Chapter 20
Severus Snape had been asleep. It was the kind of restful sleep he rarely had with no dreams and no memories to play with his mind. So he was more than a little angry when furious knocking woke him from his rest and continued anxiously until he threw open the door to see the twin ginger menaces there.
"WHAT?" he snapped.
They jumped and looked at him imploringly. "It's Hermione! She's in the Forbidden Forest! She went alone!"
His heart stopped for a moment. Anger hit first. Stupid girl! Why couldn't she just listen?! Concern hit second, wiping all thoughts of retribution from his mind and forcing him to summon his boots and cloak from the closet so he could run towards the thicket of trees.
"Do you know where?" he demanded of the two, his stride never wavering.
"No, sir, not really. We just, er, watched her sneak out," they explained, just the slightest inflection telling him they didn't truly see her, but had some other means of tracking her location.
He shot them a glare. "Are you hiding her location?"
"No!"
"We wouldn't!"
He growled in frustration. "Then leave this to me and go inform the Headmaster immediately. He will know more."
His eyes followed their small scampering forms head back until he was sure they would follow his instructions before turning back towards the Forbidden Forest, intent on searching for the girl.
Foolish girl! She truly is a product of her house, Snape thought viciously.
He could see how headstrong she was and should have known she wouldn't take well to restriction. She never had before, had she? Rules for underage magic were ignored in favour of wandless study, year distinctions broken through by stubbornness, Draco Malfoy faced head-on and cowed, and even laws against unregistered animagi completely ignored. And nobody had stopped her then.
Admittedly, she hadn't needed stopping in those instances. Miss Granger may have broken the barriers but most of the times it was only for good. This time, however, she would be getting the full gambit of punishments he had accumulated for troublemakers, every disgusting task and every horrible ingredient she could harvest. She would feel his wrath and learn; she would learn to heed authourity if it took mild slug-slime poisoning to get through her prodigious head.
Using Point Me was as useful as he predicted—not. Nor any other tracking spell, even those keyed into the wards. She was in creature form already, and her inherent magic would prevent any tracking. And as much as he didn't like it, the Forest itself was too large to search himself. He had no choice but to wait for Dumbledore before he started looking for physical evidence of the girl. Hopefully she left footprints.
"Severus!"
The Headmaster had come, Weasley twins in tow.
"Can you feel her through the wards?" Severus wasted no time asking him.
Albus shook his head. "No, I cannot. We will need to go to the centaurs who offered her aid."
Severus snorted. The herd was deep in the Forest and it would take too long to reach for how urgent the situation was. And he said as much.
"It's all we have, Severus."
He gnashed his teeth. "Then go quickly—I'll search for her trail here."
The group split up; the Headmaster started through the forest and the twin menaces began the search with him for physical evidence of the girl along the treeline. The nighttime frost was beginning to spread over the lawn, and the chill rushed past even his frock coat, not to mention his bare hands as he sifted through the tinge of white in search of some kind of prints or indents in the earth.
He jumped to his feet as a centaur horn echoed through the trees. The centaurs only used their horns when there was trouble, and his heart immediately tightened.
The Weasley twins seemed to have the same idea and ran towards him. "Sir, you don't think-"
"Of course I do," he snapped. "If she's alive, the girl has detention for the rest of the year!"
They didn't have long to wait. But he wished they had. A fair-haired centaur came running towards them, and Severus was unnerved to see the girl hanging limply in his arms. He ran to intercept them.
The centaur held her out to him, minding her neck especially. He could barely hear the most ragged of breaths, and her skin was peppered with spots born from broken vessels. Her neck seemed misshapen, crooked.
"She requires your healing, Professor," the centaur prompted with urgency. "The shade was not kind when she denied him his meal."
His blood ran cold, but he ran his wand over her. Her hyoid bone was fractured, and some of her tracheal cartilage had broken and was preventing air from reaching her lungs. She had been strangled.
"Go, Potions Master."
He was already moving towards the school at a run. The Weasleys were right next to him, one of them with a wand in his hand that looked suspiciously like hers. Probably given to him by the centaur right after he started running. Together, they all reached the Hospital Wing in a nerve-wracking three minutes; three minutes of listening to her wheezing breaths and miniscule, pained whispers.
"Poppy!"
They worked most of the night restoring the girl's throat. They were forced to intubate her while they painstakingly reconstructed the cartilage around her trachea, an indignity that had the Weasley twins moved out of the room because of how discomfited they were when the girl naturally rejected the invasion. The cartilage crackled under his fingers with every movement, a noise that unnerved him every time and warned of the consequences of doing things wrong. The hyoid bone could only be mended once it was moved back into place with a sickening cry from the girl herself, but that was done first and he did it without flinching. He'd done worse for comrades; he would do more for his students.
They were only interrupted a few times. Minerva had been informed by the Headmaster and had arrived in her tartan shawl to see how her cub was doing. One glance at the girl's neck was enough to rile the lioness, and Snape couldn't deter her from helping in the little ways she could to treat Hermione, be it holding her hand during an uncomfortable shift of cartilage or rubbing bruise balm into the girl's cheeks.
Dumbledore checked on them more than once and asked whether the girl could be wakened long enough to speak to him, but Poppy refused him adamantly, which received his enthusiastic backing. The girl wouldn't be able to speak for another few days, at least, and shouldn't be awoken until most of the swelling was reduced and the tube was taken out of her throat.
Finally, right as the sun rose, their labours were finished. The girl's throat was reformed and healing around her breathing tube, her skin was painted with a bruise cream to lessen those violently red spots where her vessels had burst, and her eyes had been given drop of murtlap to lessen the red that had also overtaken them. They would keep her under until the breathing tube could be removed, but she would suffer no lasting harm.
He'd normally say the injury would take several days to full heal, but he couldn't discount the traces of unicorn the girl carried. Already she was showing vast improvement.
That led to another blood-chilling thought; Miss Granger had transformed in front of this shade. While it was one thing for her to be attacked, it was another for the shade to know her identity. If the Headmaster was correct, if the shade was his former master, then the girl needed to be protected dearly from this moment forward; protected perhaps as much as Potter. He had no idea why the Dark Lord didn't simply torture the girl into it—there were no signs of Cruciatus, no sign of magic at all. They were lucky he hadn't tried to magically induce the change, but they would not be so lucky a second time. The Dark Lord could not be allowed to get his hands on her again.
"You may come visit with her, but she will be sleeping for the next day or so," he heard Madame Pomphrey announce tiredly, bustling the twins back into the room and invading on his own reflections.
He rose from her bedside without showing the reluctance he himself felt to leave his student in order to allow the twins their moment. They had helped in her rescue, after all. Each ginger jumped to either side of her bed with urgency, both taking a hand of the girl and looking the picture of distress.
"Severus?"
Poppy drew his attention, her face still in her professional mask but with the glint of sympathy in her eyes reminding him or his own school years. "Someone needs to tell the Headmaster that she'll be alright, and then someone needs to contact her parents. Someone who knows them."
He felt ice in his core. Her parents. Miss Granger's parents had entrusted their daughter to his care and now she had been strangled by a dark lord in the forest. He rationalized that it was not his fault, that he had certainly not led the girl to the forest and had expressly forbidden her actions, that her actions had simply reaped the consequences, but he also know that not every parent would see it that way. What on earth would her parents say? Would they even allow their daughter to continue here if they knew?
"Oh, Severus," Poppy placed a hand on his arm, eyes growing softer, "I know this is hard for you. Miss Granger is fortunate to have you caring for her."
Severus turned away from her and glared at the eavesdropping gingers around Miss Granger's bed. They quickly ducked their heads to avoid his venomous glare.
"I'll inform the Headmaster," he stated, clearly telling Poppy he wasn't necessarily going to agree to a trip to the Granger's.
Severus went to the Great Hall with no intention of making a spectacle. The Headmaster was at breakfast, though, and so he entered behind the Head table with his regular stride and leant over next the Headmaster's throne to whisper in his ear.
What he was not expecting was that the Headmaster would stand and address the students while he was thus fixed next to him.
"Students," the Headmaster called calmly, "a moment of your time, please."
Morning chatter died down as all four tables—perhaps not all, he thought as he noted of his Slytherins—turned to look up at the Headmaster.
"Thank you." Dumbledore flashed them all a brief, warm smile before his face turned somber. "It is my unfortunate duty to inform you all that a student was gravely injured last night."
The Gryffindors were, surprisingly, smart enough to know who. Or Potter was. One look around the table from the spectacled child saw that no Weasley twins or swotty know-it-alls were there with them, and he cried out in clear distress.
Albus held up his hand, silencing the boy. "At the beginning of term, I informed you all that students are barred from entering the Forbidden Forest. This was not said in jest, but in response to the danger present for inexperienced witches and wizards in facing the magical creatures found there."
Albus looked on the audience of children as if they had all personally disappointed him. "A student underestimated the danger presented and, though done innocently, disregarded this rule. I hope this tragedy highlights to all the importance of remaining within the bounds of Hogwarts's protection."
The Headmaster turned a little cheerier. "On a happier note, Professor Snape has just informed me that our dear Miss Granger will make a full recovery from her ordeal. I'm sure I speak for us all when I say we wish her a speedy return to health."
When he mentioned her by name then the whole hall exploded in whispers. Some even shot him glares as if to blame him. Well, Albus had practically fed them that when he mentioned him in the same breath as the incident. The brats always would think the worst of him.
His godson's reaction was a bittersweet moment for him; yes, Draco looked lost at the news, but it meant he did care for the girl. It showed empathy for a muggleborn that he didn't think he'd see so soon in him, and for that he could only be glad, not matter the churning in his stomach at why.
Potter waited no longer than the speech's end to leave the room, presumably to go visit his friend in the Hospital Wing. He himself delayed no further and left for the Entrance Hall and Hogsmeade; Poppy was correct, after all, that someone had to inform her family.
He'd been to London many times over the years. While he didn't know the specific location of the Granger's, he had the address from Minerva and standard knowledge of the city. It took him less than thirty minutes to find the appropriate attached home and ring their doorbell.
Mrs. Granger opened the door, fully dressed and ready for a day at the office, no doubt. Still, she didn't act rushed when she greeted him.
"Professor!" she greeted him happily, but then noted the tired look on his face and immediately fretted. "Come in, come in. Is everything alright? Dan! We've company!"
Mr. Granger was still pulling on his tie when he entered the living room. "Professor Snape, welcome. How are things?"
He took in both of their suspecting faces and indicated for them to sit, which they did with great worry.
"There has been an . . . incident with your daughter," he informed them somberly. "I will not pretend she is not partially at fault; Miss Granger elected to go into a dangerous magical forest in the middle of the night without permission, and, in fact, went despite our express order for her specifically to remain within the bounds of the school."
Both parents looked mortified. "Our Hermione broke the rules? She's never done that before, nothing so severe."
He stopped them with a dismissive wave. "That is not the immediate concern. While within the forest, she was attacked by a very dangerous creature," he spat the word, "and was gravely injured. She was returned to the school this morning very nearly strangled to death."
"WHAT?!"
The shriek must have pierced his eardrum for how his head throbbed.
"Dan, call the office," Mrs. Granger order, popping up from her seat. "Then call Diane, see if she can cover for one of us, at least, and let Brian know as well. I'm going to grab our things. Professor, you are taking us to see her."
The policy of the school governors was that no muggle enters Hogwarts, but Professor Snape knew it wasn't a rule, more a guideline. And there was no chance he was risking his limbs to deny a mother a chance to see her child. The Dark Lord didn't know better, but he did, and no force in him would dare oppose the nearly hysterical but fierce look in Mrs. Granger's eyes.
She wanted to claw and her throat, take away the pressure and the choking she felt, but her arms felt heavy as her conscience. Her body was lethargic and weak as a newborn lamb. Finally, she gave up on taking away the hardness in her throat and succumbed to the sleep that beckoned her once more.
The next time she felt aware, there was a hand in hers and her throat no longer left her gasping for air. The choking feeling had subsided, even as she could still feel the fingerprints against her neck, and her face felt cool. She shivered in her residual terror.
"Hermione? Sweetheart?"
She knew that voice from . . . somewhere. Her eyes opened slowly for her and blinked languidly. Even with her eyes open, it took a few minutes for the image to reach past her sleep-addled mind and see her mother and father sitting anxiously at her bedside.
"Mu-u-um," her voice rasped and sharp pain tore through her throat, making her gag and tears prick in her eyes.
"Shhh, shhh, don't talk yet," her mother gripped her hand tighter, encouraging her to squeeze it through the pain. "Your throat is still healing. Oh, Hermione, I was so worried."
Madam Pomphrey bustled into the room and to her bed, a mixture of Florence Nightingale kindness, grammar school matron sternness, and factory efficiency as she gave her a potion to coat her throat and essentially freeze her vocal cords and protect her throat from her own use.
"You are lucky to be alive, Miss Granger," she was sternly reproached. "You should never have been near the forest, and with barely any spells learned, well, you've caused no end of fuss. I hope this teaches you a valuable lesson."
She had nearly cried at the sincere disappointment the mediwitch expressed. But her parents agreed, making it even more heartbreaking.
"You were so badly hurt," her father said, "you had a tube in your throat and you struggled to breathe. Why would you put yourself in danger like that?"
She had written down her explanation, telling them about how she was at least with an adult centaur and had been practicing magic. This made her mother purse her lips.
"If I understand correctly, missy," her mother enunciated, "you lied to your professors and your friends, disobeyed curfew, snuck out into a dangerous forbidden area, and practiced magic that had already been forbidden by your teachers. Is that everything?"
Hermione nodded, ashamed. When it was laid out so clearly like that it was hard to refute just how naughty she'd been.
"And were you listening to the Spirit or acting on the best part of yourself at all while this was going on?" her father now interjected. Hermione looked down. "Then you knew that what you were doing was not what right, not what we would have you do, didn't you?"
Hermione felt tears prick her eyes and a leaden weight fill her stomach. Her father was right, and it hurt. She'd not only deceived everyone, but she'd refused to listen to even the promptings from Heavenly Father. All she could do was cry. It hurt her throat so badly, but the tears wouldn't stop coming.
Her parents came to her side and hugged her, saying it was alright.
"We just don't want this to happen again," her mother assured her. "You're allowed to make bad choices every now and again, Hermione, you are, and it doesn't make you a bad person, but these choices nearly killed you. Do you understand that? We aren't blaming you for being attacked, sweetheart, not at all. It's that monster's fault and not yours, don't think we think otherwise, but we also have to help you realize just how dangerous your actions were. You disobeyed the rules when you already knew that you were in danger. And that danger was so real that they had to put a tube down your throat to make sure you could breath. We had to see you like that, bruised and struggling to breathe, and . . . We were so scared for you, seeing you so hurt like that, and we'll do anything to never see you like that again, love."
She had almost died. She still remembered the horrible hunger for air as she was refused it, the way she pleaded and begged but was given no mercy, the fingers around her neck. Hermione hugged her parents and cried and cried despite her aching throat, and crying so long that, tired and hurt, she went off to sleep once again.
The next time she woke, Dumbledore was next to her bed with a troubled look on his face. She saw him first, giving her a chance to see the tired look on his face, before he saw her eyes open and smiled kindly down at her as if his troubles were all imaginary. She didn't like it. She didn't like how that smile didn't acknowledge how she'd disobeyed him.
"Miss Granger, it is good to see you looking a little better," the Headmaster said kindly. "I understand from Mme. Pomphrey that you are not permitted to speak yet, yes?"
She felt her throat for a moment and nodded as pain twinged throughout.
"It's fine," he continued, "but you wrote down what happened, yes, for your parents?"
He was holding the familiar parchment in his hands and Hermione's stomach clenched as she once again gave a small nod.
"This is a good start, Miss Granger," he praised, "but you do not go into specifics. Perhaps, could you write some answers for me?"
She quickly pulled another parchment onto her lap and a biro her parents had brought, showing him her answer.
"Thank you." Dumbledore placed the other parchment on his lap. "First, I wonder, if you could describe your attacker in greater detail. Any hint of his identity-"
Hermione scribbled furiously, urgently, cutting off his words when she showed him her parchment and the big, bold name on it: LORD VOLDEMORT.
Dumbledore's smile died on his lips and his eyes flashed between her and the parchment.
"You are certain?"
Hermione nodded furiously, scribbling again.
He was hissing, he was so angry, kept telling me he was going to kill me. Said that since he was Voldemort, so he wouldn't show mercy to a mudblood.
Dumbledore's eyes went wide. "He knew you, then, knew your face and your blood status?"
Hermione froze just as Dumbledore did. It hadn't mattered at the time that he called her a mudblood since he was trying to kill her. But Dumbledore was right; how did this man know her? Know her blood status? Know her face? People might have heard of her, a twelve-year-old third-year, but only people in the school would know what face to put with her name.
Quirrell.
She wrote the name angrily, tears coming to her eyes. She showed the Professor her parchment. It was the only answer, it had to be. Harry's near-fall and her own near-death couldn't be coincidences.
She shoved the parchment at the Headmaster, pointing at the name emphatically.
But the grandfatherly smile was back. "Oh, no, that would be quite a surprise if it were him. No, no, it's alright, but you need not think on it any longer. Professor Quirrell is not going to harm anyone."
Dumbledore left her alone then, with her still seething about his dismissal. Professor Quirrell might not have tried to kill her, but he had tried to kill Harry. Why wasn't he doing anything?
Her anger was quickly replaced with guilt, though, when she felt her throat tighten with her jaw and the pain return, reminding her of just why she was here. It was because she was untrustworthy. She had lied. She had ignored her teachers. She suddenly couldn't blame the Headmaster for not listening to her.
Harry and the twins came to visit her, as well as all the girls in the dorm. She couldn't speak still, and she sometimes wheezed and coughed. The twins were kind of angry at her, too, and she couldn't even speak to properly apologize. She felt awful every time she saw them; she was wracked with guilt for how she'd ignored them, deceived them, and how despite that they were one of the reasons she was alive right then.
Harry's concern was a huge surprise. She had hoped they were good friends after Halloween, but she didn't spend as much time with him as the twins and often felt like she didn't spend enough time with the smaller boy. Outside of their lessons with Professor Snape that is. But he was still there in the infirmary every day alongside the twins.
That first day, even when the twins were mad at her and had only come to berate her, Harry had stayed behind and sat by her bed.
"Are you ok?"
Her tears always came so quickly, but after the twins had been so angry with her, she couldn't help but bawl into Harry's shocked but not unwilling hug. She couldn't even speak to him, but Harry seemed to know that she was still upset about more than just the twins and treated her with such tender care her heart melted even more. He would bring her books from the library to read and make sure her sheets were straight, even fluffing her pillows whenever he came to see her. Every time she gave him a hug, and every time he became more and more confident in returning it.
Days passed and her voice finally returned. The words she'd held back were finally expressed, and she apologized immediately to everyone for her lies and sneaking around, Mme. Pomphrey, her parents, Professor McGonagall, Harry—for he had cared so much when she got hurt, she had to apologize for worrying him—and made an extra apology to the twins for ignoring their concern. Thankfully, she was immediately forgiven and they all shared a tight hug.
"This is the second time you've nearly died," Fred whined to her.
"You should come with a warning—"
"Will end up facing death on a regular basis—"
"Weak of heart need not apply."
Her raspy voice still showed her mirth. "Good thing you're Gryffindors, right?"
Both of them gave her melting smiles. "Yeah, can't get rid of us so easy."
Their reconciliation made her heart warm like the flaring red of scaly wooden coals.
But Professor Snape never came to see her. Not once. She remembered him taking her to the castle, but he still hadn't come to check on her. Draco Malfoy had checked on her twice already, always with the excuse, "my mother will want to know," but at least he checked. But from her Potions Master? Not a word, not a glance.
Then, when she was about to be released, she finally saw her Professor. It would have been a moment of sheer relief, one that would have been met with tears and smiles, if Professor Snape hadn't been walking beside her Head of House and behind Headmaster Dumbledore. The three authorities striding towards her altogether made her shrink back into her pillow.
Dumbledore's severe expression broke into a smile. "Good to see you healthy once more, Miss Granger. Madame Pomphrey tells me you're ready to be released?"
Although he was smiling, the two Heads of House standing behind him were stern and foreboding, so she only nodded.
"Well then, that is good news indeed," he smiled. A chair was conjured next to her bed and he sat down next to her, clearly trying to put her at ease. "And now that you're well and healthy once more, perhaps we should have a discussion about exactly how free you will be outside of this room, hmm?"
Her eyes burned. She'd broken all the rules, and now came the punishment. "Yes, sir."
"We had a long talk with your parents," Professor McGonagall announced primly. "It is understood that you were fully aware of just how terrible your behaviour was and deliberately continued, yes?"
Hermione could only nod.
"You thought you knew better."
That was Professor Snape, the first words he'd spoken to her since the Forest incident. And they stabbed at her already bleeding heart. She nodded and began to sob into her hands.
"Hmmm, yes, quite a problem," Dumbledore noted lightly over the sound of her tears. "How do you teach a child what they already know? And how are we supposed to protect her if we can't trust her to be where we expect?"
Hermione looked up, stricken. "I won't do it again, I won't!"
"And your word has proven honest in the past?" This time it was Professor Snape who spoke, his voice filled with venom. She couldn't even look at him through her tears. "Your word is now worthless."
His words cut deeply, deeper than her own parents, and she shrank beneath them.
"I think there a few measures that must be taken," Dumbledore said somberly. "First and foremost, fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor for leaving the castle after curfew and disobeying your professors. You will also henceforth be given a strict schedule to follow. You will be wherever that schedule tells you to be and nowhere else or you will lose house points or worse. We have also assigned you to two house elves who will be responsible for your well-being. Frat, Terry?"
Two house elves popped up out of nowhere, making her shriek and cover her throat protectively. The teachers noticed, she noticed, and everything went quiet.
"Miss Granger, perhaps, before we began on punishment, we should have asked if you were alright?" Professor McGonagall moved closer to her bed now. "Miss Granger, do you, perhaps, feel unsafe?"
Hermione's mind flickered over everything. The troll. Harry's first quidditch match. Lord Voldemort, his hand clasped around her neck and her lungs begging for air . . .
"Miss Granger?" Her attention snapped back to Professor McGonagall, who was suddenly a lot closer. Had she really zoned out. "Are you alright?"
"No," she choked out.
It hurt, it hurt to not feel safe, but she knew that she didn't and would never lie. Never. All their eyes were on her, including four bulbous elf eyes, and she could only look at her hands or . . . she turned her eyes to Professor Snape. He had come for her when she was missing. He had taught her stupefy so she could defend herself. He believed her about Quirrell. He was her Professor, not Professor McGonagall. Would he … could he … even if he was angry … "Professor, please..."
Until this point, Severus Snape had been determined to show the girl no pity. She had been warned, she had been deterred, and she had chosen to be rebellious. She deserved no kindness from him. But when she looked up at him with those tear-filled amber eyes, her arms trembling in need and almost raised to reach for him, the anger he had built up for the girl crumbled.
He sat at the end of her bed and twitched an arm open. It was enough. The girl launched herself at him, hugging him so tight it felt as if she was drawing all the safety she did not have from his very soul. He tucked the girl into his robes and let her envelop herself in the black fabric.
"Please, please, please, please, please."
The girl was sobbing the word repetitively into his shoulder, so quickly and quietly that he knew she did not know what to say after. Please keep me safe. Please make it better. Please don't let go. Please forgive me. It probably meant all those things and more to the scared child in his arms.
The motion was unfamiliar to him, but he patted the girl's back in what he hoped were soothing movements. What a picture they must make, he thought briefly. He ignored the startled gaze of the Headmaster and the proud look of Minerva and focused instead on the very distressed child in his arms.
"You will be kept safe," he promised, "but we no longer trust you to manage even a part of that feat on your own. What you did, Miss Granger, greatly endangered your own life, and you did it despite warnings from multiple people. You could have died and it would have been no one's fault but your own."
Hermione sobbed pathetically. "I didn't think—"
"A first for you, I'm sure," he said dryly, not caring that the girl's cries increased at his obvious condescension. If he patted her back a bit more firmly for a moment, that was just a variation, not a result of some need to comfort her. "It is because we do not want you to be killed that you're being put on a schedule, and that is why we brought the two elves here. They will be strict with you, but they will also be there to protect you."
The elves, who had been pulling their ears for making the girl cry, looked up at him in adoration. Wonderful. But he heard fewer pleas and so continued on in that vein.
"And I . . . will protect you also," he admitted reluctantly, earning a firm squeeze.
She was sniffling so much against his chest he was certainly covered in snot. But she looked up with those wide amber eyes still brimming with tears. "Why? Why would he-"
Here it was. The reason this had surprised her, the reason she had even considered this foolhardy plot—for once, Miss Granger did not understand the world around her, and had assumed that the worst of her danger was within the grasp of her lauded imaginations. Perhaps she had even assumed her god would protect her. Perhaps she didn't understand true human cruelty.
He thought for a moment. "Not all men are good and kind, Miss Granger. Your church speaks of angels, but do they not also mention demons?"
Hermione shuddered in his arms.
"You met one that night," Severus told her, his voice heavy and severe. His tone left no room for doubt. "The Dark Lord is a man filled only with anger and madness. His only pleasure is power, and he will do anything to have it. Power in government, power in magic, or even something so small as the power to kill a small girl who got in his way."
Hermione looked up, astonished.
"You felt powerless," He didn't need to guess. He as himself had nearly died like she had before, perhaps even more brutally, and he knew where the feeling lay, "and he felt power. I can tell you that the Dark Lord likely relished it."
"Severus!" McGonagall hissed in reproach. "Enough of this!"
He waved off her complaint; Granger had stopped crying and instead was watching him with rapt attention. If nothing else, he felt she deserved to know what he was going to say next.
"Nothing you said would have stopped him even if you could have spoken, which I doubt given the state of your throat when you arrived. Think of him not as a person, Miss Granger, think of him as a demon who will hurt you at the first chance. Do not allow him that, and do not put yourself in that position. Do you understand?"
He saw the girl's eyes shutter. "But, isn't he? A person? He's not . . . I can't just . . ."
"You can't hate him?" Dumbledore finished, giving Severus an understanding nod. He knew, then, what he was trying to tell the girl. "I admire your compassion, Miss Granger. To try and show compassion to someone who has killed thousands . . . I do admire the strength of your heart. And indeed, it is a strength—seeing man for what it is, imperfect, deserving of love, well, that's admirable.
"Do you know," Dumbledore noted in a deceptively mild voice, "that Voldemort has tried to kill everyone here in this room before? Some of us multiple times, in fact."
Her eyes were wide. "Really?"
"Oh yes. He was quite adamant about my death back in the day. And he tried to kill your friend, Harry, of course. We think it is because of our young Mister Potter that he's so close to the school, as a matter of fact."
Severus felt the change in the girl before he understood it. She was straightening, strengthening her stance even as she sat in his robes. He didn't quite understand, but from the twinkling in the old man's eyes he knew that something quintessentially Gryffindor was coming.
"He's not going to get Harry," Miss Granger proclaimed boldly. "Not him, and not Quirrell, not anyone!"
Gone were the tears, gone were the shudders, and instead came out the fierce protector in her when it came to young Mr. Potter. He could have almost killed the Headmaster; she was supposed to feel the burden of caution, and instead he had just thrown that into the wind in favour of spurring her on as a personal bodyguard for the boy. Not because he begrudged the boy a friend, mind, but because this would be at her expense.
"Right now, you are in just as much danger as Mister Potter," Severus reminded her sternly. "Look out for him if you must, but I don't want to hear a word about not following your new schedule or being out of bounds again. The elves will make sure you are safe at all times, but if I hear a whisper, a word from them about you being defiant then I will put you in a full-body bind so you can spend every class as a statue in the corner of the room where everyone can see your punishment. Is. That. Clear?"
He observed the reservation in her eyes, and glared down at the little beast. "No? So good to know that the defiance that led you to your death is still intact. Let's add another punishment to the board, then."
"What?" Hermione gasped. "But—"
"Enough." Snape grabbed both of her arms so he could move her in front of him, squaring them against each other to convey his seriousness. "Miss Granger, I have just told you that these restrictions are in place for your safety. I've told you that you are being punished for breaking our trust and going against not only school rules, but specific instruction from the Headmaster and myself. And you are still unconvinced that your crime is so severe. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get you to understand how serious this is. You will be confined to your dormitory for three days after you're released from the Hospital Wing. No classes, no trips to the library, nothing. I'm sure Minerva will agree."
The Head of House simply nodded sternly, not saying a word edgewise. Unofficially, it seemed, she was giving Professor Snape all of the power here.
Her eyes widened and they seemed to spark, finally letting her understand just how severe this was to everyone around her. "But—"
He furled his lips above his teeth, baring them menacingly. "Do you think I care for your excuses? I. Do. Not. Believe. You. Not a word from your mouth. If I can't believe you won't run off to do something suicidal once more, then what else can be done but to show you to what lengths some would go to keep you safe? You will be confined to the dormitory until you have time to think through your action, and you will not set a foot outside until one of us three says so. AM. I. CLEAR?"
Hermione nodded, although hesitation was still in her eyes. He nodded, as if giving her permission to speak, but he really just wanted her to say something worse. Earn another punishment. Instead, she said, "But what about Harry?"
"You do not trust us to ensure his safety?" Dumbledore hummed off to the side.
The guilty flash in her eyes was enough for him.
"We are three fully trained wizards, Miss Granger," he snapped, "and you are only a third-year student; we will take care of Mister Potter, and, so help me, you will learn that there is no sense in throwing yourself into danger when other people can accomplish the same thing without the risk. You are not the most competent person here!"
"But he doesn't think Professor Quirrell is dangerous." Hermione pointed rudely at the Headmaster, who looked intrigued. "I know he's trying to kill Harry, I know he jinxed the broom, and if no one else is going to stop him then I have to!"
"I will and I have been!" Snape snapped at the once-again defiant girl. "You are not responsible for his safety, I am, and I will not have some twelve-year-old girl telling me I cannot perform my duty because she does not get her way! Arrogant, conceited brat!"
He was incensed. Perhaps it was because she had so sincerely cried her heart out at the cruelty she'd been shown, but he had expected her to learn by now that she could not ignore their words. Yet still, she did not believe in anyone but herself.
"You nearly died because you're acting like you don't answer to anyone!" He yelled. "You answer to me! To the Headmaster! To your Head of House! To your parents! Learn some humility for once in your life and listen to those of us who have fought to live this long!"
He saw that speck of defiance, that little part of her that still thought she was right, and knew that yelling wouldn't work on her anymore.
"Do you trust me, Miss Granger?"
She nodded, making his chest thump just a bit in his chest, although from her expression she knew the reason he asked.
He met her amber eyes with no hint of anger or joking. "Trust me now. I will protect both you and Mr. Potter. Trust me to do this for you."
When she sagged against his arm, he knew he'd won.
"It's just...want to help. I know about it, so shouldn't I...? What's the point of knowing if I can't fix it? What's the point of Hermione Granger is she can't fix this?"
He sighed. What a relatable feeling to share with the girl, although his need had poured into potions instead of the collective good of the human race. Miss Granger had bitten off more than she could chew within her own mind.
"You never know the impact someone has just in the small things they do every day," Dumbledore interjected this time. "There is a purpose to everyone's existence. And right now, you are a student; your duty is to learn so that, one day, you may take the role the three of us will act in for you."
"I'm glad we have this all sorted, but what is all this about Professor Quirrell?" Professor McGonagall asked over her spectacles. "Why have I not heard this?"
"I informed the Headmaster," Professor Snape told her, "but I was ignored. He elected not to tell the staff."
The Headmaster was glared at by all, and he raised his hand calmly. "The word of one student is not—"
"He was jinxing the broom!" Hermione insisted, melancholy momentarily forgotten. "I saw him, and I—when he was stunned, it stopped! It was him, Headmaster Dumbledore, it was!"
"Albus Dumbledore," Minerva glowered at the Headmaster, making him shrink back just a little, "I believe we need to have another discussion about what is or is not proper behaviour when interacting with a student. This student has made a complaint! How should you respond?"
"Minerva, please, be reasonable—"
"Reasonable!" Professor McGonagall glared spears down at the seated Headmaster. "Reasonable is taking a complaint seriously, especially one that concerns the safety of one of our students! You yourself told us to watch out for threats this year, and you are set on ignoring the child! And that fact that she has complained and is now in the infirmary should not be labelled as simple coincidence, either! What if it was retaliation, what if it was to silence her?!"
Everyone else knew that wasn't the case—unicorn blood was the cause, they knew—but no one corrected her or stopped her from reaming the Headmaster. Hermione herself was fascinated by what was happening. Her Head of House was taking the Headmaster to task, and he was letting her. It was amazing!
Professor McGonagall did her best level impression of a cat getting the cream, a mischievous smile on her lips. "Well, since you didn't call the aurors to let them know Miss Granger was attacked, I suppose we can do so now, since she is able to speak. Wouldn't that be sensible, Albus?"
Albus Dumbledore paled. "Minerva, there's no need for that. We already know who attacked the child."
"Really?" Her grin turned into a snarl. "Then why haven't you told the staff? We need to know these things, Albus, really!"
"It was Voldemort," Hermione offered quickly, hoping to make her Head of House less angry.
Professor Snape flinched barely, she could feel it in the arm around her, and Professor Dumbledore got up from his chair and backed away as Professor McGonagall—far from being calmed—exploded.
"Albus Percival Wilfric Brian DUMBLEDORE!"
Hermione shivered into her Professor's robes as the transfiguration teacher yelled at the Headmaster.
The aurors were, in fact, not called in. The adults explained it a little to Hermione, but Professor Snape was the only one who told her why without trying not to.
"We simply do not know who to trust. You understand this, Miss Granger? The villain you met in the forest has followers, and we don't know of whom they comprise. We will keep this to those we trust."
She trusted that answer a lot better than It's for the best or Just trust us, dear.
After all of this, she was finally released from the Hospital Wing and escorted by Professor McGonagall to the Gryffindor dormitory, where the twins and Harry got to her first.
"Spit-fire! You've managed to escape the Hospital Wing!"
"Should've known—"
"Sneaky is this one's MO, ain't it?"
Her conversation with the Headmaster, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall had left her both lighter and heavier at the same time. The pressures of her protecting Harry seemed lighter, but Professor Snape had also shook her whole worldview in just a few lines. Evil existed, and not just as small pieces of people's hearts, but also in the image of evil. Everything around her had snapped into a different perspective without her even knowing it, her eyes aware of things she never saw before and her heart more sensitive to everything around her. So, when the twins wrapped their arms around her, when Harry joined them, and when the girls from her dorm surrounded them, she knew she was going to cry.
Knowing didn't stop the tears from coming.
Unthinking, she grabbed Fred around the middle and tried to hide the tears in her hug, barely letting herself breathe to hold back the telltale sobbing.
No one judged, though, and she was not forced to show her face for a bit.
"Gred, not cool," George wheedled, "how are you still her favourite twin?"
"I'm fitter, obviously."
And, for the first time since the forest, she laughed.
AN: I'm not sure how far I'll be taking this story, but it didn't seem fair to leave you on a cliffhanger while I had a chapter just sitting there. I'm actually working on other fanfiction on Archive of Our Own right now, and you can look me up there if you like. I'm into BNHA! Maybe I'll start transferring some of this stuff over there as well. It's just more friendly to use as an author. Anywho, enjoy the chapter, and have a great day!