I am so sorry for not updating sooner, I will try to do my best and never let such a long delay between updates happen ever again!
Severus Snape was trapped in a living nightmare.
The said nightmare started the moment he realised that he was just about to kill Albus on the Astronomy tower. It continued even more intensely as Miss Granger popped up from a pillar, much to everyone's surprise, and decided to kill off everyone but himself, Albus and Draco. In the meantime, the sun had risen and they had all been relocated to the Hospital Wing, but there just didn't seem to be an end to it.
The usual silence of the night hours in the Hospital Wing had been replaced with the sounds of healing spells Madame Pomfrey produced at regular intervals; the sound of potion's bottles being uncorked and their contents consumed became quite regular as well, along with the grunting and yelping of the wounded as their rapid, albeit painful recoveries were underway.
The air was saturated with the smell of disinfectants as cotton balls flew in the air and dabbed themselves on peoples' foreheads, arms and legs; necessary still in the world of magical medicine due to the ever-present microbes which Healers around the world were yet to establish how to magically contain from causing harm.
By the time the castle's clocks struck three in the morning, everyone had been more of less patched up, apart from Draco, who would not be waking up for at least a week.
Hermione had been ungrazed, for the obvious reason of her magic protecting her, but she had still been rather shell-shocked which earned her a hospital bed with the others.
Harry, who had been released from Dumbledore's spell only after the man had regained consciousness on the Astronomy Tower's broken floor, five minutes after the battle ended, seemed perfectly alright, apart from a few minor cuts and bruises. That fact surprised everyone about ten times more than his sudden materialisation on the platform did. He stayed the night in the Hospital Wing for the same reason as Hermione did.
Due to the fact that he was blasted face-first into a wall, Draco suffered severe head trauma which would have killed him in a matter of days if he only had Muggle medicine to treat him. Luckily for him, though, the gentle hands of Madam Pomfrey did their miracle work and he was laying in a magically induced coma that would ensure the stillness of body that was necessary for his recovery.
The Headmaster's medical state was another case entirely and by far the most complicated one to fix. Madame Pomfrey was a skilled Healer, but even her heart started drumming in her ears as the diagnostic spells revealed all the chemicals that were eating Dumbledore's body away. If not for the potions that were at hand from Snape's private laboratory, she would have had to send him to St. Mungo's for treatment.
Though, Merlin knew, even they might not have had every single potion that was necessary at hand, proving Dumbledore to be very lucky indeed, having acquired himself the most tenacious Potions Master in magical history to be a part of his staff.
Though the worst had passed during the night, Dumbledore was still in the process of healing, sitting as he was in the hospital bed next to Harry's, wrapped in a large quilted duvet, sipping on potion Number 13.
After Madam Pomfrey healed most of Snape's injuries (though the deep gash on his temple still needed work), with his help she spent ten minutes performing diagnostic spells in order to determine the exact amount of damage that was happening to Dumbledore's body. Once they had both agreed on the treatment, Snape Accioed most of the potions that would be needed from the stores in his personal laboratory and started pouring them down the Headmaster's throat.
After potion Number 4 (a yellowish, unhealthy looking liquid brewed with the specific purpose of getting rid of excess copper in the bloodstream) Dumbledore was able to start drinking the potions himself. Currently he had been at it for good three hours and he would be completely rid of the toxins he ingested in the cave by the time he finished potion Number 17 (a mild and minty stomach ache reliever).
As for the Death Eaters, the only apparent survivor of the battle was Bellatrix Lestrange.
It had been determined that Yaxley met his end the moment his body made contact with the wall after Hermione's explosion, which broke his neck. The others have been found scattered around the base of the tower, but Bellatrix's body had been unaccounted for. As she was still holding Yaxley's wand when she had been thrown off, they guessed that she probably found a way to shield herself mid-flight before she hit the ground and ran away into the Forbidden forest, out of which she Apparated to safety.
It was also safe to assume that Snape was in the clear where Lord Voldemort was concerned. Through Bella's eyes he would get the ultimate proof of his right hand's loyalty (as it was planned all along) and the fact he had not been thrown in chains into Azkaban would be justified by the simple fact that Snape was, after all, a superspy.
During the time the injured had been treated in the Hospital Wing, the problem of the twin cabinet entrance had been fixed after Harry instructed professor McGonagall and the rest as to how to get inside the Room of Requirement. Kingsley and Tonks had been the ones to take care of the bodies of the dead and to make sure the Ministry had been filled in with most of the details.
Dawn was still far from breaking when the Daily Prophet's journalists, as well as a few others, had appeared at the castle's gates demanding the explanation for the Dark Mark that was found looming above Hogwarts the previous night, but they have been informed by a grouchy Flitwick that all official statements would be given in the morning.
The dawn broke; the morning came and started the day which most of the surviving participants of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower did not anticipate they would see.
Severus Snape lay in the hospital bed, wide awake and was processing all of the information concerning the battle itself and of the morning after.
He was quite certain that he wanted to leave the Hospital Wing more than he ever wanted anything else in his entire life.
He came to his senses less than five minutes after Madame Pomfrey got his hands on him after their arrival in her care. The time delay from when Miss Granger got Greyback off his neck in the last instant to when he realised what that action meant did nothing to lessen the blow (and the utter shock) that he now owed the pesky Gryffindor a life debt.
It wasn't the first life debt her ever owed, Merlin knew, but the fact that he owed it to her filled him with such unease that made him feel as if he had been branded with a second Dark Mark, with this one being possibly even darker.
After knowing the girl for six years and knowing how her Gryffindor logic worked – he knew that if left with enough time on her hands to properly think it through she would ask for something grand, obscene and by any sane person's standards – far too much.
So he needed to think about it. He had always been a man of action and fast solutions; other than in a cauldron, he never liked to let things simmer. He would have to talk to the girl very soon, before she concocted a request that would be four life debts worth.
But first, he needed to think.
His concentration had been significantly impaired as he was surrounded by the occupants of the other hospital beds whose primary concerns seemed to be to talk all the bloody time and not allow a relaxing silence to fall even for a minute. The fact that the ward was swarmed by visitors at regular intervals didn't help either. He liked Molly, but when she appeared before them for the second time that morning 'just to check in on them again', his patience was starting to wear thin.
The most annoying visitor by far, who seemingly decided to make himself a permanent one as he lounged on the bed opposite his, was the youngest Weasley boy. He was radiating stubborn deviance as Severus detected the third glare the boy was sending his way, though he was ignoring it with practiced ease.
In the normal circumstances such cheek would have earned the boy quite a laborious detention, but Snape managed to admit to himself that even he himself had been rather desensitised by the events of last night, so he couldn't really blame the boy for temporarily losing the sense of propriety and of their difference in rank.
But still, if the boy was waiting for an apology for being stunned unconscious in front of the door to his chambers, Snape thought, he had another thing coming.
Snape decided to make a show of staring out of the window above Ron's head rather pointedly, since all three members of the Golden Trio were trying to catch his glance, each for their own different reasons. He did not mind the accusations and doubts in the eyes of Potter and Weasley as much as he was determined to avoid Miss Granger's eager glance. Even with his peripheral vision he was able to see that her eyes were burning with the question.
The view from the window before him, with which he was distracting himself, was that of a beautiful day.
The Quidditch pitch was visible in the distance; its tiny, colourful flags were dancing in the gentle breeze. The soil of the castle grounds was soaked from the rainfall and walking outside without slipping in the mud was probably impossible, but the sun shone as it only does after a storm. Every leaf and flower was still glistening with raindrops and Severus could swear that he still detected a whiff of ozone coming through the open window.
He was faintly aware of Madam Pomfrey coming in and telling them something, but it was Dumbledore's voice that broke him out of the peaceful spell he managed to cast onto himself and he turned to the crippled man, feeling that he was going to be addressed.
"Now that Madam Pomfrey has forbidden any more visitors to come in so that we may rest," Dumbledore started in a slightly wheezy voice and coughed gently before continuing, "perhaps we could use this valuable time to do the exact opposite," he finished, the trademark twinkle visible in his eye.
At this Snape raised his eyebrow, bemused. He was surrounded by four hive-minded Gryffindors; Merlin only knew what their leader was up to now. Breaking out of the Hospital Wing and charging at Malfoy Manor?
"I only meant that we could fill in each other's blanks, so to speak," Dumbledore responded to the bewildered children before him and smiled his most grandfatherly smile at Snape, who in turn was trying to restrain himself from throwing the cup of black tea he was holding straight at the man's face. Damn the man, Snape thought.
They were going to have to talk about it now, and in front of the children. Snape hoped against hope all throughout the morning that Dumbledore would allow waiting for them to be alone, but now it became apparent that he would probably have to share with the brats the things only Dumbledore was privy to and, just for a brief moment, he hated the man for it.
There were no blanks that needed to be filled, as far as he was concerned.
If the children really were the soldiers of Dumbledore's 'army' (as the dunderheads even put into writing), then they could at least be trusting enough in the man's judgement and not need every detail explained to them.
Those were not the only reasons for his discontent, though.
The fact was that he actually liked playing the role of the antagonist. He was used to it after so many years, and people like what they are used to. He had absolutely no desire to be the hero, as he was certain the children would come to look at him if they knew the whole story.
If last night it had all gone the way it was supposed to, Snape knew that he would have become a greater villain in their eyes than the Dark Lord. But that is precisely what would have carried the war. If he had killed Dumbledore he would have earned the Dark Lords absolute trust and he would have become the key piece in securing the victory for the Light. After their side was victorious (and himself – most certainly dead) he would have been uncloaked, unmasked and called a hero.
But that would have been posthumous. And he could live with that.
But having Potter find out the real motives behind his actions - the red strands of hair flowing on his shoulder and through his fingers when he was a stupid young boy, and her scent that lingered in his memory, even though she died so long ago...
If Dumbledore revealed to the boy (as he was undoubtedly itching to) that Snape had sworn himself to protecting him and defeating the Dark Lord after Lilly died... Snape couldn't bear the thought of it.
If it was to be talked about, the story would have to be watered down significantly, he decided. Or else Unforgivables would be thrown around. He glared at Dumbledore fervently in order to send him the message.
Admittedly, the children kept quiet about the events of last night, not pouncing on him and Dumbledore with a hundred questions per minute as he had expected they would, but the tension in the room was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.
After Dumbledore made his suggestion, Snape could almost feel their communal tension brake once they realised that they were finally going to talk about it. Gryffindors apparently found that babbling away was the universal cure for everything, much like Muggle housewives swore by apple cider vinegar.
"Mister Malfoy will have to wait for his turn for quite some time, unfortunately," Dumbledore said as he looked at the angelic looking boy (when asleep and unable to make his usual grimaces, the boy really did look so), "but until then, Mister Weasley, perhaps you could begin by telling us your story in short?" he said as he turned to the redhead.
Ron did not expect himself to be addressed, so he instantly turned beet red in the cheeks.
"Well," Ron started as he was searching for words. His oratory skills had always been rather weak and he found this to be the worst possible time to practice them.
"Why don't you tell us how you knew to raise the alarm?" the Headmaster urged him on gently, smiling.
Though he was sincerely trying to help, he was only making Ron feel even more awkward. Ron, Hermione and Harry have all seen and experienced strange things in their lifetime, but the sight of professor Dumbledore in the hospital bed with them, covered with a quilted blanket and with his fluffy slippers next to the bed was pretty overwhelming. Always the one to adjust to such strange occasions with the most difficulty, Ron began even more timidly that he would on a normal occasion.
"Well, Sir, you know of the Marauder's Map," Ron started, feeling very self-conscious. Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "When Harry came to fetch the Invisibility cloak and drink the Felix Felicis..." Ron continued, but was immediately stopped by the sound of professor Snape choking on a sip of tea.
The coal-black eyes of the Potions Master, shrouded with disbelief, were instantly trying to bore a hole into The Boy Who Lived. What the actual fuck?
"Oh, my," Dumbledore interjected before Snape got the chance for a snarky question, "it would seem that the very beginning provided us with a thrilling mystery. It is, naturally, a personal affair, but perhaps you would be kind enough to tell professor Snape and me how such a rare potion came into your possession, Mister Potter?"
Dumbledore was fully well aware of how and why Harry got the precious potion, but Severus' curiosity needed to be sated now that the matter floated up to the surface.
"Professor Slughorn gave it to me as a gift when term began," Harry responded immediately in a flat tone of voice, not feeling the need to add anything to it. Snape did not need to know, or rather, did not deserve to hear the old professor's praise for Lilly Evans. It was far too intimate for Harry to divulge any more details.
That did answer Snape's how, but not his why, yet he immediately decided to let it go; he was so very much used to Potter getting special treatment from most of the school faculty members, he was surprised at himself for not putting the two and two together.
Though, the fact that he found himself surprised that it wasn't actually Granger's handiwork (as was his first and only thought) left a bitter taste, since it was a revelation for him that he actually found her capable of brewing it. If Hermione could have known what he was thinking at that moment, she would have found it to be the greatest compliment she had ever received.
Ron finished his report after the interruption, making sure to sound extra bitter when he got to the part of being stunned unconscious onto the cold marble floor of the Hogwarts' dungeons.
Snape pretended not to notice the hostility directed his way.
"Harry, our excursion cannot be talked about in here..." Dumbledore started, turning to the boy and annoying Snape with the statement so much that a vein was not far from popping up on his forehead. Why not, he wondered? Had it something to do with the blasted hand that was killing him? The hand he was certain he would know how to heal if he was only told the nature of the curse which was inflicted on it (which Potter obviously knew)?
"You mean in front of me," Snape snapped bitterly.
"...so perhaps Miss Granger could tell us her account of the events," Dumbledore said, ignoring the man and turning to the girl.
They had all noticed that Hermione had been uncharacteristically aloof all throughout the morning, though only Snape knew the real reason behind it. At least, he was fairly certain that she was too preoccupied with wondering at the fact that she had been given a gift from the heavens in the form of a figurative leash and collar around the Potion Masters neck, so she couldn't be bothered with even pretending to be focused on her surroundings.
"I think that the burning questions are how you found yourself to be on the Astronomy Tower in the first place and why you chose to act as you did," Dumbledore urged her on, genuinely curious for the tale.
Snape had been only partially correct about what was going on in Hermione's head. True, she had been thinking about the life debt and the payment she would ask from him, but she was mostly preoccupied with the fact that the events of last night came as a confirmation that professor Dumbledore was at death's door. The thought shook her at her very core. The War needed him. They needed him. Harry needed him.
So she couldn't let him die.
Though, if professor Snape had been unsuccessful in healing him so far... what was she to do?
Hermione raised her large, doe eyes at the Headmaster and bit her inner lip, hesitating to speak.
She understood that her actions were unexpected at the time and that her appearance was quite the mystery, but she really wasn't in the mood for going over how she got to the tower or why she even knew how to get there.
She was fairly certain that the moment she would mention going for a walk after curfew professor Snape would snap at her and take twenty points from Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore would most likely compliment her for being a clever girl after she would tell how she immediately deduced that the green flash was the casting of the Dark Mark and would give her at least ten of the previously taken points back.
But she felt too agitated to deal with such empty topics. Not now when they were finally talking about the important stuff, so she might as well cut to the chase and ask about what was really bothering her.
"Sir," she started very hesitantly, quietly, sounding almost too afraid to ask. "Sir, you're dying. Aren't you?"
It ended up coming out of her mouth more as a statement than as a question.
Where most men would have hung their head, if even a little, Dumbledore still managed to keep his head high and give her a small smile. Though, the twinkle in the corner of his eye was suddenly missing.
"I am, Miss Granger," he admitted flatly and raised his charred hand as if to present them with the evidence of the cause, "though not from old age."
It was Hermione's turn to fight hanging her head on her chest.
To Snape neither the question nor the answer came as a surprise. Ron and Harry, on the other hand, sat gawking at Dumbledore's hand; their thought processes were stuck at the shock that it was actually that bad.
"Perhaps you could tell us how you came to that conclusion?" he asked her, but she knew that he knew everything already and what he really wanted was for Harry to be finally filled in. She obliged, not having a choice, but her mind was still split in two. One part of her was filled with sadness that professor Dumbledore was almost gone, but the other part was filled with sheer determination that she was going to save him. Or at least, that she was going to help professor Snape save him.
The key element that professor Snape was missing in trying to heal the Headmaster was that he didn't know about the Horcruxes; she felt certain about that. And he couldn't be told by Dumbledore because there was the risk of Voldemort finding out that they knew about his dirty secret. So how could she go around that? What kind of magic would help her bind the secret to professor Snape so that he could be safely told without the risk of anyone else ever finding out?
That was her primary concern.
But at the moment, Dumbledore wanted her to tell a story, and so she did.
They listened to her in silence. Snape was leaning his head against the headboard and staring at the ceiling, not wanting to hear how it 'suddenly became obvious' to her that Dumbledore already had one foot in the grave and that the two of them must have made a deal to turn a tactical loss into a strategic victory. For one thing, he didn't think himself and Albus to be obvious. No one else present at the Tower thought that there might be some plot behind what was happening right in front of their eyes.
And yet the girl had still read right through them.
As they were listening to Hermione's explanation, Harry and Ron had wheels turning behind their eyes. Snape was keeping an eye on the boy's reaction with his peripheral vision.
Harry's face changed slowly from disbelief to astonishment as he realised that Snape genuinely wasn't the bad guy.
Snape felt his stomach turn a bit when he saw the first hint of respect for him show itself in the boy's eyes. It showed itself begrudgingly, true, but it was nevertheless there.
As explanations were being made and Dumbledore was filling the last of the gaps, much to Snape's surprise, the man managed to somehow keep himself from bursting out with the story of Snape's gallantry, bravery and regret, so there was no mention of Lilly or any of the things Snape would find too uncomfortable to talk about in front of the children.
Snape managed to come through all the storytelling and questions with a more or less sombre demeanour, though only at one point he couldn't quite contain his irritation as Miss Granger was telling her part.
When Hermione got to the part where she was describing how she couldn't stay put once she realised how things really were between Snape and Dumbledore and said that she decided that she had to act - he snapped at her rather harshly, telling her that she was the brightest idiot of her age, twisting the title she was known for into an insult. Dumbledore started scolding him immediately, but Snape noticed a strange thing as he was listening to the old man chastising him.
For the first time in their whole acquaintance, his short temper and harsh words didn't make the girl feel bitter; instead his reaction drew out a small, reluctant smile out of her.
Miss Granger seemed to have been developing a thicker skin, he noticed.
And he wasn't sure he liked it.
As he knew she would, she came to him the very evening Madame Pomfrey discharged them.
He stood in the middle of the Potions classroom, waving his wand lazily and organising the room when he felt her disturb the wards he set in the hallway.
It was the evening, but the room hadn't been artificially lit yet; instead it was basking in the last of the orange light of the sunset. The faint smell of Valerian root still lingered in the air, left behind by the Drought of Living Death; the last potion of the day which the students have been making under Slughorn's stand-in supervision while Snape was still in the hospital bed seething with boredom and fury which the confinement brought him.
He was more than ready for Miss Granger's arrival; having already decided on what was the biggest (and least inconvenient) sacrifice he was willing to make to disperse the magic that currently bound them together. He contemplated long and hard as to what he might offer the girl before she even presented her own idea (he was adamant on not letting it get to that) and so he settled on offering her his services as a Potions Master; naturally, free of charge.
He decided that offering to provide her with any ingredient or potion that she might desire would be more than enough as payment.
He was even willing to brew Liquid Luck for her, if that was her wish.
Though the very idea of making her such an offer pained him, he was satisfied with his solution once he felt the nudge of the magic in his mind giving him its approval; it meant that such a gesture was grand enough (as he thought with disgust) to repay the life debt he owed.
And it just happened to be the least inconvenient one for him.
Knowing the girl's character fairly well, he was certain that she wouldn't actually come to make demands out of him tonight; instead he felt certain that she would come to discuss what the most painless solution to their mutual problem would be.
For it was a problem.
The magic behind a life debt manifested itself as an ever-present nagging in the back of the affected persons mind. It was somewhat like a heavy-duty version of the feeling that you are meeting someone in town in two days and that you should not forget it.
He knew very well that Miss Granger was feeling the same way and he imagined her relieved and grateful once she heard his suggestion. He was certain that she would accept. That is the reason he felt no worry at all. He was only impatient to get the nasty business over with.
On the table to his left were a few containers of standard potions ingredients meant for student use, currently refilling themselves from the containers from the storage. He was glad that Miss Granger caught him in the moment when he was actually busy, so that she wouldn't get the idea that he was waiting for her, which he wasn't.
The containers were simply in dire need of refilling.
The fact that classes were finished for the year and that Hogwarts Express was leaving in two days and that the job could wait for the entire summer to pass were just nitpicky details.
"Come in," he said to her in an impatient tone of voice that suggested annoyance with her as he worked up a frown on his face. There wasn't anything actually annoying him at the moment; he was simply setting up the usual mood reserved for dealing with students in order to establish an air of authority. It was a fool-proof method for getting the interaction over with quickly. The more nervous they were, the faster they wanted to get away from him.
The girl greeted him and moved behind him as he buried his nose in a ledger and started analysing the lists of ingredients, making sure everything was balanced and also making mental notes as to what ingredients the storage was running low on and would need to be restocked. He was ignoring the girl behind him completely, not caring a bit about the fact that he was being very rude. He was waiting for the sound of nervous fidgeting before he would turn around to address her.
Except, for some reason, Miss Granger seemed to be as still as a marble statue judging from the fact that she made absolutely no sound; in fact, she was so silent that he could have sworn that the girl was even holding her breath. How bloody odd, he thought, now actually getting annoyed. Well then, he reasoned with himself as he sighed, it can't work every single time.
He turned around on his heel and took a good look at the girl. She didn't seem to notice.
She was breathing, sure, but she was not paying the slightest attention to him.
Hell, she might have even forgotten where she was and whom she was with, judging by the look on her face. He certainly failed to put her on edge as he usually did. She seemed calm and aloof; she was sitting on a stool (she must have being moving as silent as a cat, for he certainly did not hear her sit herself on it) and she was staring at the floor with a blank expression on her face.
As she was exhibiting such uncharacteristic behaviour, the only one being put on edge at that moment was himself, so he decided to put the end to the charade.
He cleared his throat, loudly.
No reaction.
"Miss Granger," he barked suddenly, the sound of his voice finally jerking her away from the depths of her thoughts and back to the classroom.
Her eyes immediately locked onto his with a deer in headlights expression. His patience with her odd behaviour was steadily wearing thin; he was not far from barking at her to tell him what was wrong with her. The girl that usually displayed the focus that almost matched his own at the moment seemed to be as far away as Lovegood usually was.
"Sorry, professor," she said sheepishly, though not as sheepishly as he would have liked.
"We both know what you have come here to discuss," he stated and started pacing in front of her. His arms were crossed behind his back, as was his habit, and the fabric of his robes rustled in its usual manner.
At his statement she shifted from one leg to the other and bit her lip. He read her body language as a sign of disagreement, but decided not to pursue it, not making anything of it.
"I believe that I have already worked out a solution that would prove most satisfactory to both of us," he drawled languidly, sounding as sure of himself as he always did; his impatience with her was not reflected in the tone of his voice.
He was just about to deliver the short speech he had prepared, when she decided it was time to interrupt him.
She could tell that professor Snape was working himself up to persuade her to accept whatever his solution was, but she didn't even want to hear him present his idea. She felt very stupid for letting herself get into a daze and she could imagine the things he was thinking about her at the moment; it was probably somewhere in the lines of 'as scatterbrained as Longbottom', and her cheeks coloured a little.
It's just that she couldn't help getting lost in her thoughts, knowing how changed her life was probably going to be in the near future.
"I came to talk to you about the nature of professor Dumbledore's injury and about the treatments you have tried so far," she said much more forcefully than she intended and bit her lip again, her words escaping her mouth in a rush and her face immediately acquiring a guilty look because of her rudeness.
He narrowed his eyes as he stopped his pacing and moved to stand directly in front of her, less than a meter away. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as was his intention.
With how intimidating the man was, she felt fairly certain that he would be able to get the job on any interrogation squad in the world he chose if he ever got bored of being a Potions Master. He was so much taller than her that he towered over her, and she had to tilt her head quite far in order for her eyes to be able to meet his.
"Is that what you wish to request from me as payment for the debt I owe you? To extract form me all the secrets which you wish to know?" he asked quietly.
There was a hint of anger present in his voice. He was trying to hide it, since he didn't hiss or seethe the words in his usual manner when he was particularly displeased, but she noticed it anyway.
She was more than sensible enough to be just a little afraid of him in that moment.
He was the kind of man that always radiated power, no matter what the circumstances. He might not have necessarily been a Dark wizard, but he was always surrounded by a dark cloud of magic that at times seemed like it might be electric in nature. When he found her and the boys with Sirius and professor Lupin in the Shrieking shack years ago, he was so angry and possessed with malicious greed for vengeance against his old foe that Hermione remembered him more as a Dementor than as a man; that impression remaining in the girl even when his broad back was in front of her to shield her from the werewolf.
She might have caught him in a bath with a shower cap on, covered with pink foam and with charmed rubber ducklings swimming around him – even then she had no doubt that there would be something quite deadly about the man.
Extracting secrets, he said. That must have been exactly what he had been afraid of, she realised, even though she had no intention of forcing him to unleash them. She wanted information, it was true, but only what he was willing to give. Surely he would realise that, as well as how important it all is to her once he hears her out, she tried to reassure herself.
"No, Sir, in fact..." she tried again, looking for the right way to phrase it so that he doesn't curse her into oblivion. She was getting more nervous by the minute and the air in the room suddenly became too hot for her; soon enough and she would start to perspire. In addition to that, the scent of the herbs became overpowering, so she was starting to feel a bit nauseous as well.
Her blood pressure was dropping due to the stress. She wanted this to be over soon. Otherwise she would slump to the floor, unconscious, and even the thought of that doing that in front of him was embarrassing enough.
"I believe that the situation that has developed between us can be used in our favour," she said and saw him raise an eyebrow as his face acquired a sceptical look.
"Or, to be more exact, in professor Dumbledore's favour," she added, trying to sound as confident as she could, even though he was looking at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head.
He didn't comment on her statement, choosing instead to wait to see where she was going with this.
"I believe I know what you have been doing wrong," she said.
It was the wrong thing to say apparently, because the expression on his face now turned to livid.
"That is, I am fairly certain that I know why you haven't been able to heal him," she added meekly.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in an effort not to lose his temper in front of the girl. Though it was true that over the years they have seen each other in rather unusual states and situations, he had no desire to add another incident to that list.
As she watched him trying to keep his cool, a thought flashed through Hermione's mind that it really was the time to light the candles because the room was becoming ominously dark. She would have pointed that out to him, if only he didn't look as if he was contemplating where to hide her dead body.
He looked as if he needed a shot of very strong alcohol, but he settled for a deep breath of air; the next best thing available.
"Miss Granger," he started slowly, grinding the syllables of her name through his teeth, "if you truly are privy to such delicate information," he continued, emphasising the word, though he truly meant vital, "I don't see why you have ever hesitated to share such information with me, since it is in everyone's best interest for me to know?" he asked.
Hermione cast her eyes back on the floor in order to avoid his burning gaze. He truly was livid, even though it wasn't actively showing. And she couldn't blame him.
It was her turn to close her eyes and take a deep breath.
"I cannot share this information with you for the same reason as, I believe, professor Dumbledore could never tell you," she said and finally locked her eyes with his, hoping that he would understand what was hidden between the lines of her words.
He understood her meaning, naturally. Of course it had to do with the Dark Lord not finding out; he was no fool or green boy not to know that, but even if she knew what he wasn't supposed to find out, there was no helping it. He could never be told. Because Albus wouldn't allow it, no matter what she came up with.
"But I believe I have figured out a way around that. And that is where the payment of the life debt will come in," she added.
Ah.
There.
That explains her motivations and such strange, fidgety behaviour, he thought.
He also thought her a fool, because whatever she was planning to do would end in failure, he felt more than certain. It wasn't his lack of faith in her intelligence or skill that made him believe that, it was just that he knew that there was no possible way to go around the risk of the Dark Lord digging too deep into his mind one day. If there was, Albus would have figured it out already.
He took a good look at her face.
She looked as uncomfortable as he ever saw her, but he also saw in her eyes the trademark Gryffindor determination and foolhardy bravado; even though there was nothing foolhardy about Miss Granger. It was very prominent that she had the bit between her teeth and he knew that it meant that she was going to see her mission (whatever it was) through, no matter how much resistance he put up (if he chose to).
In fact, no matter what she said about not compelling him to talk to her about the things she wished to know, he knew that he was already at her mercy, even if she wasn't aware of the fact. It's just how the magic behind a life debt worked. It's just that he felt in his bones that this, whatever it was, was already the first instalment of the payment for the life she saved.
"Sir..." she tried again and fought for the right words, "I need to make sure I won't be making a mistake. I need to know that my hypothesis is right, or else the consequences might be disastrous. It will all be for nothing. That is why I need to know what you have tried so far."
"What will be for nothing?" he asked, sounding unhappily resigned to his fate. Dread must have filled him, she thought, as he looked more and more defeated by the minute.
And she thought quite right.
Snape felt almost silly for thinking that she would let him manage the situation his way and that he would be out of it by the time the sun went underneath the horizon.
The thing was, he made the mistake of treating her as just an ordinary student and expected a request (if she made one) that befitted one, when in fact, in the situation they have found themselves in, they were almost equals. It shouldn't have come to him a surprise that she would try to use the circumstances for a greater good and not just her own benefit. Though it was unofficial, she was practically a member of the Order, no matter what Molly harped about them being innocent children.
Even through the daze in which she walked into the classroom he could see a shadow of the wheels that were turning behind her doe eyes, but only now did he became acutely aware of the fact that she had turned their situation into some kind of a two-man mission which he was a part of, but to which the details he was not going to be privy to for at least a while, or so it seemed.
"Please. Tell me about the potions and treatments you have tried so far," she tried one more time.
And so he told her, much to her surprise and relief. He knew that there was no point in fighting it. Whether he liked it or not, the choice for him not to obey her request was not presented to him. The magic was weaving its treads around them and this was just the first step to the completion of the deed of repayment.
Though it felt...heavy, he thought, for a lack of a better word.
For some reason Snape felt that it was heavier even than the Unbreakable vow he made to Narcissa.
He couldn't deny to himself that he had the feeling that something quite large was brewing and that whatever Miss Granger would try to do would probably be life changing for both of them. He accounted it to the possibility of saving Albus' life, which was the only possible result of her plan that could resonate through the magic so much.
Though, even such foreshadowing wasn't enough to awaken even a sliver of optimism inside him.
She stayed with him in the classroom for a little over half an hour after he accepted her request. He lit the candles on the walls and started telling her about the potions he was brewing for Albus in front of the blackboard as if he was holding a regular lecture to a class. She listened patiently and the only interruptions she made were to ask him to go into a bit more detail about this or that potion ingredient, or the method he was using to brew a specific potion.
He saw no real point in what he was doing (after all, he was the experienced Potions Master and she was just a student; no matter how gifted she was, she still lacked the ability to surpass him in the field of Potions making) until he noticed a very peculiar change in her facial expression.
Her eyes were gradually acquiring an unusual gleam and he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the closest way he got to describe the change in her was that she was becoming elated.
The girl was obviously doing her best to keep herself appearing serious and unfazed at all times, as if she really was listening to just another Potions lecture, but he noticed that her mood was changing the further he went into describing the potions. After the told her about the ingredients and the method he used for brewing the fifth one, he realised that she seemed to have heard just about all she had wished to know and remained listening to him describe the preparation of the last two potions out of sheer politeness.
The fact that she might have made a favourable conclusion and that she really might have an idea on the improvement of the treatments certainly made him curious and he was now even more annoyed than before with the fact that she couldn't share the information with him.
Night fell and the shroud of darkness covered the castle grounds entirely by the time she left him to the silence of the classroom and retreated back to Gryffindor tower.
Before she left she explained to him that she would contact him as soon as she combined all the information she just got out of him with her own research - meaning that even weeks might pass by before he was told what was the exact kind of noose she would be putting around his neck and just what kind of lionhearted lunacy he would be forced to commit in order to find a loophole that could be used for him to learn the nature of Dumbledore's curse.
If that even turned out to be possible.
He waved his wand in order to make the cabinet doors shut themselves and the candles to blow themselves out. He went out of the classroom through the hidden corridor that adjoined the classroom to his private quarters, pulling his fingers through his hair in a vain effort to calm himself as he walked.
Long, silky strands of black hair fell back onto his temples, framing his face once again. He tried to tell himself that he wasbeing unreasonably worried about what Miss Granger had set in store for him. He tried to convince himself that he was probably causing himself more stress with just worrying about it, that her actual request would when she finally makes it.
After all, he concluded with a heavy heart, there was only so much she could ask for.