Author's Note
Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right.
I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 17: Tonight
"No, no, no. It's not a poking or jabbing movement. You're trying to transfigure the bowling ball into a balloon," Hermione explained, willing her voice to sound more patient. Ron really was trying to listen, which was a miraculous feat in and of itself.
Snape's constant exasperation, always so close to the surface, suddenly made a great deal more sense. How was someone supposed to teach when the pupil wasn't doing as instructed? It was a simple matter of following directions, after all. There were only so many failed attempts a person could sit through before wanting to pull their hair out in exasperation.
"I do know what I'm trying to do," Ron grumbled, glaring mutinously at her as he harshly prodded the side of the red ball again. Hermione grabbed his wrist to still him before he unintentionally sent the ten pound ball careening across the table towards the third years arranged like pins on the opposite end.
"Well, think of it like this…," Hermione ventured, searching about for a proper comparison, "you're trying to coax the ball upward, but it's too heavy unless you will it to become lighter. Light as air."
"Like it's just that easy. Will it she says," Ron repeated sarcastically, looking about to see if anyone was paying attention to his mock impersonation of her, hoping to earn a laugh at her expense instead of his own for repeatedly failing.
Hermione pursued her lips and stared him down, completely unamused. He did know she didn't have to give up her free period to help him learn a spell he was already supposed to have mastered by this point in the year, didn't he?
Ron, suddenly catching sight of her disapproving look, hurried to mumble out an apology. "Sorry. Right. Let's try that again, shall we?"
Again, no success.
"Ah, what's the point of this?" he asked, raking up his hair. Ron was clearly frustrated with his lack of progress. "How often do you actually expect me to be making balloons out of Muggle bowling balls anyways?"
"The point is simultaneous. It teaches you how to make a dense object significantly less so, and how to transform a solid plastic into a stretchy latex," Hermione rattled off immediately.
Ron was unimpressed by her answer though, judging by his blank expression.
The reality of Ron as a person abruptly struck Hermione. She wondered why she'd ever fancied herself so in love with him. Not that she didn't love Ron as a person, because she did. He was her best mate. But fancy him? That had been nothing more than a little girl loving the idea of Cinderella's Prince Charming – a man that was as empty and two-dimensional as the page he'd been written on. Hermione needed mental stimulation. Needed the challenge of deep conversation on an academic subject meaningful to her – not sports. Needed –
"Er," she tried, pausing to clear her throat and shove the stray thought away. That line of thinking was liable to get her in trouble, and not the kind that she could recover from unscathed. Snape had made his feelings crystal clear on the matter.
"I don't love you."
He'd made the statement just the other day. She'd not even considered the possibility before he'd presented it. But now? Now she was slightly worried that she'd gone and fallen in love with the brooding spy herself.
Could she love him knowing part of him would always be closed off from her? Unapproachable? Forbidden?
Would it be like her crush on Ron, where her feelings were destined to either be unrequited or she was punished for having them at all?
"I've got to get this. Go through it with me again," Ron said, sighing loudly. "Please," he added as an afterthought.
"Right. Yes. Let's go through the theory again." Hermione pushed all of her unwelcome musings about Snape into a far corner of her mind, willing herself to lock them up until she had the freedom and luxury to examine them at her leisure. "Use your wand to guide the ball up. With each twist imagine you're shedding some weight like pouring water from a bucket, and by the last one it's so light and empty that it can float away," she advised, giving Ron her full attention.
"Yeah, all right," he said, sitting up straighter and looking more determined than he had in the last hour since they started.
Silently, Ron guided his wand through a series of turns. With each one the ball rose higher. The red turned a pale, nearly translucent shade as it went up, bobbing and hovering over their heads. It was unmistakably altered, though it was still too round, and Hermione detected three depressions where the finger holes had been.
"That was better, Ron!" she gushed, amazed at how much better this attempt had been.
"Thanks," he grinned, blushing under her praise. "Look, Hermione, I…well…thanks. For, you know, helping me with this," he added awkwardly, fidgeting in his seat a bit.
"Oh. Yes, of course," Hermione answered, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Ron rarely thanked her, often just taking it for granted that she'd feel sorry for him and help when he got desperate enough.
"We weren't exactly talking when McGonagall went over it in class, so I never got it the first time. And now with exams coming up, I really need to nail it – them. I have to if I'm going to be an Auror with Harry," Ron explained, looking distinctly vulnerable.
"Is that really what you want to do?" Hermione asked cautiously.
She'd never thought being an Auror was the right career path for Ron, but she'd been too hesitant to speak up before, not wanting to risk offending him. Her recent clarity on their boundaries made it easier to broach the topic now.
"Why?" Ron asked defensively, crossing his arms and glaring at her. "Do you not think I can?"
"Of course I think you can, Ronald. That isn't what I asked. I want to know if that's really the career path that you're interested in, or if you're only interested because you don't want Harry to forget about you," Hermione stated bluntly, deciding it was best not to mince words or give Ron any openings to read meaning she didn't intent.
She braced herself, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but he stunned her by staring open-mouthed.
"How'd you know?" Ron finally asked, words little more than a whisper.
"It's a few things," Hermione admitted. Ron nodded for her to go on, so she did. "You're always in Harry's shadow. And most of the time you don't mind all that much when he gets the attention, but you want the attention after never getting it. If you're an Auror, it'll just be more of the same – following Harry around on his adventures.
"But, Ron, he'll never replace you. Even if you weren't an Auror and the pair of you don't end up working together everyday. You'll always be his best mate. His first friend ever."
Hermione waited, watching Ron process everything she'd just laid on him. When he appeared to be mulling it over seriously, Hermione dared to add, "Plus, I'm not sure you actually like mysteries and fighting. I always figured you'd pursue a career related to Quidditch – it's what you're passionate about."
"You know me so well," Ron finally said, eyes darting towards her briefly before he returned to watching the red ball floating around the ceiling. She hadn't missed the flash of naked wistfulness in his blue eyes.
"Of course I do. You're my best mate," Hermione said, emphasizing their relationship. Best remind him that's all they were before he got ideas again. They'd been doing much better since agreeing they weren't going to be more. Well, since she'd made it clear she no longer fancied him at least.
"I'm not good enough to go pro," he said knowingly, swallowing audibly.
Hermione hid her smile, not at all surprised that he'd picked Quidditch first to discuss. It was the option least fraught with emotion and insecurities.
"But you're our king," she teased, nudging his shoulder.
The tips of his ears turned red, and the look of longing came back as he took her in.
"You decided to stay with Lavender," Hermione said pointedly, an unspoken reminder and question rolled into her statement.
Ron blinked, and his expression morphed into one of genuine happiness. "I think you were right about us suiting. Not sure what changed, but things are even better now."
Hermione could guess. The witch had stopped calling him Won-Won. And he was giving her a real chance instead of treating her like a placeholder or practice for when he and Hermione eventually got together.
"You're happy then," she said easily, happy herself for the way things had worked out even if they were unconventional and she was in a position that had her lying to her closest friends and not knowing what ground her own relationship stood on. "And playing isn't the only way to be involved in Quidditch."
"What else is there?" Ron asked, sounding genuinely stumped.
"Reporting, announcing, coaching, developing products, advertising, managing – the list goes on, but hopefully you can see my point," Hermione rattled off quickly.
And Ginny didn't think she knew anything about the sport. Hmph.
That had just been about her wanting to defend Harry. Neither of them had apologized for their tiff, deciding to pretend it never happened instead.
"I never thought of all that," Ron said wonderingly. She could practically see the wheels of possibilities turning in his head.
"Obviously," she snorted, amused.
"You're happy too," he accused abruptly, studying her with an intensity he usually reserved for Lavender's mouth or the Quidditch pitch. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.
"I'm always happy," Hermione said airily, waving off his words.
"Right. So you just cry all the time for no reason then," he charged, referring to how she'd been at the end of the previous term. A marked change from recent months where she looked forward to rousing discussions and brewing potions every evening. "Are you secretly dating someone?"
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face at how close he'd come to guessing correctly.
"I'm just grateful we're all friends again. It was stressing me out before, and I've actually been able to relax and concentrate on my studies since we made up," Hermione said pointedly, hoping her response would make him feel guilty enough to drop the subject.
Ron just eyed her. That was the problem with knowing people as well as they knew each other – they could tell when the other wasn't being entirely truthful. "You mean you're studying when you aren't disappearing to the library trying to solve the riddle of who the Half-Blood Prince is?"
She was thrown by the inadvertent reference to Snape. Particularly after she'd just tried to steer the conversation away from him.
"Merlin, Hermione! You've figured it out!" Ron gasped, clutching her arm and giving her a little shake.
"What?" she squeaked, alarmed. Helplessly, Hermione glanced about, searching for an escape.
"You know who the Half-Blood Prince is!" Ron hissed excitedly, lowering his voice as he assumed she was worried about being overheard.
"No, I don't!" she quickly denied, shaking her head frantically.
"Why haven't you said anything?" Ron asked, grinning widely and thrilled to be let in on the secret before Harry.
"Because I don't know," Hermione insisted weakly. She'd deliberately stopped bringing up the subject once she knew it was Snape, aside from when Harry had used the spell to curse Malfoy, to avoid them learning the truth.
"It was a bloke, after all, then? You didn't want us giving you a hard time for being wrong?" Ron guessed, looking smug that she'd finally been wrong about something.
"Yes," she replied stiffly, not knowing what else to do.
"Ah, we'd only have been teasing a little," he promised, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Oi!" Harry called rushing over. "I've just seen Dumbledore."
"What does he want?" Hermione asked anxiously. An eagerness lit Harry's eyes from within, giving them an air of recklessness and anticipation that made her decidedly uneasy. "Harry?" she called when he raced from the room, heading up to his dorm.
"Don't know," Ron said, answering her unspoken question when she glanced his way.
Then Harry was back, shoving the Marauder's Map at her and a pair of balled-up socks at Ron. Her fingers closed around the parchment on autopilot, and a pang of relief filled her that all of her rendezvous with Snape had somehow managed to go unnoticed this semester.
It took her a couple of seconds to dial in and realize Harry was telling them of his plans to leave the castle right then to go with Dumbledore to retrieve the next Horcrux. Fear washed over her at once, but it was nothing compared to the horror she felt as he described Malfoy celebrating and Snape's role in revealing the contents of the prophecy to Voldemort.
"No!" she gasped, refusing to believe he'd done that. That it had been Snape to put a target on Harry's – nothing more than an unborn baby at the time – head.
"He did. Dumbledore confirmed it," Harry spat bitterly, his hatred of the professor – her husband – visible in every tense line of his body.
"No. He wouldn't," she breathed.
He'd never said a word. Why? With everything else he'd confessed, why hadn't he warned her of his part in the Potter's deaths?
Harry had said Dumbledore relayed that that was what made Snape turn spy. Yet he'd told her that he'd never forgive James. He hated him enough to create the Sectumsempra Spell. So why would he regret orchestrating his death?
None of it made any sense.
And she'd not yet been brave enough to ask why he'd become a spy. Somehow that question still seemed to lay in forbidden territory.
Actually, she had asked, but he'd not wanted to answer, so she'd not pushed. Should she have?
Harry ignored her quiet protest, insisting, "You've got to watch Malfoy and you've got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A. Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he's put extra protection in the school, but if Snape's involved, he'll know what Dumbledore's protection is, and how to avoid it – but he won't be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?"
"Harry –" Hermione started, the urge to defend Snape's actions a geyser attempting to burst free of her, but he cut her off.
"I haven't got time to argue. Use that," he said, gesturing at the socks he'd handed Ron.
"Thanks. Er – why do I need socks?"
"You need what's wrapped in them, it's the Felix Felicis. Share it between yourselves and Ginny too. Say good-bye to her for me. I'd better go, Dumbledore's waiting –"
"No!" Hermione gasped, realizing he was letting his noble streak get ahead of him.
Malfoy was celebrating. Snape. The Horcrux. The end of term. Everything was happening that night. Snape was going to kill Dumbledore, and Harry – a very irate and furious Harry – would be with the headmaster. It was a recipe for disaster. Harry would go ballistic if Snape did as Dumbledore ordered him to do…if he he watched her husband kill Harry's mentor.
"We don't want it, you take it," Hermione ordered, trying to grab it from Ron's awestruck hands that clutched his precious bundle in a vice grip, but Harry was already frantically shaking his head as he stood. Undeterred, Hermione asked, "Who knows what you're going to be facing?"
"I'll be fine, I'll be with Dumbledore," he said, forcing a thread of false lightness into his tone as he retreated several steps. "I want to know you lot are okay….Don't look like that, Hermione, I'll see you later…."
"Harry!" she called again, standing in protest, but the portrait hole was already swinging shut behind his retreating form.
"Guess we should rally the troops?" Ron ventured, staring fixedly at the golden liquid filling the phial he'd refused to relinquish.
"Yeah…." she muttered, distracted as she ascended the steps to her dorm to fetch the old coin. The only message Galleon she kept on her person these days was the one she used to communicate with Snape.
Snape.
Questions piled up in her mind, their weight significant enough to crush her.
"Harry downstairs?" Ginny asked, catching sight of Hermione exiting her dorm room.
"No. He's just left, but I was coming to get you," Hermione said, forcing herself to concentrate on the present situation.
Ignoring all of Ginny's demanding questions, Hermione used the coin to message the D.A., and lead Ginny to the common room, knowing Ron could fill her in just as easily, if not as succinctly.
Did Snape know Malfoy had finally succeeded? Did he know Dumbledore had gone? Or that Harry was with him? Was he going after them, or waiting until they returned to do it?
Neville had joined them, and somehow Luna had gotten into the room and was sitting beside Ginny, but Hermione had been too distracted to notice. She needed to see Snape.
"Where's Lavender?" Hermione asked suddenly, realizing no one else had joined them, not even Ron's girlfriend.
"I didn't tell her," Ron mumbled.
"Why ever not?" Ginny demanded, pinning her brother with a burning glare.
"I don't want anything to happen to her. We know the drill. The risk of helping Harry," Ron explained, shrugging before he finished, "it's not real for her yet, and I guess I care too much to let something happen when I know she's not properly prepared. Defensive spells aren't her thing."
"It should be her decision," Ginny declared, scowling at her brother's high-handedness.
But Hermione felt her lips curl at the corner. Ron felt protective of the witch. While it wasn't a move she'd ever have been all right with Ron making on her behalf, Hermione suspected that Lavender would find the gesture to be the height of romantic.
"Harry wants us each to take some of this," Ron announced, holding up the sacred potion for the others to see.
Nice way to dodge Ginny's legendary wrath, Hermione thought, rolling her eyes. But his attempt was successful.
The bottle was passed around, each taking a tiny mouthful, but when she accepted it, the last of the group to do so, she only pretended to swallow the last remaining contents. "We should alert some of the other professors," Hermione said confidently, mimicking the attitude she'd seen Harry adopt when he'd taken the potion.
"Don't you think Dumbledore did before he left? You said he left precautions," Neville stated, reminding them of what Ron had already mentioned, though he was nodding.
"He might not have had time," Hermione suggested. "We need to be ready. There's no telling when the attack might happen. And Harry said we need to watch Malfoy and Snape. I think he was right about that."
"Plus, Dumbledore didn't believe Harry about Malfoy, so they don't know an attack is definitely going to happen," Ron added, jumping up and looking eager to take on a slew of Death Eaters all by himself.
"Exactly!" Hermione agreed, jumping on the chance Ron provided. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Hermione murmured, tapping the map with her wand.
She scanned it quickly, searching the teacher's lounge, Snape's rooms, classroom, and office. Good. He was alone in his office.
Quickly, she dolled out assignments for everyone. "Neville can tell McGonagall. Ron, you find Hagrid. Ginny can start patrolling outside the Room of Requirement – that's where Malfoy likely is. Luna, you want to alert Flitwick while I keep an eye on Snape?"
"Are you sure you should take on Snape alone, Hermione?" Neville asked worriedly.
"I won't try to stop him, but it'll look the least suspicious if I'm caught than the rest of you. I can just say I have a question about our exam. We've done that in the past and it's worked. No one usually suspects me once school work is mentioned," Hermione replied quickly, stringing her words together in a rush to deflect any arguments before they arose. She needed to see him. Immediately.
"Bloody right about that, and so long as I don't have to talk to Snape, I'm good," Ron muttered, heading for the door.
"You lot can meet up with me once you're done," Ginny suggested, hurrying off without a backwards glance.
"Let's go, Hermione. Professor Flitwick's office is on the way to the dungeons," Luna said airily, her giant eyes staring earnestly at Hermione, though they followed the path her hand took as she tucked the potion phial in her robes.
"I see more than most people give me credit for," Luna announced, doing a surprisingly good job of keeping up with Hermione as they headed through the castle, ducking behind tapestries and using secret passageways to reach their respective destinations sooner.
"All right," Hermione said wearily, already sensing the dangerous direction the conversation was headed.
"You watch each other," Luna said simply. "Very intently."
"What are you on about, Luna?" Hermione demanded, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.
The Ravenclaw's next words sent Hermione's precarious grip on her circumstances careening violently.
"I noticed after the Christmas Holidays. Something changed between you and Professor Snape," she said baldly, laying the truth bare as though it was of no consequence.
"Please don't tell the others," Hermione begged, clutching the other girl's arm in a brutal vice grip.
"Of course not! We're friends," Luna assured, patting Hermione's hand calmly. "You can talk to me, if you need to. I know how much a sudden loss can hurt."
She really did see more than people realized, Hermione in particular. How many times had she written the other girl off because Luna insisted on believing in things without any proof? That was only one aspect of her person. There was so much more to her than that though. Just as she'd come to learn about Snape.
Guilt assailed Hermione, but there was no time to dwell or speak on it more. Flitwick's office was just around the corner, and Luna skipped off without another word.
"Thanks, Luna," Hermione called to the girl's retreating back.
When Hermione reached Snape's door, nerves had her stomach pitching like she'd been in a lift that suddenly dropped twenty stories. As much as she longed to burst in and demand answers, there were more important things at stake, and she trusted him enough to know he had a good explanation.
That realization calmed her immensely.
Taking a deep breath, she let herself in and without any fanfare, announced, "It's happening tonight."
"You're positive?" he asked sharply, setting down the quill, tip stained a deep red, and rose from his seat immediately.
"Harry found Malfoy celebrating, and he and Dumbledore have gone," she relayed, watching him steadily as he approached her.
"Gone," Snape repeated, his gaze going distant as her meaning sank in, of what he'd be required to do before the night was through.
"Yes."
"I hate him for what he is making me do tonight."
"Why is he so certain you will?" she asked, daring to voice the question that had been weighing on her since the night her life changed. "That you won't balk when the time comes."
"Because I made an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy that I would should Draco fail," he answered bluntly.
It explained so much. She'd barely understand all that passed between Dumbledore and Snape that night in the headmaster's office or the snippets Harry had eavesdropped on through the year. From what little she had processed, she'd guessed that it was something like this, but now to have it confirmed…
"Then you must do it. You're still needed here too much to die tonight by refusing," she said flatly, knowing he'd not appreciate it very much if she began ordering him about the way everyone else seemed to.
"I am aware of all of my responsibilities," he murmured.
Hermione approached him slowly, recapturing his interest. They stared at one another for a long moment. Probably too long given the urgency of the current events, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to stop.
She cared about Snape. Severus. There was no denying the truth of it. She didn't fancy him. It wasn't a teenage crush. No. She was falling in love with him.
It wasn't the fluttery, bubbly feeling she'd always expected. It wasn't a giddy rush that left her feeling light and optimistic. Circumstances, the darkness that had brought them together – not to mention his shaded past – didn't leave room for anything like that.
Instead it was like breathing. Essential. Not to mention painful when attempting to avoid it. Severus was the other side of her coin, one half of a whole. He made her better, and expected more from her than anyone else ever had. And he inspired within her a need to reciprocate in kind.
Yet there was still the fact that he was dead set against developing any feelings for her in return, and she'd vowed never to ask more of him than he could give. Except, hadn't she already asked for more? She'd asked him to live beyond the war, and he'd refused time and time and again to even try.
Hopeless.
Painful.
Gut-wrenching.
Those were the only adjectives she could find to describe how her revelation left her feeling.
At least her thoughts were safe. True to his word, Snape hadn't entered her mind again. Perhaps one day he'd brave asking her to share what he wished to know. Assuming he lived long enough for that day to come. She'd be honest with him if that day ever came.
In the meantime, Snape needed to fulfill the terms of his vow and kill Dumbledore. Tonight.
They'd both known this day was coming for months, but now that it was here, it was so much harder than she'd anticipated.
"I want you to take this," she requested, retrieving the phial and holding it out to him.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded, dark eyes going wide in his pale face. They resembled black holes ready to swallow up everything in sight.
"It's Harry's. He wanted us to each take it tonight. To keep us safe, but it's more important that things work out right for you," Hermione said rationally, willing him to not argue and just take the blasted potion.
He didn't.
Of course he didn't. He just stared at it like she was attempting to offer him a bomb.
The irony suddenly struck her, and she had to fight to hold in a half-hysterical giggle. She was offering him Harry's potion. One that would keep Snape safe, one Snape's instructions in a book had allowed him to win, and yet it was Snape's fault Harry was in danger in the first place.
"You honestly think I would take that – something meant to ensure your safety – when I know perfectly well you will manage to find yourself in the thick of things here shortly?" Snape said darkly, betraying a wealth of concern for her. "I will not risk your life after everything I have done to ensure your safety this year. I will not have it all be in vain and end the night by inadvertently causing your death. Nor do I believe I need the aid of a potion in order to fight off a bunch of snot-nosed brats that barely know which end of the wand to point at an opponent."
Hermione wanted to argue that she could hold her own, same as him. Wanted to sooth his wounded pride that she knew how capable a fighter he was and that this wasn't because she doubted him. Wanted to confess a million forbidden thoughts.
But she couldn't. And not just because he wouldn't welcome the sentiments from her, or because she wanted answers. But because she was short on time and needed to say whatever would convince him the most.
"I won't. I'll stay here. You don't need the added distraction of trying to protect me while there are so many other things you must do tonight," she said, hoping to play on his noble streak while also eliminating his largest concern. "And of course you don't need it, but it'll help make things go smoother."
"As though you'd really stay put knowing your friends were in danger," he said dismissively.
Hermione invaded his personal space, placing her hand on his chest and feeling his breath catch beneath her palm. He was warm, the heat soaked through his clothes and into her skin as though anxious to reach her. His heart throbbed steadily, allowing her to feel the thudding vibrations signaling his vitality.
"Personal desires don't matter when you're fighting a war. You taught me that, Severus," Hermione said, injecting her words with steel and determination.
His hand cupped the nap of her neck, tugging her forward as he swooped down to claim her lips. Not that they weren't already his.
Hermione clutched his robes, needing to grip them to remain upright as all the air in her lungs was consumed in the inferno he ignited within her. When her lips parted in a gasp, Snape took advantage and immediately invaded her mouth, tasting her and sliding his tongue intimately against her own.
Need drove her, urging her to seek more of him. To run her hands down his chest and around his waist, one easing down to grip his toned bum.
A moan escaped her when the palm of his hand cupped her breast, squeezing the mound with precisely the right pressure to drive her wild.
Both knew this might be the last time for a while that they'd be able to indulge in the other now that they'd discovered a way to keep the spell dormant. As much as Hermione knew he needed to go, that there were more important events occurring in other parts of the castle at that very moment, she longed for him to take her hard and fast on his desk as he had previously. She craved the feel of him filling her up and the delicious burn of his stretching her inner channel.
The door flew inward and Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice sounded as he burst in, calling, "Severus, there are –"
Hermione stumbled, staggering several steps back until she hit his desk and gripped the edge to right herself when Snape tore himself away from her, but he'd already spun and Stunned his colleague. It had taken him no more than the span of a beat of a heart to incapacitate the other man.
"Did he recognize me?" Hermione dared to ask.
"Possibly," he allowed, a troubled line creasing his forehead as he studied the prone man on his floor.
"Severus," Hermione began, but didn't know how to fix the situation. They'd gotten caught up in the moment and been reckless – something they could ill afford to do. Too much was at stake.
"I suppose it is a good thing that I will not be around to answer invasive and unwelcome questions after tonight," he sighed, rubbing his forehead briefly before straightening, mentally preparing for what was to come again.
"This is why you need to take the potion tonight," Hermione said calmly, using the untimely interruption as evidence to support her reasoning. "We can't afford things to go ary."
Snape took a very slow, deliberate breath, and Hermione knew he was giving the matter serious consideration. It was vastly different from when they'd first started down this path together. Back then, he'd not valued her opinion or mind at all. She was nothing more than an obnoxious student that he'd been burdened with. Tasked with keeping alive and bedding on Dumbledore's orders. But as they began working on potions together or conversing on spell theory, he'd helped her learn how to articulate her own opinions rather than regurgitate facts from a book, and in doing so, he'd come to respect her thoughts and suggestions.
"Your word," he requested. More like demanded, as he leveled her with his serious ebony eyes.
"I swear on our binding that I will remain in this room until it's over," Hermione intoned, willing him to believe that she'd not betray his trust by going back on her word.
Still he hesitated.
"You could always Stun her as well, Sir. She can't go anywhere if she's unconscious," Luna's light voice sounded from the doorway.
Instantly, Snape lifted his wand to Stun her too, but Hermione caught his arm as he did, shoving it higher as she cried, "Don't!"
Not that it mattered, because Luna had dropped down to check on Professor Flitwick just as the jet of red light left the tip of Snape's wand. The spell flew harmlessly over her head and out into the hallway.
"She won't say a word," Hermione promised as Luna blinked her overly large eyes up at them. Then to Luna, Hermione tentatively said, "I thought you'd be fighting."
Luna seemed to ponder her statement, then after a second, shook her head. "No, that won't do. I think you need me more tonight."
Snape muttered something under his breath, but it was too low for Hermione to catch. Though the tension radiating off of him spoke volumes about how unhappy he was with the way things were progressing.
"Sir, you really should be going. This is a good plan, and you can Stun me if it makes you feel better," Luna suggested casually, as though she had no idea of how close he was to hexing her for simply discovering more than she should have. "Though I think you should give me the Map first, Hermione. I have a feeling I'm going to need it."
"Yes, all right," she agreed hastily, stuffing the parchment into Luna's hands before Snape could snatch it from her. She'd learned from Harry's experience with the potion not to argue with the feelings people got.
If Hermione had to guess, Snape was very close to exploding. He preferred to carefully manage every situation, and this one was spinning wildly out of hand, and he could do nothing more than watch it happen – or take the potion and have the luck of riding it out.
"If you insist," Snape said coolly. "Stupefy!"
"Hmph," Hermione snorted, pursing her lips as she took in her friend's slumped form. At least she'd be safe in this office. Safe from the fighting that Snape was running out of time to join. "Severus, you know it's the best option," Hermione said persuasively, returning to the most pressing matter.
"I know," he huffed petulantly. "Give it over, Hermione," he ordered, fingers flexing twice before he held out his hand to accept the phial she offered.
"Severus, one more thing," Hermione said hesitantly as he swallowed the contents. When Snape looked at her, she confessed, "Harry knows it was you who told You-Know-Who about the prophecy. He's with Dumbledore, so be careful."
Snape froze. A look of horror and pain so raw and gaping she feared he'd bled out from the devastation of it crossed his face, but his gaze quickly lowered, shielding his reaction from her view.
"I can explain," he said hoarsely.
"I know. Later," Hermione said gently.
"Hermione." Her name sounded tortured as he spoke it.
"I chose to trust you before you took the potion," she promised, repeating, "later. We'll talk later."
Snape nodded, standing straighter as though taking strength from her understanding and acceptance. "We'll need to discuss Lovegood then as well."
"Yes," she agreed, feeling her heart flutter at finding an unexpected ally, particularly after how Hermione had always treated her. Though wasn't that similar to her own situation with Harry and Ron? Hadn't she become friends with the very people that once mocked her and –
"Stupefy!"
The blackness receded gradually. It wasn't the first time Hermione had ever been Stunned, but for some reason her body seemed less reluctant than normal to shake it off.
Her limbs felt sluggish and heavy. Cramping stiffened her fingers, and she tried to bring them towards her chest to rub them, but they didn't move.
She tried again, her breath quickening as panic sped her heart. The scent of sweat filled her nose, musky and oppressive. It was all wrong. Snape's office smelled of him now that he wasn't teaching potions and surrounded by ingredients. Yet there was nothing remaining of the sandalwood and butterscotch she'd grown accustomed to.
Hermione yanked on her arms harder. They weren't budging. What was happening?
Blinking, she tried to bring her blurry surroundings into focus, but the light was too dim and her head was throbbing. Had she hit it on something? Perhaps the stone floor when she'd slumped over from being Stunned?
"Finally," a male voice grunted. It was vaguely familiar, but with the ringing in her ears, Hermione couldn't identify the speaker. "I was starting to think you'd sleep all night and I'd have to start without you."
"Lumos," he said gruffly, light brightening the shadowed room.
Hermione wished it hadn't. Because when she saw where she was and who was with her, she actually preferred not knowing.
Crabbe stood directly before her casually rubbing a distinctive bulge in his pants.