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5.
Your eyelids are crusty with dried tears as you force them open an indeterminate length of time later. Hermione and Snape are both awake, each curled up as far away from each other as they can possibly be in a space this size. Neither is speaking, and the silence weighs heavily in the air. You can almost taste the bitter flavor of unease in the cell.
You moan slightly at the pounding in your head, and Snape turns, his eyes meeting yours. You still, fending off a storm of memories. Memories tinged with understanding, and an ever present flash of green. "I'm sorry." You rasp, heedless of the twinge in your throat. "I am."
He says nothing. This is not the storybook moment, where the hero and his misunderstood nemesis come to a grand understanding and forge a brotherly bond that will stand the test of time. If anything, the wall that stands between the two of you has grown taller and thicker.
As if by mutual understanding, you both turn away, knowing that no more can be said at this time, with things as fragile as they are. You reach out and grasp Hermione by the shoulder relishing for a brief moment the sense of true physical contact. You will never forget how powerless you were in those memories, unable to affect a single thing.
She starts slightly, then turns. Her movements are slow and cautious, and she doesn't meet your eyes."'Mione?" One word, a thousand questions. She looks at you finally, and you note her red, puffy eyes without comment. You doubt you look so hot right about now. She shrugs slightly, unable to completely hide her emotions. You hold her gaze for a minute, unsure of what to say. It wasn't you, and at the same time, it was. You've never told anybody, though you imagine there are those who suspect something wasn't right with the Dursleys. So in the end, you settle for silence.
Minutes stretch into hours, and Hermione eventually nods off against your shoulder. A house elf pops into the quiet and leaves a tray of food, as it has occasionally before. You assume that it happens roughly once every day, but with no windows and no watch, time passes differently for the three of you.
You all eat without talking much, shoveling the food in your mouths indiscriminately. After all, you never know when it will stop coming. As you learned from the Dursleys, food isn't something to be picky about. After your supper, if it could be called that, you retreat back to your corner, and Hermione and Snape follow suit. You cannot find it in yourself to break the quiet. Things are still too raw, and too much has happened in such a short period of time. You find yourself daydreaming about picnics by the lake with Ron and Hermione, quidditch practice and the feel of the wind in your face, even a simple charms class with Professor Flitwick. You sink into your memories, eyes wandering over the roughly cut stone of your cell, and are content to stay in silence.
It shouldn't surprise you that Hermione is not.
"Professor Snape?" She asks, and you jump, your reverie broken. Snape merely twitches slightly. "Sir, was that… was he your father?"
Everything freezes. Finally, the Potions Master nods once, sharply. "He was. He is dead now. Killed in the first war."
A/N: Thoughts? S'il vous plait?