeds.
With that unpleasant thought, and the exhaustion of the previous twenty-four hours finally catching up with him, he closed his eyes. Drifting into a restless sleep, he dreamt of dead owls oozing blood from deep gashes caused by a vampire rat's silver fangs, and of a werewolf drinking tea in his sitting room while Hermione sat opposite with a small, rusty tobacco box in her hands.
Easter came and went, and with it, the full moon. Lupin's transformation went exactly as planned, holed up in the Room of Requirement and watched carefully by Dumbledore and Snape via an enchanted two-way mirror. There had been a tense moment, from Snape's account, when the transformation had begun, waiting to see whether the Defence teacher would turn into the harmless wolf they hoped or the lethal monster they feared.
Thankfully, it had been the former. Snape's relief was palpable as he recounted the tale to Hermione the following morning. Lupin had appeared a short time later, looking rested and healthy, to thank Snape. He had accepted the Defence teacher's handshake awkwardly, muttering something about no thanks being necessary.
The Headmaster, too, was overjoyed at the success of the potion, and was planning how to inform other werewolves of it without arousing suspicion of its source. He had also asked Snape to continue his experimentations to lengthen the efficacy of the potion even more.
Malfoy had returned from his weekend at home and, to Hermione's dismay, had taken to ignoring her completely again. Lupin's proposed chat with him before his departure was thwarted when the Slytherin left directly after lunch, missing the final class of the day.
Snape appeared concerned when Hermione told him of the Head Boy's sudden loss of civility, but the Headmaster seemed to think being around the elder Malfoy had simply caused the younger one to temporarily misplace his manners. Dumbledore had spoken to the young Slytherin upon his return, and he was confident Malfoy was no worse for wear after spending the weekend with his father. Hermione disagreed – he seemed too quiet – but she hadn't spoken to him directly, and the Headmaster had, so perhaps she was mistaken.
She brushed her concerns aside, concentrating on more pressing dilemmas. With Dumbledore's request for further Wolfsbane experiments, Snape was busier than ever. Despite all the time Hermione spent with him, doing her own work, brewing and sometimes helping with his research, there was frustratingly little time when they could simply be together without the pressure of work looming over them... and without interruptions.
Dumbledore seemed to make it his mission to intrude upon any quiet evening where something more might have happened between them. He might have been in agreement with the progress of their relationship, but he seemed to appear from the fireplace at the most inopportune times.
When he finally left one night after appearing to check on Snape's progress with the next step in the Wolfsbane variation, Hermione had spent a good five minutes fuming about the old man's intrusion, certain he was appearing so often just to irritate them.
Severus had laughed outright, but she could tell he was becoming annoyed, too. The time when she arrived just after dinner most nights was really the only time either of them could devote to each other. She still had her NEWTs to think of; just because the future was looking slightly grim at the moment wasn't cause to give up on her studies, and though she was well organised for the approaching exams, she couldn't afford to let more than a few days pass without some sort of study.
By the time she had finished her revision for the night and Snape had given up on the organised chaos of notes, formulas, parchments and textbooks on his desk, both of them were too tired to do anything but crawl into bed, if she hadn't already given up and gone back to her own room while he was still working.
From what Snape said, Dumbledore appeared just as often and as randomly on the evenings she wasn't with him, so perhaps it was a coincidence he always seemed to appear when they had managed to find a few moments for more pleasant activities. Headmaster undoubtedly knew she stayed with Snape a few nights a week, though; she suspected McGonagall knew, too.
It was the Head of House's privilege to have unrestricted access to all the student dormitories, including her room, and McGonagall had mentioned looking for her there very late one night the previous week to help her with a younger student. A slightly odd tone to her voice, coupled with the cool way she addressed Snape later that evening, during a brief discussion in his quarters, led her to suspect the strict Transfigurations mistress had deduced what had been happening between them.
Although, what hadn't happened might have been a better turn of phrase.
Snape obviously shared her frustrations, but she wondered if he, too, had taken matters into his own hands... literally, she supposed, where he was concerned. Not for the first time this year, she was rather glad she no longer shared a room with her Gryffindor classmates.
She might have been inexperienced, but her uncertainty and awkwardness had all but vanished in the past weeks, and if an opportunity didn't present itself soon, sans interruption, she fancied she might find herself pinning him to his desk one evening and doing exactly what she wanted, not even caring if the Headmaster Flooed in and decided to watch.
A week and a half after the full moon, though, fate seemed determined to throw yet another interruption their way.
She left the Great Hall early after dinner to visit the library. One of the books she needed for her Charms revision had been at home with her over Christmas and consequently lost.
Leaving the library with a copy tucked under her arm, she stopped at a junction of corridors. She hadn't been planning to visit Severus tonight; she had another mock exam the following morning, covering the first five years worth of Charms classes, and she wasn't as well prepared as she usually was for tests. She'd noticed at dinner, though, that the Headmaster wasn't present, and only then recalled him telling Snape the previous night he would be at number twelve, Grimmauld Place for a few hours around dinnertime.
Hermione licked her lips unconsciously. It was only a mock exam, after all. She laughed softly to herself at the thought of Ron's expression if he ever heard her – the notorious Gryffindor bookworm – saying such a thing.
To the right, the staircase would take her back to her room in Gryffindor Tower, and probably a better mark on her trial exam. To the left, the corridor led across the castle and down a flight of stairs to the first floor and the door beside the statue of Ignatia Wildsmith... and at least an hour, she wagered, safe from unwanted Floo calls.
Would Snape begrudge her intrusion? It was unlikely he would be brewing; he usually did that during the day, or late at night after the chance of interruptions had ceased. At this time of the evening, he was usually working at his desk, surrounded by heavy tomes and a jumble of parchments filled with his illegible scribble. She smiled to herself. Perhaps, even if he wasn't pleased with her unexpected visit, she might be able to change his mind.
Holding that thought, she turned left and headed for the first floor.
Slipping into the hidden corridor, she was half a dozen steps along it when a cool draught made her realise the door hasn't closed properly behind her. In her haste, she had pushed it shut but not bothered to check whether it had caught or not.
Returning to it, she closed it firmly, making sure she heard the latch click into place; those who might have wished her harm in the past were no longer at the school, but if anyone else were to stumble across this passageway, the consequences would be dire.
Entering the sitting room with a touch of her wand, she stood in the doorway for a moment. As expected, Snape was sitting at his desk, quill in hand. He glanced up at her entrance, raising an eyebrow as she stopped in the doorway to stow her wand and catch her breath, one hand still on the doorknob.
"Something urgent?" he asked, his eyes dropping back to the parchments spread out in front of him.
"Professor Dumbledore said he'd be gone for a few hours tonight."
"That's correct," Snape said, frowning in thought before he crossed out something and rewrote it.
"He left just before dinner," she went on, her stomach suddenly fluttering with unbidden nerves. "I know I wasn't going to see you tonight, but I thought an evening without interruptions would be something of a novelty."
His hand stilled, quill poised over the open bottle of ink, as the implication of her words became clear to him. Without looking at her, he slowly and deliberately set the quill in its holder, gathered the parchments into a neat pile and rose from the chair. It was only when he stopped halfway across the room, arms folded across his chest, that he finally looked at her, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight in the hearth.
"Perhaps you'd better close the door, then," he suggested evenly.
Biting her tongue to stop the grin from breaking out on her face, she turned to comply and bumped into something... something solid, invisible, and standing directly behind her.
Everything happened in an instant.
She jumped back, startled, her fingers catching the invisible folds of the intruder's cloak as she did so. Snape reacted like lightning. At the sight of an exposed black shoe behind her, he whipped out his wand, snapping a summoning spell for the invisible garment even as he drew the length of wood from his sleeve.
The idea was sound, but the cloak that flew into his outstretched hand didn't uncover Harry, as she knew Snape had expected it to.
Pale and shocked, Draco Malfoy was staring at Snape as if he were seeing a ghost.
"You," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
A quick glance at Snape showed he had gone pale, too. Rarely was the former Head of Slytherin caught off-balance, but now he was staring at Malfoy wordlessly, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of horror and fear.
"You're dead!" Malfoy went on, ignoring Hermione completely and taking a step towards Snape. "He killed you! Father said there was no way you could have survived!"
"Draco, I-" Snape stumbled over his words, holding up one hand as if to fend of a physical attack as the younger man drew closer. Hermione had the presence of mind to finally close the door before she moved further into the room, too, flinching involuntarily as Malfoy turned on her.
"And you," he spat angrily. "I tried to win your trust. I tried to show you that people can change - that I can change – but you just wouldn't see it, would you?"
"I..." she trailed off, throwing Snape a pleading glance for help. His eyes were fixed on the Slytherin, though. "How was I to know you weren't pretending just to get close to me? How was I to know you didn't just want to hurt me like those others you used to call your friends did?"
"So you just assume the worst of me?" Malfoy shouted, and Hermione recoiled.
"Mr Malfoy," Snape said warningly, moving closer to Hermione in case the young Slytherin's anger got the better of him. His wand was still in his hand, but as Malfoy's gaze flickered to it apprehensively, he stowed it up his sleeve again and briefly held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of goodwill.
Malfoy took a deep breath and a step backwards; his face was still flushed with anger but his eyes showed something akin to panic.
"I tried to make you see," he said softly, looking at Hermione until she had to glance away.
"Draco," Snape said carefully, "if you were having doubts about anything, why didn't you go to the Headmaster. You know he would have listened."
"Because of you!" Malfoy exploded, his eyes flashing. "Because I thought the minute I went to Dumbledore, my Head of House would go straight to the Dark Lord with news of my betrayal. I might have been uncertain, but I didn't have a death wish. And all this time-" his voice broke and Hermione saw his eyes bright with tears of rage and frustration "-all this time you could have been helping me, I thought you were one of them... until I found out they'd killed you, and I realised your impartiality was your way of trying to guide me all along. You couldn't make it any more obvious in case I reported you to my father."
Snape nodded as Hermione looked between the two of them. She felt like an intruder witnessing a scene in which she had no part.
"Some guide you turned out to be," Malfoy snorted. "And you, Granger. I thought you of all people would have been smart enough to recognise my reluctance, even if Dumbledore wouldn't give me a chance."
"I couldn't go against Professor Dumbledore's wish-" she started to say, but Snape silenced her with a glare. Malfoy saw it, though, and chuckled bitterly.
"Dumbledore asked you to keep quiet about everything." He inclined his head towards Snape. "I suppose you've known he's been alive all along. This is where you're always disappearing after class, isn't it?"
She looked away without answering and heard him mutter, "I thought as much."
"Draco," Snape said again. If Malfoy felt any relief at all over discovering the older man was still alive, he was hiding it carefully behind a mask of pure loathing as he turned to look at his former Head of House again.
"Whatever path your father has laid out for you," Snape continued when he was sure he had Malfoy's attention, "you still have a choice."
"What choice?" he returned, his voice suddenly shrill as he took a step towards Snape again. "You know my father's beliefs. You know what he's capable of. You know he would just as soon kill his own son rather than lose me to another's cause. The only choice I had, the only choice you and your fucking secretive Headmaster gave me, was death or this."
He grabbed the cuff of his sleeve and yanked it up hard, buttons flying in every direction as he shoved his upturned forearm at Snape.
Hermione couldn't stifle a gasp, and Snape's exclamation of horror was clearly audible as they stared at the reddened, blistered flesh surrounding the newly branded Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm.
Hermione eventually managed to tear her eyes from the Mark to look up at Malfoy's face, his eyes brimming with tears of pain and betrayal. He was staring fixedly at Snape, waiting for the older man to say something, to do something. No action or words were forthcoming, though. Hermione saw Snape swallow thickly a few times, but each time he made to speak, he closed his mouth again without a word.
What could he say, anyway? she wondered bleakly. It's a bit late for 'I'm sorry'.
"I did this," Malfoy finally said, his voice quiet but shaking, his eyes not leaving his former teacher's, "because no one trusted me enough to show me another way."
To be continued
Thank you to all who continue to read and review!
This chapter is dedicated to Mushrooms, who is the first person to recognise the significance of the story's title: there is always darkness before the dawn. On a somewhat-related note, has anyone noticed almost everything that happens in this story (good or bad) happens at night? Unplanned, but curious.
Thank you to Potion Mistress for beta-reading this chapter, and also to indigofeathers (my walking thesaurus) for help with some random words I couldn't get quite right.
