Author's Note
I don't have a beta, so please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
Thank you so much for the support. It inspired me to outline all the chapters for this story. Reviews feed the muse, so please keep them coming!
I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 3: Help
"What are you doing here?" Professor Snape demanded harshly.
What was she doing here – what was he doing here? He'd fled the castle. He'd revealed his true allegiance.
Hermione could barely breathe, let alone speak. The wizard gripping her arm had killed Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard in the world. What or who was she in comparison to that?
The answer was simple – nothing. Particularly in light of his very vocal disdain for her over the years.
He towered over her, crowding into her space. He was so close the scent of sandalwood and musk, probably from his soap, made her dizzy and lightheaded. It spoke of darkness and intrigue, much like the man himself.
"Tell me," he ordered sharply, shaking her slightly. The act confused her, because it didn't hurt, more like he was trying to wake her from the sudden stupor freezing her tongue.
"You killed Dumbledore," she whispered, the words slipping out unbidden.
Snape's nostrils flared and his glare narrowed, shielding his endless gaze from her assessment. Not that she couldn't guess his thoughts. For once his face wasn't the impassive mask he wore whenever he wasn't viewing a student's subpar work. He was furious about her reminder.
"I did intend to warn you, but I had not thought she would arrive so soon," Professor Dumbledore announced loudly.
The arrival of the man she'd just mentioned, as though summoned by her speaking his name, snagged their immediate attention as he appeared in the frame on the far wall. It was a plain black canvas background, and the bright blue and silver robes stood out starkly, the most vibrant sight in the entire bleak room.
All of the Hogwarts professors had portraits in their classrooms in case the head of school needed to communicate with them throughout the day, or in case of accidents. Still, she'd not expected Dumbledore to appear or sound so calm as he addressed the man who killed him.
"You arranged this meeting? That's the real reason why you asked to speak with me here?" Snape scoffed, curling his lips contemptuously. "Why am I not surprised?"
Dumbledore had asked to meet Snape? They were still in communication? Hermione must be missing something.
"I was also hoping to avoid an unpleasant encounter between you and Minerva. She's currently in my office," Dumbledore admitted mildly, offering a placating smile.
"It wouldn't be necessary if you'd simply been honest with her," Snape griped, clearly disgruntled.
Honest? Yes, Hermione was definitely missing something.
"You know why I couldn't," Dumbledore chided, shaking his head.
"Of course, it's much more fun for you –"
"Enough," Dumbledore barked, sounding far sterner than Hermione had ever heard him speak before, even when disciplining the Weasley twins for blowing up a school toilet. "This isn't the time to rehash old arguments. Miss Granger requires your help, Severus."
He could help her?
Snape was who Dumbledore and Professor Black had been referring to? Obviously if it involved potions he would be capable, but they actually expected him to help her in defeating Voldemort?
Why in Merlin's name would he?
Hermione quickly recalled Professor Black's words. 'You've never shied away from forcing him to do loathsome tasks before.'
That couldn't mean what she thought it did. Could it?
"Certainly. I can escort her from the grounds immediately – before the Carrows arrive," Snape answered crisply, crossing his arms. It was a defiant gesture. Or perhaps a protective one, as though brace himself for whatever the headmaster was about to insist upon that he knew he'd be closed to.
"She needs help brewing a potion," Dumbledore declared, ignoring the warning Snape had given about the Carrows. Hermione didn't know who they were, but Snape was probably right that she should avoid them.
"So much for her vaunted skills," Snape sneered, the tension draining a bit from his rigid stance. "I've been trying to tell you all for years she wasn't the genius you made her out to be."
Hermione desperately wished to argue, but knew he had a point. At least with this potion. Though he needn't sound so superior and arrogant when cutting her down. She felt like a cat tossed into a tub of water. Her claws itched to strike out and make a few cuts of her own.
But watching the two men converse was far too fascinating to interrupt for a simple petty slight. Her pride wasn't that important.
"It requires Dark Magic, which you happen to be rather skilled at," Dumbledore said smoothly.
"Amazing how you condemn my knowledge in one moment, then make use of it in the next when it's convenient for you," Snape taunted.
Hermione had heard from Harry about the time Snape had been angry over Sirius's escape. She thought she might be seeing a glimpse of that now. Though this was laced with undisguised hurt as well.
"We all have our parts to play," Dumbledore replied gravely, a frown marring his face.
Was that right? Did Dumbledore make use of Snape's familiarity with the Dark Arts when they were needed? Had Snape been willing, or just done as ordered when he'd spied?
"And mine is to be your puppet," Snape sneered, staring hard at the floor.
"A role you accepted freely. In fact, you even begged for the chance to do whatever I required of you," Dumbledore intoned gravely, judgement and condemnation woven through the heavy statement.
Snape looked as though he'd been dealt a fatal blow. Hermione had never been able to resist aiding a wounded creature. The urge to speak in his defence, as she had so many times in the past, was strong. But this was Snape. He'd chosen Voldemort. Hadn't he?
"But you killed him…?" Hermione repeated, but this time it came out sounding more like a question even to her own ears.
"A strategic move," Snape said dismissively, waving a hand airly, as though she were no more than a buzzing fly and her curiosity a nuisance.
The casualness provoked Hermione. "There's nothing strategic about betrayal," she said fiercely, "particularly not when it leaves us without our best defence."
"Of course you would view the situation in black and white," he huffed, shaking his head at her. She felt incredibly naive when he looked at her almost pityingly, and she felt a rush of heat stain her cheeks.
"Miss Granger, have I ever struck you as a fool?" Dumbledore asked carefully.
"You've made a habit of trusting when it's not always in the best interest of others," she retorted, and even Snape snorted quietly in agreement.
She suspected that Snape didn't belong in that category, after all, but there were others who did. Peter Pettigrew came to mind first. But so did Hagrid.
The half giant had a good heart, certainly, but he was rash and impulsive. He drank too much and divulged secrets that had led to people getting hurt multiple times. And still Dumbledore trusted him with vital information.
"Mistakes I've learned from, or do you think it is by chance that the rest of the Order are ignorant of what you and Harry are attempting?" Dumbledore said, his image staring her down in a way that would have left her a cowering, stuttering mess when he'd been alive. Somehow, the portrait lacked the same impact.
"Always. Every time. I always defended his actions," she stated, glancing quickly at Snape's impassive expression. He appeared bored as they discussed him. If the same conversation were taking place about her, she'd have been raging. He likely was, for all he showed it.
"And you were right to do so. Nothing is as it seems. Trust that I will always do my best to help Harry triumph," Dumbledore said plainly, beseeching her to have faith in him once more. "You cannot do this without Severus."
Hermione weighed the situation as Snape picked up the book she'd dropped. It was still open to the potion she'd been reading over, and she watched as his finger slowly tracked down the page. His brow furrowed as he studied it, and his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.
"How," he began, voice low and dangerous, "exactly were you expecting me to aid her?"
"She needs ingredients –"
"You are aware that I do not possess all of the ingredients required," he interrupted, taking a single step towards the portrait.
"You can venture into Knockturn Alley without drawing suspicion, whereas she cannot. Nor can she brew it herself."
"Of course she can't," he hissed, snapping the book shut with an ominous thud.
Hermione bristled at the dismissive retort. He truly thought her intelligence beneath him. It rankled, like sandpaper grating her skin until she was so much raw meat.
"It must be done," Dumbledore sighed, ducking his head.
"And the fresh blood? Where did you imagine she would obtain that?" Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but Snape headed him off, adding, "You know what's sold in Knockturn Alley isn't fresh enough for this to work, and I will not abide someone being raped to obtain it."
Dumbledore glanced pointedly at Hermione and Snape snorted derisively, glancing her over slowly from head to toe.
"Who were you planning to dupe into helping?" he asked her, smirking cruelly. "No, wait, let me guess – Mr. Weasley."
Hermione felt her lips part as she frowned. What did he mean, help? What did Ron have to do with any of this?
Snape's head tipped slightly as he took her in, sensing her confusion. She dreaded when he smiled darkly, knowing this next bit would be like a shark scenting blood in the water. He was ready to rip her apart.
"You can't just cut your hand to collect it," he explained, and Hermione inhaled sharply, understanding slamming into her with the force of a wrecking ball. Snape chuckled, though without a hint of amusement. "I see. You didn't know. I'm sure our departed headmaster merely forgot to shed light on all the details when he made his pitch – a pesky habit of his – so let me clarify it for you. It must be collected immediately after a maidenhead has been breached for the first time, and –"
She felt affronted for being called out on her ignorance and presumed innocence, and lashed out, insisting, "I'm sure Ron is more than capable –"
"- and the witch must have achieved orgasm during intercourse prior to the collection," he finished clinically.
"Thank you for the additional information, Professor Snape," she said brusquely, pursing her lips and willing the flush from her cheeks. "I will be sure to let Ron know as well."
Never in her life would she have imagined having a conversation such as this with a former teacher. Merlin, he must think her pathetic for misunderstanding and for never having got up to anything during her time at Hogwarts. And now for him to know she planned to beg her friend to help since his relationship with Lavender made it abundantly clear he didn't actually fancy her – it was utterly mortifying!
"That selfish buffoon wouldn't be capable of making you orgasm, no untried teen could, and it will be a waste of an effort, and you'd be back at square one. Or did you miss that part of the instructions?" he asked snarkily.
It felt incredibly disloyal to Ron, but Hermione suddenly remembered the way Ron had tried to devour Lavender's face when kissing her and she recalled feeling slightly repulsed by the sight. He lacked finesse. She'd always assumed that wouldn't have mattered if they'd been together, because they'd be truly in love. Neither of them would really know what to do, so they'd learn together.
It would be for their sakes rather than a potion. Or it should have been.
But Snape was right. There was no way Ron would know how to do this the way the potion required. The first time was going to be difficult and painful, and Ron simply couldn't do it properly. Not at this point in his life. He'd be clumsy and fumbling, and yes, probably unintentionally selfish.
Was Snape capable? Dumbledore clearly thought so. Or was for her sake. Was Dumbledore aware that she used to have a crush on the man? Lockhart hadn't been the only professor she'd fancied, though with the first it had been entirely about vanity. With Snape it had been something about the intelligence and confidence he displayed when commanding a classroom. Not to mention the timber of his voice.
Merlin, she was a sucker for the way he spoke. That alone might be enough for her to satisfy most of the necessary requirements – so long as he wasn't belittling her as he had a tendency to do.
"I saw it. If you recall, I never missed a step in potions," Hermione said primly, very aware he was watching her closely.
"I seem to recall an incident involving cat hair that I had to rectify. You certainly missed a step there," he challenged, raising a single inquiring brow. Damn. He was right about that one.
"Severus, stop taunting Miss Granger. You know precisely what must be done," Dumbledore ordered, cutting in before she could try to justify the mistake she'd made years ago. "You can collect what is needed afterwards then prepare the potion with her help."
The reminder sobered Snape immediately, and he stared incredulously at the portrait. Apparently he'd not believed Dumbledore intended for him to help her in every way necessary.
"You can't be serious," he denied, shaking his head emphatically.
"If you don't, this will all have been for nothing, and you would be reneging on your vow to her," Dumbledore said meaningfully.
Snape exploded. His arm shot out to swipe a shelf, knocking all of the glass jars to the floor. Glass shattered and liquid sprayed. Bubbles hissed and fizzed as the contents mixed, and Hermione hoped none of the fumes were toxic.
"How dare you throw that in my face after everything you forced me to do!" Snape snarled, stalking closer to the frame housing the man he murdered. Somehow, the sight just seemed to upset him more. Or, possibly, it was the impotence he felt since he couldn't technically inflict any more damage to the wizard. He turned, pacing quickly back and forth across the classroom in agitation.
Hermione stared, stunned into silence. Snape's rage and anger was palpable. If she thought she'd caught a glimpse of it earlier, it had been nothing compared to this.
Snape's words also brought with them further understanding on her part. Neither had come right out and said it, though it'd been hinted at. But here was all the proof she needed to believe. Dumbledore had wanted Snape to kill him. He'd ordered it. Snape was still on their side. He'd not betrayed them.
'Please, Severus.' Wasn't that what Harry said Dumbledore's last words were? What if they'd not been a plea for help, but a reminder to do as instructed.
It all came down to a matter of perspective. And this one changed everything.
What had that taken for him to paint himself the villain? Had he known everyone would turn on him, and yet he'd still done it?
Hermione doubted she'd ever be brave enough to dare the same.
Snape's earlier comment about seeing everything in black or white came back to her. She'd always followed an internal moral compass, where things were right or wrong. But look at what she'd done to her parents. Where did that fall?
Shades of grey.
That was the saying. The world was painted in shades of grey.
Hermione had always thought it trash. A convenient way to excuse selfish or ambiguous actions. But wasn't this a perfect example? Here she was considering using questionable ingredients and having sex with someone she didn't love and still wasn't entirely sure she trusted, but it was for a potion that would defeat Voldemort.
Did the ends justify the means?
Not always, she still believed that, but perhaps she could sacrifice a bit of herself, without hurting anyone else and that would be all right.
Assuming, of course, that Snape agreed to help.
"Severus," Dumbledore said sternly, holding out his palms in an almost pleading way. "Severus, you promised."
Promise? Vow? Who had he made his vow to? Dumbledore had said her earlier. The fleeting glimpse into the private man was intriguing.
"Didn't you meddle enough while you were alive? Must you continue pulling my strings from the grave as well?"
His fist slammed onto the desk with the last word hard enough to make her jump.
"If you refuse and they fail, it was all for nothing. Those we've lost will have died for nothing, and you will remain at fault," Dumbledore insisted, lifting his hand to ward off whatever response Snape was about to make. "That is not a manipulation, only a reminder of the truth."
Snape's shoulders slumped with resignation, the fight draining from him in a whoosh. But then he turned to her, and surprise flickered over his face as though just realising she'd not actually agreed to anything yet.
How nice to be remembered.
"Miss Granger?" he said stiffly, almost silently beseeching her to refuse and free them both from the headmaster's urging.
Hermione bit her lip. Was there anyone else she trusted to do this? Was there anyone else capable of helping? Would he hate her more than he already did for putting him in this position?
Well, the last probably wasn't possible. He held absolutely no tender feelings for her. As for the rest, not a single person came to mind.
"I'll do whatever it takes to help Harry win," she said, tipping her chin up defiantly.
Snape merely nodded his acceptance. Then self-deprecatingly, he muttered, "Even me, it seems."
What was she supposed to say? That she wanted to shag him? He'd never believe it, even if the thought had crossed her mind once or twice the previous summer when she'd seen the twins' Patented Daydream Charm. One of the scenarios had involved a classroom, and Snape had been the first wizard to pop into her mind. At the time, she'd explained it away as resulting from the setting, but now that they were discussing making it a reality, her heart had already taken off at a gallop.
"Who better than a skilled potioneer?" she tried awkwardly when it appeared he was waiting for a reply.
"Flattery? Don't bother," he scoffed, baring his teeth in disgust at her weak attempt.
"Hmph," she huffed, planting her balled fists on her hips, then demanding, "will you help me or not?"
"It appears that I have no choice," he said simply.
"You do," she insisted, feeling an ache of sympathy for this man in the pit of her stomach. So much had apparently already been asked of him, and she was asking for even more. Snape might complain and resent it all, but he still did it. What sort of character did that show?
"Debatable. The orgasm can't be induced by a potion or your blood would be rendered inert. Can you put aside your personal thoughts and feelings enough to make this worth it?"
Hermione considered the question seriously. Could she?
The answer was simple.
To stop Voldemort – yes.
"Yes," she stated firmly.
Less than a second later a shadow brushed her mind, cool and gentle. Legilimency. Why? To make sure she really was willing? She was, and she laid bare her resolve for him to riffle through.
His retreat was slow, as though reluctant to part from such an open book, though surely he found nothing of interest. Especially considering her substandard and lacklustre thoughts.
"Then come with me," he said, gesturing towards a door that appeared in the wall as though summoned.