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!

So I always have a theme song that inspires my stories, and I usually listen while writing a chapter. For this story, there are two songs. They won't make complete sense until the story is over, but I figured I'd go ahead and share them with you guys in case anyone wants to listen while reading. The first is I Found by Amber Run. The second is Little Did I Know by Julia Michaels. I hope you give them a listen and see if you think they fit up to this point :)

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 20: Need

"Where have you been? We thought you'd been caught!" Harry yelled, starting to pace agitatedly in front of her.

"Harry was about to storm Snape's office," Ron added, crossing his arms and staring her down.

Timidly, Hermione tried, "I-I had the cloak. I wasn't caught." All technically true, if a bit liberal.

"You'd—"

"We woke up and realised you weren't back yet. You left the office about a minute after we found your name. Otherwise…," Ron trailed off, leaving her to imagine worst case scenarios of Harry being discovered by the wrong people.

It wasn't the first time she'd forgotten to take the Map, thanks to Neville having the idea to use it to monitor detentions and the Carrows' movements, but it was the first time she'd been gone long enough to give the boys cause for alarm and a reason to look for her. A mistake she couldn't afford to make again. She'd have to be significantly more careful from here on out.

"What were you doing there?" Harry demanded, pausing long enough for her to catch how pinched and concerned he looked.

"I went to speak to Dumbledore," she said, thinking quickly, but she winced when she noticed how squeaky her lie sounded. Clearing her throat, Hermione tried again, recalling everything that had been going on the other time she'd gone to him as she sought a valid reason to take such a risk. "His portrait, that is."

"Why?" Harry asked, but at least he sounded more intrigued than angry this time.

"You said he'd already searched the castle. I was hoping to ask where he looked so that we don't waste time looking in the same places. I also wondered if he knew more about the diadem," Hermione answered quickly, hoping they'd attribute the wavering thread to nerves. They both claimed she was a terrible liar.

"What'd he say?" Ron asked eagerly, apparently thinking this was actually rather clever of her.

"I didn't get to ask. Snape was there." She shrugged, hoping that'd be the end since she obviously hadn't been "caught".

"I can't believe you took the chance of running into him," Harry muttered, raking a hand through his messy hair.

"I thought he'd stay in Hogsmeade after escorting the students," Hermione said defensively. "The teachers always did that in the past."

"Well they aren't exactly best buds with Snape since he killed Dumbledore," Ron stated bluntly with all the tact of a sledgehammer pounding a nail.

"Clearly," Hermione remarked dryly, pursing her lips.

"Why didn't you just slip out after he went to bed?" Harry asked, still stuck on what he perceived to be a close call.

For the first time, Hermione appreciated the size of the Map. It was too small to know where people were standing relative to one another when they were in the same room. And, if more than five people were in the same room, the names would all overlap and become illegible. Even better, she'd already figured out the Marauders hadn't known enough about the Head office to include the Headmaster's apartment, so when she visited it, it just looked like she was still in the office on the Map.

"He was up all night working. I stood in a corner the whole time just hoping not to get caught," she answered, fighting a blush as thoughts over what she'd really been up to threatened to intrude her mind.

"What was he working on?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Here was perhaps a chance to sway Harry about Snape or at least plant some seeds of doubt over his allegiance to Voldemort. Hermione wouldn't dare try if not for McGonagall yesterday. But Snape needed this. He deserved it.

Hermione hesitated, carefully calculating her words, shaping them from the truth, even if altering when the event occurred by a couple days. "I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you."

"Nothing he does would surprise me," Harry insisted, a scowl pinching his face.

"He was removing the names of the incoming Muggleborn first years from the list of students attending next year," Hermione said carefully.

Snape had met with the Heads of Houses to give out the names of the incoming Muggleborn students a few days ago. Typically, the families were contacted by one of the Heads of Houses over the Christmas Hols and again over the Easter Hols to give them time to adjust to the idea of their child having magical abilities and give them multiple opportunities to ask questions before deciding if they wanted to send their child to Hogwarts. It was different from the procedure for Pureblood and Half-blood children, who got their letters by owl over the summer before the first term since they already knew all about the wizarding world.

This year, however, Snape had refused to give out the names, stating he needed to talk to the Dark Lord about what to do first. He'd not said any more than that, which was probably why McGonagall was so furious. Truthfully, Snape had confessed to Hermione that he planned to remove all of the names and tell Voldemort that this was proof that his campaign to purify the wizarding world was working, since even Hogwarts no longer recognized those born outside of established families.

He'd insisted this was a necessary precaution. As he'd pointed out, they still had three Horcruxes to destroy. At this rate, it was going to take years to accomplish. They had to start thinking about long term plans that would preserve something of the wizarding world that would provide a foundation worth rebuilding on.

It was a gamble, but Snape was confident he could spin it in a way that would play to Voldemort's ego and not have him question it – especially if he did it in front of an audience of Death Eaters.

Privately, Hermione was terrified for him. But she also couldn't justify arguing against the idea. Not when it could mean exchanging one life for nearly three dozen innocent children – even if that one life was Snape's and losing him would leave Hogwarts in limbo.

"Why would he do that?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Perhaps he doesn't want to see more children get sent to Azkaban?" Hermione quipped, the bite of sarcasm sharpening the edge of her words until they nearly visibly pricked her friend.

"Right. Because he's always shown such an affinity to the students here at Hogwarts," Harry argued, dislike for the man carved across his features and glinting in his emerald gaze.

"Not coddling first years and actively taking part in sending them to prison are two very different things," Hermione persisted, not backing down.

This was a familiar position for her. How many times over the years had Harry rushed to judgement, ready to condemn those he disliked for every imagined transgression he could heap upon them? For such a natural leader, it wasn't one of his finer qualities. Fortunately, he had fairly good instincts and didn't often misjudge people.

Harry's incredulous look and gaping mouth prompted her to add, "Snape was never needlessly cruel. Apart from you and Neville, and no offence, but I think Neville was more a result of worrying for everyone else's safety."

"Because bullying him was going to help him make a potion," Harry huffed.

"Well, no," Hermione allowed, pursing her lips as she recalled all of her own issues with Snape's teaching tactics. Not that she wasn't experiencing the effects of her own vanishing patience as she tried to help students this year. Years of the same was probably enough to make anyone cranky when faced with a student who displayed zero progress and accidentally endangered his peers on a regular basis. "He didn't use the most productive or appropriate approach with Neville, but that doesn't mean he isn't doing anything to try and protect the other students here at Hogwarts."

"I'm sure the detentions we've heard about mean nothing. Just like I'm sure the Muggleborns in Azkaban this year have a lot to say about how he tried to help them," Ron pointed out, ever helpful.

"Maybe he didn't know it was going to happen in time to do anything about it," she tried valiantly, feeling her grasp on this opportunity slipping through her fingers like poorly cupped water.

"He's Headmaster," Harry stated flatly, viewing her as they would one of Hagrid's "beloved" pets. Bewildering with a high probability of losing a limb.

"That doesn't mean anything. We all know who's actually in charge," she reminded, willing them to recognize that what she was saying wasn't as far-fetched as they were acting like it was.

"Look, Hermione, I know you don't like to think of any of your professors as the bad guy, but—"

"I'm not oblivious, Ron. I'm just suggesting we might not be seeing the full picture here. Dumbledore kept a lot of secrets… Maybe—"

"Maybe his murderer isn't evil?" Harry interrupted nastily.

"Never mind," she sighed, dropping into a seat. She hated giving up, but they weren't going to hear her without some sort of proof, and that was something she didn't currently have. "Any idea where we should look today?"

The boys exchanged looks, but fortunately didn't push, and Harry finally suggested, "I was thinking Flitwick's office. I've never actually been in there, but he might have something on display?"

"I was always more focused on discussing my exam results. It's worth a look," Hermione agreed, keeping her voice carefully neutral and bracing herself for more disappointment.

Display? Really? As if nobody would have noticed a "lost" diadem sitting on the Head of Ravenclaw's shelves all these years.

But while neither Harry nor Ron seemed inclined to give Snape the benefit of the doubt, at least they both seemed to have forgotten that she'd been out all night – in Snape's office.

Hermione frowned. Snape wasn't there. It was nearly two in the morning, and he wasn't in his office or the adjoining apartment. The solitary spaces were more desolate and vacant than ever.

Studying the Map, Hermione discovered he wasn't in the castle at all.

Worry slammed into her chest, knocking into her ribcage like a trapped bird desperately struggling to escape. She could hardly breathe as possibilities bombarded her.

The list of Muggleborn students. He had to be meeting with Voldemort about it. She'd known he would be soon, and Harry mentioned Voldemort had returned just that afternoon. Apparently, he didn't waste any time in gathering his followers.

Since nearly getting caught by Harry and Ron, she'd been waiting until they fell asleep to slip out, and then staying out just long enough to give Snape an update on their progress searching the castle and share a quick moment. He'd been more closed off and remote than usual, deliberately reestablishing some emotional distance between them this week. Not that she minded.

She'd been right to question whether or not she should have stayed the other night. And she was immensely glad she'd not tried to talk to him about it. Nothing between them needed to change, so there was no sense in upsetting the balance between them unnecessarily.

When he was around, things were easier, more natural, than she ever could have imagined – especially given her only frame of reference being Viktor and Ron. With each of them, communication had been a constantly frustrating and unfulfilling challenge. The last thing she wanted was to complicate the best thing in her life by giving Snape the impression she'd developed a bit of a crush on him. He'd—

"I hadn't expected the two of you to become involved beyond what was necessary."

Hermione's heart leapt at the sound of the soft, grandfatherly voice. Dumbledore. She'd not seen him in Snape's office for a few weeks. But he was here now, examining her like a pinned butterfly with its wings on display.

How long had he been there? Was it as easy to decipher her fear for Snape as she guessed it was?

She hated feeling so vulnerable. Every thought she'd just had scribbled across her forehead more boldly than her SNEAK curse. If she wasn't prepared to discuss the intricacies of her relationship with Snape directly, then she certainly had no wish to speak with Dumbledore about the man in question.

"But then…war often provides a backdrop for heightened emotions and unusual relationships."

"I wouldn't describe it as a relationship," Hermione replied stiffly.

One of the other portraits tittered, the primly-dressed, white-haired occupant covering her mouth like a schoolgirl caught gossiping in the back of the classroom as Hermione glared at her.

A number of the frames were filled tonight, many more than she'd grown accustomed to seeing. Probably, it was because the castle was nearly empty and there was no need to monitor the halls, so they'd returned to their usual routines. This conversation was quite likely what they considered ordinary entertainment.

"Wouldn't you?" he mused, raising a snowy brow that resembled a puff of cotton. "Hmmm. My mistake. I should have known."

Why? Because he was aware of Snape's feelings for Lily?

Or because he was as aware as Hermione that the current adrenaline-fueled circumstances were hopefully temporary. She'd read countless books where the couple got together while trying to defeat the bad guy, but the story always ended when the threat was eliminated. It had to. Otherwise, you'd see the couple fall apart when they tried to transition into a normal life. Without the adrenaline and danger, the couples didn't have enough in common to sustain anything long term.

Not that it mattered. None of that applied to her and Snape. They were just helping each other stay alive and figure out a way to defeat Voldemort. Afterwards… Well….

"I doubt he would appreciate you discussing your opinion on the matter with me," Hermione said, knowing how correct she was. Snape would be furious if he thought Dumbledore was meddling in what they were doing. Already, Dumbledore had done enough where they were concerned.

"No. No, he certainly would not take kindly to that," Dumbledore sighed, ducking his head like a little boy with chocolate smears on his face after being told no dessert.

He was silent after that, content to watch her fidget and glance repeatedly at the clock as two a.m. turned into three a.m. Minutes marked the passage of time as the night sky tracked the approaching dawn through the window. Several times she was tempted to ask if he knew anything, but he spoke before she could gather her courage.

"I had wondered if he'd still be able to help after he broke from the Order."

"He helps as much as he can," she murmured, resisting correcting him. Snape didn't break from the Order, Dumbledore forced him to become their enemy.

"Yes."

"Do you ever regret putting him in the position he is now?" The question was out before she could stop it.

"Severus is a very complicated man. He is also extremely capable and intelligent. He makes his own decisions and does not do anything he is unwilling to do," Dumbledore said carefully, with no small measure of pride. "He chose this path to redemption."

It was easy to be angry with the wizard when she watched Harry struggle to shoulder a burden even fully trained wizards weren't capable of carrying, or when she saw Snape slam his fist into a wall in helpless frustration because he had to maintain his cover despite the astronomical costs. But for the first time, she actually sympathised with Dumbledore. He truly cared about both of those wizards, and believed they could pull off the impossible, so he trusted them to handle it, and helped as much as he could. Were Hermione's actions truly all that different?

The realisation loosened her tongue enough to remark, "I'm not so certain I agree regarding his…willingness. His honour seems to frequently demand he do more than he wishes."

Snape was deeply lonely and seriously invested in trying to follow Dumbledore's orders. Hermione thought it was probably because of Lily. Or maybe it had started because of her, but Snape was the type to see something through to the end. He knew right from wrong. Whatever had initially prompted him to turn from Voldemort, he believed in stopping him for his own reasons now.

"So it does." The piercing blue of Dumbledore's eyes wasn't dimmed in the slightest as they peered at her from behind his half-moon spectacles. They saw far too much. For the first time, she wondered if he was still capable of performing Legilimency as a portrait. It was an irrational thought, she knew. He was just more perceptive than most. His next question confirmed as much as he cocked his head, slowly asking, "Miss Granger, how much has he shared of his history?"

The probing reminded her of how betrayed Snape would feel if he learned she'd discussed him behind his back, so instead she said, "We think You-Know-Who found Ravenclaw's diadem and that it's here in the castle. We're having trouble locating it, however, and the break is nearly over."

She could hardly believe the three weeks had gone by so quickly. It was nearly the middle of January. The students were returning this weekend with classes resuming the following Monday.

"Ravenclaw's diadem," Dumbledore repeated slowly, puzzling the idea over.

"Did she leave it to Hogwarts?"

"No," he murmured, shaking his head. "It vanished with her daughter, but… I wonder… Hmm."

"Her daughter?" This was the first Hermione had heard of Rowena having a daughter.

"Helena died prior to Rowena. Perhaps, you should check—"

The opening door stopped him from saying more, and they both watched as Snape slowly entered the room, each step deliberate and tense. The first thing she noted was his ashen pallor and the pain-etched brackets framing his grimace. Then the rest of him registered. His balky robes shrouded him, swallowing the light illuminating the room like a black hole greedy to consume everything within the vicinity. By his side was his terrifying mask, the symbol of the Death Eaters, crumpled in his fist, and his long hair was damp with sweat, several strands clinging to his forehead.

She'd guessed he was meeting with Voldemort, but now she knew for certain he had been.

"You're here," he breathed, the words barely audible, and yet she heard the surprise regardless as he swiftly looked towards Dumbledore.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, approaching him cautiously.

"Anything to report?" Dumbledore inquired calmly, not letting the concern Hermione was now positive he felt, as much as a portrait was capable of feeling, at least, show as he maintained a practical, commanding position.

"His trip did not produce the desired results, and we were all treated to the Dark Lord's favourite form of motivation when he was told that Potter's whereabouts are as yet unknown," Snape relayed, unbuttoning his robes deftly as he sneered his displeasure. His shirt was unfastened next, and he twisted, displaying his back to her as he finished speaking.

"You're bleeding. Here, let me," Hermione instructed needlessly, moving to inspect the damage marring the pale canvas that he was already trusting her to tend to. Cuts and scrapes and bruises, all superficial, as though acquired in a fall or from roughhousing, were the extent of the damage, but given his rigid stance, he had to be in pain from the sheer quantity.

"Draco got the brunt of it," he added, lips thinning until they nearly disappeared when he faced Dumbledore.

Snape was clearly very upset over this, and she wondered at the show of concern for the boy who'd long been her rival. She'd always just assumed he favoured Malfoy because he was Head of Slytherin and doing so protected his cover. But this was more than that. He really cared about Malfoy.

"Vulnera Sanentur," she murmured, repeating the spell as she traced along each cut across the expanse of his shoulders. Only one was still oozing, tiny glistening drops of crimson like faceted rubies.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, but Snape held up a hand to stall him.

Gently, he touched Hermione's arm, softly requesting, "Could you get a bruise salve from my bathroom and a Pain Relief Potion?"

"Yes," she agreed, giving the two a moment to speak, though their voices chased her from the room, enlightening her more than they probably intended.

"He made his choices."

"He chose not to kill you."

"I'm no longer in a position to offer protection, and neither are you."

"I know my position without you reminding me of what I am and am not capable of." The last was hissed in unmistakable frustration, his acerbic side full out.

"Severus, there is too much at stake to take unnecessary risks. We're too close for you to break your vow now. You know what I'm referring to. She died because—"

"How dare you!"

Hermione's hand stilled as she reached for the precisely labelled jar holding the bruise salve, already having collected the potion, but Snape's enraged response had her rushing back into the room, the cool surface quickly warming in her clenched fist.

Several times she'd seen Snape angry over the years, but this was different. He was seconds from blasting Dumbledore's portrait into oblivion.

She was by his side before anymore was said and he downed the potion she offered in a single gulp.

The salve was clear and oily on her fingers, and Snape didn't protest as she began applying the thick cream. Crisp peppermint scented the air as the red smudges vanished, as though erased with each pass of her hand over his alabaster skin, but the tension continued to linger, a coiled spring barely confined within his rangy build.

"You're teetering, Severus. Things have drastically – unexpectedly – changed in recent months. A reminder of what's at stake didn't seem amiss," Dumbledore finally tried, an apology or explanation, Hermione couldn't tell. Possibly it was meant as both, in some language known only to them, born from necessity and years of camaraderie.

"I do not need a reminder to behave like a bastard. It's who I am and who I've always been." The bitter conclusion unsettled Hermione. She longed to refute it, to weigh in, but this was between them. Dumbledore needed to repair the demand he'd inadvertently done to the man he relied on.

Hermione was so used to defending others, of giving voice to those who were incapable of speaking for themselves, that it took all of her willpower to stay silent now. But she had to. Snape was more than capable of speaking for himself, and he would not appreciate her tramping over him to air her thoughts. It would be the height of disrespect in his viewpoint.

Private.

All she could do was voice her differing opinions privately and strive to convince him. It would be up to him then if he chose to believe her and decide how he'd like to handle it.

For him, she could withhold her natural instincts and do what he needed instead of ploughing ahead in a personal situation that didn't actually involve her at all. It spoke volumes, it was incredible, really, that he was even allowing her to witness this interaction.

But he was. Because they were a team. And beyond all reasoning, he trusted her.

"Try Ravenclaw Tower. You'll find what you need there," Dumbledore said wearily, startling Hermione. She'd not expected to be addressed so frankly, seeing as everyone had been doing an annoyingly admirable job of ignoring her up to this point.

But when she glanced up from Snape to inform Dumbledore that they'd already checked the Tower, it was to find he'd hastily departed. So had the other former Heads for that matter.

Hermione returned her attention to Snape, scanning his torso for any injuries that she may have missed. Only two minor bruises lingered, and she set about applying the fresh-scented paste at once. "This was all because he can't find Harry?"

"He…didn't appreciate my news of the incoming students," Snape admitted, staring enigmatically at the recently vacated canvas behind his desk.

Her voice trembled in fear as she forced out the question she'd been dreading hearing the answer to since they'd initially devised the plan. "Then he's going to send them to Azkaban?"

"No," he denied at once, shaking his head before confirming, "no. He didn't publicly question my announcement, but he did keep me behind. He made it abundantly clear that I am not to overstep in such a way again or the school will be looking for a new Headmaster.

"It was only because his followers were so elated by the sign of their superiority that he let it stand. A victory is still a victory."

"He hurt you because it wasn't his idea," Hermione guessed, carefully replacing the lid on the ceramic jar she held to give her hands something to do lest she embrace the man before her with an overly theatrical hug in some vain attempt to offer comfort.

"I'll survive," he said, brushing off the physical ordeal he'd just endured.

But she knew it was still weighing on him. Probably equally as much as the verbal and emotional ordeal he'd just experienced with Dumbledore.

"And so will they," she pointed out, studying him closely. He was so closed off just then, but some small part of him was screaming for help. It was a part she couldn't, and didn't want, to ignore. "Can I do anything?"

"You can let me shag you raw," he quipped, finally turning his head to truly look at her for the first time since returning.

"All right," she said simply, though her heart had already begun racing in anticipation.

Severus released a gruff laugh without a trace of genuine humour. "Granger, I don't think you understand. I don't have a shred of gentleness or patience in me right now," he warned.

"This arrangement is about helping each other for exactly this reason," she answered, dropping the jar heedlessly and tracing her hands down his flat abdomen then hooking her fingers into the waist of his pants. But he caught her hands, stilling them before she could undress him further. His uncertainty, because of his current emotional state or because Dumbledore got into his head, as he assessed her prompted her to add, "This is what you need right now, and I said yes."

"Mutually beneficial agreement," he stated flatly.

"Yes," she agreed, a thrill of anticipation for what he had in store for her sent her already racing heart galloping. It pounded steadily in her core, her body immediately responding and aching for him.

With a fleeting glance at the wall over his desk to ensure they were alone, he stepped towards her, nudging her until she'd walked far enough to have her back flush against the door to the office. Then he paused, a single brow lifting in silent question.

"Snape, fuck me," she commanded, and was rewarded by the sight of his pupils dilating until the black swallowed the barely fainter irises.

Gently, he lifted her arms, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other lifted his wand to secure them with magic. Hermione's breath caught at the unexpected move, and she tugged experimentally, but the restraints held. Excitement was a raging fire in her blood, setting it to boil and igniting her passion.

Snape watched her carefully, giving her the opportunity to protest or change her mind, but she met his gaze and very deliberately remained quiet. This was so different from how they'd always done things. And she was far too curious and hot at this point not to want to see where this would take them.

He made short work of her jeans, shoving them down as he claimed her mouth, feasting on her. Hermione kicked her foot, freeing one leg from the confining fabric, and the second it was gone, Snape's hand hooked the back of her knee and had it up around his hip. Then he was inside her with a sure thrust that seated him fully within her slick channel without preamble or hesitation.

"Oh!" she gasped, startled by the swift joining that pressed her harder against the door.

With her arms suspended, her full weight came down on Snape and he felt like he was deeper than he'd ever been before. He filled her completely.

The thought was lost an instant later as his hips began rocking, riding her hard and fast. Knowing up from down ceased to be possible. Her entire body became a giant electrified nerve. One Snape was setting aflame.

His hand found her breast, and he kneaded it roughly through her jumper until she was panting and gasping, her back arching into his palm. Seeming to sense she needed more, he tugged the stretchy cotton down, exposing her chest. Bending forward, he nipped her, just hard enough to leave a mark and make her whimper.

Her inner walls clenched, squeezing his length, and she dug her heels into his bum, urging him to continue. If it was possible, he did, both of his hands finding her hips to hold her as he poured himself into this moment. Into her.

She tugged on her wrists, wanting to touch him, but they remained locked above her. The frustration in being denied made her desire spike, and she rolled her hips, meeting him as he bucked into her. The movement rubbed her clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves until black spots danced across her eyes like puffs of dandelion fluff floating in the breeze.

"Bloody hell," she groaned, knowing she'd be walking bow legged after this, and not caring in the least. And that was if she'd even be able to stand at all.

"Yes," he groaned in agreement.

Quick and powerful, he claimed her entirely. A cathartic release and reaffirmation of having some control in at least one area of life. And a part of her relished being able to give him this opportunity, tonight in particular. She was in his corner, even when it seemed like no one else was and nothing else was going right in the world.

As soon as she had the thought, he kissed her. It was hungry and wild, their harsh breaths mingling as they came undone together, his hot seed filling her and her limbs quivering from the strength of her release.

"Fuck, Snape," she gasped, breathless, head lolling back against the paneled surface of the wooden door.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders moments later, freed from their invisible confines, and her fingers immediately wove through his hair to cradle his head. His response was to press fully against her, his face burying itself in her neck, and his arms wrapping tightly around her.

He was obviously still wound up from the events of the evening and the less than encouraging talk with Dumbledore. She could take a minute and be there for him.

"I could probably stay another half hour," she offered a few minutes later.

"You don't have to return immediately?" The question was disturbingly tentative. She hated how unsure he sounded, so unlike himself.

The truth was she probably did need to go. They'd not spent extra time together since she was almost caught, but she could probably risk it. She had the Map – never again would she forget it.

Hermione straightened her clothes while Snape enlarged one of the purple poofy armchairs Dumbledore had favoured in front of his desk until it resembled a loveseat. As soon as they sat down, Snape leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he stared off into space. Hermione placed a hand on his back, letting him know she was there when he was ready to talk.

"I know you and your friends don't care for him, but I am worried for Draco," Snape admitted a few minutes later.

"What's happened?"

"The Dark Lord is frustrated, and he took it out on Draco… Rather, Draco insisted on sparing Narcissa, and not for the first time either. He only took the Mark to protect her," Snape explained, unconsciously confirming several of Harry's theories from the last year.

She'd also not missed the way Snape had mentioned Narcissa's name. Combined with the knowledge that Snape was the person Narcissa had turned to for help the previous year, Hermione was sufficiently intrigued.

And as for Malfoy, she could believe he was more interested in protecting his mum than he was in furthering Voldemort's cause. The fact that he didn't kill Dumbledore when he had the chance spoke volumes. Though one could argue that he simply didn't have the stomach for cold-blooded murder. But when added with some of the things Neville, Ginny, and Luna had shared about Malfoy not participating in detentions or the Carrows' antics, it was all rather telling.

Her thoughts scattered when Snape turned his arm, revealing his own Mark for the two of them to see. The inky image glared up at them, taunting and vile. They were each careful to not ever let her touch it. The dark stain, on display as it currently was, advertised the very worst of him.

She knew he expected her to look away or leave, condemning him as everyone else had. Instead, she leaned in to wrap her hand around the bicep of his marked arm and prop her chin on his shoulder. He relaxed noticeably, a silent acknowledgement of her acceptance.

"Malfoy clearly loves his mum. A person can't be all bad if he'd endure torture to spare someone he loves," Hermione mused, realising it was quite possibly the truth.

"I watched him grow up. He's practically family," Snape said haltingly. "She…."

Hermione felt him tense where their bodies touched, and when he swallowed thickly, she understood.

"Because you're close to Narcissa?" she asked meaningfully. Snape raised an imperious brow at her, but she appreciated that he didn't attempt to prevaricate or mistake what she'd sussed out.

"Once…before she was married…yes," he admitted frankly, fascinating Hermione to no end on how a sexual relationship between the two could have ever come about. "She's very different from Lucius, though she'd never reveal her true self to a stranger."

And Snape was no stranger to her. Hermione was captivated by the glimpse into Snape's mysterious past. She had about a dozen questions for him, more, if she were honest, but it didn't feel like the appropriate time to pry.

Yet one thought slipped out despite her resolve.

"She's older than you."

An ironic snort escaped Snape before he drolly asked, "Because you're in a position to judge?"

"Touche," she allowed, chuckling softly. But it didn't last. Sobering quickly, she ventured, "After the holidays…," Hermione paused, biting her lip, really thinking about what she was considering suggesting before bracing herself and asking, "do you want me to reach out to Malfoy? The Room is meant to provide a safe haven to any in need, not all except the Slytherins."

"No. Under different circumstances… But no," he refused, shaking his head, "he's still Marked. I won't risk you. Not for anyone."

Hermione was startled by the distinctly possessive way he was speaking and the unqualified statement.

"Snape—"

A slight smile crossed his face and he nudged her, cutting her off. "You best get going." When she hesitated, he more pointedly said, "Our time is up, and I need to rest after tonight's toll."

She was only partially down the spiral stone staircase, the door to the office slightly ajar behind her, when she heard Phineas Black, his sly voice unmistakable, say, "You could have said yes. She cares enough to help if you asked her to."

"I know…but I won't ask," Snape replied tersely.

"My, my…you are letting yourself get in deep. How utterly unsurprising after—"

"If you don't wish to be forever silenced, then—"

But as for the end of Snape's threat, Hermione couldn't make it out. She was already too far away for even his deep baritone to reverberate off the ancient walls. But one thing was for sure, Phineas was correct. Snape was taking an awfully big risk trying to play Voldemort.