On Matters Of Trust

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed here-in are patented property of J.K. Rowling (all glory to her name!), I merely play with her brain-babies.

P.S. Expect long whinges from Snape. He has flown into lecture-mode full swing!

Hermione kept her eyes transfixed on the nape of his neck as they stumbled through the dark. She had glanced up- once- and had seen Ron, following behind them. His head bobbed at an odd angle, lolling forward then backward. She had caught his eyes, frozen open and had not looked again.

She kept her eyes transfixed on the nape of his neck. It seemed like she followed him for hours.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye- saw her flinch in pain as she saw her dead friend-saw her grow exhausted under the weight of her own limbs and of the knowledge of his death. After the second time she fell to her knees, he picked her up and cradled her to his chest. She had briefly struggled, but after only a second she was asleep, twitching fretfully at her red tinged nightmares. He looked at her face- and flinched.

What had possessed him to sulk out of the shadows? He had seen her- tearing through the brush- and had followed. The scene of Ron and Malfoy Sr. had caused his blood to run cold but he had not reacted quickly enough. But for Hermione, he had been compelled. Despite popular belief he did not hate the Golden Trio. He had little love for the buffoon and the glory-monger, but he did not wish them ill- did not want them dead. They were children fighting a man's most bloody war. And though it might be theirs to fight, it wasn't yet. Prophesy be damned, to begin grooming a child at eleven to battle and to kill was not just.

He looked at her face- and was reminded of the blatant pain that was etched there. Her wand bouncing would stay imprinted in his minds eye much the same as Ron's dead eyes would stay in Hermione's.

She woke as dawn spread its fingers across the horizon, silhouetting the dark trees that surrounded the small cabin. The cot she lay on was barely long enough to accommodate her body and creaked as she rose, shucking off the threadbare quilt Snape had placed over her merely hours before.

Snape himself sat in a wooden chair, next to the flickering flame of the hearth. A textbook lay open across his legs. His head, propped up by one head, was forward, swaying gently with each breath as he slumbered.

Have I been saved by this man? Or captured? Hermione sat opposite him on the wooden table he used as a foot-prop. Their proximity made her nervous. Even when he slept, he terrified her. She glanced about the Spartan room, but nothing else, save a small kitchenette and a door which presumably led to the lavatory, was there. Seeing no other entertainment, Hermione gently leant forward and attempted to gingerly remove the textbook from Snape's lap.

A sharp hand grabbed her wrist. "Are you very much in the habit of stealing other people's literature, Miss Granger?"

With a start, she attempted to withdraw her hand, but Snape had not yet relinquished her wrist. With a glance, he did so.

There was a quiet, awkward pause in which both studied the other. Snape, though, broke the silence. "My apologies. I regret to inform you, Miss Granger, that we will be unable to leave the premises for at least a day. It is safer to travel at night and as it is dawn, there will be a sufficient increment of time to pass before you can return to Potter's side."

"What happened, sir?" Her voice was tremulous with fear and disuse. "Is Harry alright?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter has vanquished the Dark Lord, though he is not unscathed. He will survive, no doubt. However, the multitudes of Death Eaters have not yet lost all power and malice. We are still very much in danger."

With a huff, he motioned to a crumbled copy of the Daily Prophet. "The Final Battle, has not even been mentioned, the infiltration of the Death Eaters is so complete. Or else the Ministry is so stupid as to not recognize the greatest god-send since the Fall of Grindewald."

Her bloodshot eyes went round. "You mean, even with Voldemort gone, the war isn't over?"

"Don't sound so incredulous. Many a battle have been fought though the General was lost. In many ways, Voldemort was simply a figure head, a symbol under which those who are corrupted by the misguided thought of superiority might unite. True, he organized and terrified the army, but the soldiers valued his ideals for generations before he was even born. Pureblood supremecy was not begun with Voldemort."

When she did not reply, Snape continued. "By what happened, I suppose you are inquiring as to why I saved you when I am so clearly on 'their side'?" With a hesitant nod from Hermione, he continued. "Quite simply, I am not. I am as loyal to Dumbledore as I was before I killed him."

"Indeed?" her tone carried a note of skepticism that she had, most likely, learned from Snape himself. "And why, pray tell, should I trust a word you say?"

Snape considered rebuking her lack of respect but, with a sigh, acknowledged that he did not deserve it. Hermione, if she was to trust him, was entitled an explanation. "Even the act of murder was a demonstration of loyalty. The summer before his death, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange visited my humble abode seeking my advice on how best to protect Draco. Voldemort, angered with Lucius, sought to punish him by giving his son the impossible task of killing Dumbledore. If, by the end of the school year, Dumbledore still lived, the entire Malfoy line would be destroyed."

Hermione snorted.

"You think, perhaps, that it is no pity? Lucius, I give you, is demented. But what has Narcissa done? Or Draco? Narcissa's only crime is to be blind to the faults of those who surround her. She loves her husband and her son. Draco is a spoiled bully. That is neither a crime nor a reason to be damned. He has been exposed, since infancy to the whims of his father. He parrots those ideals, yet he does not live them. He picked on you, Potter, and Weasley" –her eyes dropped- "equally though you are the only Muggle-born."

"In any event, Bellatrix challenged my loyalty to the Dark Lord, which in point of fact was perceptive of her. In order to convince her and Narcissa I took an Unbreakable Oath that I would help Draco in anyway that I could and, at the last moment, Narcissa added I must complete the task if Draco did not."

He paused, gauging her reaction. "So you are loyal to Voldemort?" she looked dumb-founded, "After all those years defending you, I was wrong."

"No. As stated, I am loyal to Albus. It was my intent to report to Dumbledore the Unbreakable Vow. By taking it, I assured Bellatrix of my false- loyality, ensuring my position for at least the rest of the school year. I was spared the wrath of Bella and the Dark Lord. I had no intention of killing Dumbledore.—"

"So you were just going to die?" Her quirked eyebrow dared him to disagree.

"Yes. I had little chance of surviving the upcoming battles. I dodged both the Aurors and the Death Eaters. If either found me out, I would have died a most excruciating death. Exposure would have damned me. Dumbledore, though, would have been swift with his dispatch. The thought of a painless death was very much appealing."

Hermione sat, stunned by his casual dismissal of death. Quietly, as though she did want the answer, she asked, "Then why did you kill him?"

"Because he made me swear to it. He wished to sacrifice his own life to save Draco. Of the three of us, he was the only innocent. Surely you noticed that he had begun to set his affairs in order?" –he sighed a tired sigh- "Also, Dumbledore was already dying. Earlier that evening he had ingested a fair amount of time delayed poison. Given enough time, I could have distilled the antidote and perhaps saved him, but I hadn't the time."

"Do you think I wanted to kill him? Dumbledore was the only one in the world who trusted me and, by extension, the only one I could trust in return. Without him, I have lost my chance at redemption." His words came quickly, in anger and were greated with silence.

Tentatively, she reached out her hand and placed it on his forearm.

"I trust you, sir."