A rare glimpse into Professor Snape's mind.
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Professor Snape returned from the Forbidden Forest in a somewhat blissful disposition. He had successfully instructed the Head Girl as to where she could find the common ingredients the potions cupboard was starting to lack and sent her on her way to gather them. The look on the girl's face as she realized he was returning to the castle instead of accompanying her was priceless and the reason for his current good spirits.
He knew the dark forest was not a place to send children alone, especially so late in the evening, but he had not so long ago come to the unsettling realization that the Head Girl was not, in fact, a child anymore. By all accounts, she was an adult – and if one bothered to look closely, it was impossible not to notice.
That moment of clarity had arrived on the evening she had served her first detention, a few days prior. At some point, his tired eyes had drifted to where she stood, though he couldn't recall exactly when they'd come to rest on her. Perhaps it was a mere habit: a need to ensure she stayed on task, or a subconscious curiosity that pulled his gaze in her direction.
Oblivious to his lingering stare, she went about her work, never realizing that in that unguarded moment, he'd finally recognized her transformation. He couldn't pinpoint precisely when it had happened – perhaps because he had spent so much time wishing she were anywhere but in his line of sight. But now, no matter how much he tried to deny it, the truth was plain: Miss Granger had quietly grown up right before his eyes.
He paused at the threshold to the castle, flicking a quick glance over his shoulder as though he might catch one last glimpse of her in the distant treeline. Of course, there was nothing to see but moonlit shadows – she had long since disappeared into the forest's depths. Snape allowed himself the faintest twitch of a smirk, recalling the incredulous look on her face when he'd turned and walked away. It was a rare pleasure indeed to surprise the Gryffindor.
Yet that satisfaction warred with an unease he refused to name. It was one thing to send a student into the Forbidden Forest for a lesson in resourcefulness; it was quite another to leave her alone there at twilight. He reassured himself that Miss Granger possessed more magical skill – and frankly, more sense – than most of her peers combined. Her unwavering competence had annoyed him for years, yet now it offered a peculiar comfort. Still, he couldn't deny that part of his mind kept circling back to the distinct awareness that she was no longer the child he remembered.
He paused just inside the great oak doors, recalling the unlikely chain of events that had led to the ever-diligent Miss Granger to spend her evening rummaging through the Forbidden Forest. The memory of her retching on his shoes, of all indignities, still rankled – though it was hard to say which affront he found worse: her blatant drunkenness after curfew or the fact that she, of all people, had slipped so far beneath her usual standards. Detention had been more than justified, and he had no qualms about prolonging it, especially when it afforded him the chance to watch her squirm.
Yet, despite the humiliating circumstance that had landed her in this predicament, she'd never once questioned his decisions or demanded explanations for his behavior. She was intelligent enough to know better. Even now, as she traipsed through the forest to collect ingredients, he felt certain she was determined to earn back some of the respect she had so foolishly squandered.
Snape allowed himself a faint sneer of amusement at the thought. To think that Miss Granger, who had once seemed incapable of error, could blunder so spectacularly. But it was that same person he had just sent off on her own, trusting her to complete the task. She wanted to prove her competence; he wanted to see if she could. The entire situation left him in a curiously satisfied state of mind. After all, she'd hardly looked ready to argue when he turned away from her in the clearing. And why should she? She knew she was to blame, and for once, she appeared resigned to earn her redemption.
He swept down the corridor, his robes brushing over the cold flagstones, already formulating the next day's regimen of menial tasks she would no doubt endure without complaint. Yes, perhaps she had grown up more than he cared to admit, but he was no less inclined to make her prove it. Until she returned with those much-needed ingredients, he would enjoy a rare moment of quiet triumph, content in the knowledge that even the Head Girl wasn't above scrubbing away her own mistakes… or atoning for them in the gloom of the Forbidden Forest.
The moment of peace was short-lived, for the instant he crossed into his private chambers, the green flames of a familiar Floo call flared to life in the fireplace.
"Ah, Severus!" came the Headmaster's cheerful voice through the emerald glow. "Would you care to join me in my office? I would like a word with you, if you please."
It took all of Snape's self-control not to roll his eyes at the Headmaster's interruption. Instead, with his usual composure firmly in place, he rose from his chair and stepped into the emerald flames, allowing them to whisk him away to the older wizard's office.
"Albus? What is it? Why did you request my presence?" Professor Snape asked his superior.
"Severus boy, please sit!" Dumbledore said as he motioned the other man to sit on the chair in front of him. Snape, however, remained glued in his place, arms crossed at his chest.
"Tell me, what is the matter?" Snape requested again, his tone carrying a sharper edge this time.
The Headmaster, however, turned his back to him, his gaze fixed thoughtfully out the window. The silence stretched just long enough to unsettle Severus, who rarely found himself on his side of a prolonged pause.
"Headmaster?" he pressed, taking a cautious step forward, a flicker of unease stirring in his chest. Something about the older man's demeanor set his instincts on edge.
"I have been informed that a prisoner has escaped from Azkaban last night." The Headmaster finally said, his voice unusually subdued as he continued to gaze out the window.
Snape's posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing. "Escaped?" he repeated, his tone laced with incredulity. "I was under the impression that Azkaban's wards were impenetrable since the Dark Lord's fall."
Dumbledore turned to face him then, his expression grave. "So were we all, Severus."
"Who is it?" Snape asked simply with a frown, his voice low and controlled, though the tension in his posture betrayed his unease.
"It's Dolohov." the other professor said quietly, carefully waiting for Severus' reaction.
Snape's frown deepened, his jaw tightened. The name hung heavy in the room, its weight pressing against the still air. "Antonin Dolohov," he repeated, his voice colder now. "A man both dangerous and ruthless. But hardly skilled. How, in Merlin's name, did he manage to escape?
He began to pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his mind racing through possibilities. Antonin Dolohov was a brute, certainly, a man who had risen through the Dark Lord's ranks not by magical prowess but by sheer bloodlust and unwavering loyalty. His pure-blood status and capacity for violence had carried him far in the service of Voldemort, but in terms of raw talent, Dolohov had been a blunt instrument compared to the more subtle operatives within the Dark Lord's inner circle.
"It hardly seems plausible," Snape continued, his tone laced with contempt. "The Dementors are gone, but Azkaban's wards were reinforced after the war. If Dolohov had neither the subtlety nor the skill to break them, then someone must have helped him – or allowed him – to escape.
Dumbledore sighed, his usual twinkle absent from his gaze. "We are looking into it, Severus. The Ministry is already conducting an investigation, but so far, the details remain unclear."
Snape turned sharply to face him, his dark eyes narrowing. "Unclear, or conveniently withheld? It is unlike the Ministry to admit a failure so profound without deflecting blame elsewhere."
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "You may not be wrong in your suspicions. However, my concern lies not with the how, but with the why. Dolohov was a fiercely loyal servant of Voldemort, yet with no master to serve, one must wonder what his objectives might be."
Snape's frown deepened, and for a moment, the room was silent save for the faint crackle of the fire. Finally he spoke, his voice steady but heavy with foreboding.
"If Dolohov has escaped," he said, "then he is either desperate, or he is dangerous. Likely both. Either way, his presence outside Azkaban is a threat, and not one we can afford to ignore."
"Headmaster, may I ask for your permission to go and find that man?" Snape asked, his voice measured but laced with urgency.
"You may ask," Du,bledore replied, his tone as calm as ever, "but I will not allow it."
"But Albus–" Snape began, his words clipped, frustration simmering beneath his collected facade.
"And besides," Dumbledore interrupted smoothly, his gaze steady, "you don't have to go looking for him. I am quite certain that he will come to find you."
Snape's expression didn't falter. If anything, his lack of surprise at the statement betrayed the fact that he'd already anticipated as much. "What is it that you are not telling me?" he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly, though his expression remained grave. "He left a message," he said after a moment. "Before he escaped, he wrote something on the wall of his cell."
Snape raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.
"He wrote 'blood traitor'," Dumbledore said evenly, his voice dropping ever so slightly. "And he wrote it with his own blood."
A heavy silence settled over the room. Snape's expression darkened, his sharp features unreadable as he processed the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured, though it carried an edge of restrained fury.
"And this… you thought I would not need to know?" he asked, his tone both an accusation and a demand for clarity.
Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands before him. "I thought it best to share this in person, Severus. You know as well as I do what such a message implies."
"Indeed," Snape said coldly, his mind already racing towards the implications. "It is not a message. It is a warning."
Dumbledore nodded gravely, his piercing gaze fixed on Snape. "Precisely. Antonin Dolohov was a man of little subtlety, but even he understood the power of symbols. 'Blood traitor' is not merely an insult—it is a declaration. He blames you, Severus, for his downfall, for the fall of the Dark Lord himself. And now, he intends to act upon that grudge.
Snape's expression remained impassive, but his mind churned beneath the surface. The words carried more weight than Dumbledore was stating outright. Blood traitor. In Dolohov's warped mind, Snape's betrayal of Voldemort wasn't just a personal affront—it was an unforgivable act against the purity and hierarchy the Dark Lord's followers had revered.
"And what do you propose I do?" Snape asked, his voice cold and composed, as though discussing the ingredients for a potion."Sit and wait for him to appear on my doorstep?"
"Not at all," Dumbledore replied, his tone light but firm. "I trust you, Severus, to take all necessary precautions. I am, however, advising you to remain here at Hogwarts until we have more clarity on his movements. The castle is the safest place you can be—for now."
Snape scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. "You mean to cage me within these walls like a trapped bird? I am more than capable of defending myself, Headmaster."
"Of that, I have no doubt," Dumbledore said, his expression softening. "But consider this: Dolohov does not act alone. There are whispers – unconfirmed, but troubling nonetheless – that he may have had help in his escape. If he has allies, they will not hesitate to use them against you."
Snape's jaw tightened. He hated the idea of waiting, of being a passive target rather than taking action. Yet Dumbledore's words carried a truth he could not ignore. If Dolohov had help, the threat extended beyond just one vengeful man. It was a game of strategy now, and one wrong move could tip the scales in Dolohov's favor.
"And what of the students?" Snape asked after a moment, his tone clipped. "You cannot expect me to believe he would target only me."
Dumbledore's face grew more somber. "That is precisely why we must remain vigilant. The wards around Hogwarts are stronger than ever, but vigilance is our greatest weapon. For now, I ask you to continue your duties as normal and allow me to handle the broader investigation."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "And if he does come here?"
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, his usual warmth giving way to a steely determination. "If he comes here, Severus, we will be ready. And I trust you will ensure that he regrets it."
The faintest flicker of a smirk crossed Snape's lips, though his dark eyes remained as cold and calculating as ever. "You can be certain of that."
As he turned to leave the Headmaster's office, the weight of the conversation pressed heavily on him. Dolohov's escape wasn't just a threat – it was a challenge. And Snape had no intention of backing down.
As Snape descended the spiral staircase from the Headmaster's office, the conversation lingered in his mind, intertwining with a far more pressing concern. He strode quickly through the silent corridors of the castle, his robes billowing behind him as his thoughts shifted from Dolohov's escape to something – or rather, someone – else entirely.
Hermione Granger.
She was still out there, alone in the Forbidden Forest, oblivious to the dangers that might be inching closer with every passing moment. Dolohov's escape had cast an ominous shadow over his earlier satisfaction at leaving her to fend for herself. It was no longer just about her capability or his amusement at her discomfort; it was about timing. And his own careless timing might have just placed her directly in harm's way.
Snape quickened his pace, his boots striking the stone floor with sharp precision. He cursed under his breath, recalling the way she had squared her shoulders and set her jaw before heading into the forest. Her determination, though impressive, could very well lead to her undoing if Dolohov, or anyone aiding him, was nearby.
The Headmaster's words echoed in his mind. "Dolohov does not act alone."
Snape swept through the castle doors and out into the night, the cool air biting against his face as he crossed the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest. The rain that fell the entire day had subsided, leaving the air damp and heavy. The dark expanse of trees loomed ahead, their shadows stretching toward him like silent warnings.
He paused at the edge of the forest, his wand slipping into his hand as his sharp gaze scanned the treeline. There was no sound save for the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional distant hoot of an owl. For a brief moment, he considered that she might already be on her way back to the castle, supplies in hand, unharmed and smug in her success. But the uneasy knot in his stomach told him otherwise.
Without another moment's hesitation, Snape stepped into the forest, the faint light of his wand illuminating the path ahead. The trees closed in around him, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocked out the moonlight. His movements were deliberate, his ears attuned to the faintest sound.
"Granger," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. "If you've managed to get yourself into trouble…"
He didn't finish the thought. The truth was, trouble had a way of finding her—just as it always had. And this time, he wasn't sure she was prepared for what might be waiting in the dark.
"Infuriating man! I am not a first year anymore, for Merlin's sake! Does he honestly think this will scare me? Really! If he thinks sending me into the Forbidden Forest will rattle me, he's in for a surprise!" Hermione muttered furiously under her breath, stomping along the uneven path beneath the thick canopy of trees. Her wand cast a faint glow around her, but the surrounding darkness seemed to press in closer with every step.
She clenched her jaw, reminding herself of the ridiculous situation she was in. One more week of detention with Snape—well, a week and a half, she corrected with a huff. The man had been driving her absolutely mad. Most of her detentions involved sorting and cataloging his ingredients, reorganizing his storerooms, or scrubbing cauldrons until they shone. Mundane tasks, annoying but manageable. But this? This was a new low. Sending her into the Forbidden Forest to fetch potions ingredients felt more like punishment than a proper task.
She tried to focus on the task at hand, mentally listing the ingredients she needed to find: moonstone moss, crushed fireberry leaves, and powdered silverbark sap. Most of them were harmless to gather – at least in theory – but the fact that they were hidden deep in the forest was what made this whole ordeal so infuriating.
Her light caught on a gnarled root, and she stepped carefully over it, her irritation growing with each minute she spent alone in the oppressive darkness. The faint hoot of an owl startled her for a moment, but she quickly shook it off.
"No," she muttered to herself, trying to sound confident. "I've faced Death Eaters. I've fought in battles. I've been through things no one else at my age should have to endure. This forest is nothing."
Despite her bravado, a prickling sensation ran down her spine. She forced herself to ignore it, tightening her grip on her wand. She wouldn't let Snape get the better of her. Not tonight.
She straightened her back and pressed onward, determined to prove to herself – and to him – that she was more than capable of handling the task. But as the shadows deepened and the forest grew quieter, an unease she couldn't quite explain began to creep into her thoughts.
Her basket was nearly full, the faint aroma of crushed fireberry leaves and silverbark sap mingling in the cool night air. Hermione allowed herself a small sigh of relief, ready to head back to the castle and put this miserable task behind her. Just as she reached for the basket, a sharp crack broke through the silence, a sound unmistakably like a footstep snapping a branch.
She froze, her breath caught in her throat as her heart began to race. Her mind scrambled for an explanation. An animal? A unicorn, perhaps? But instinct told her otherwise. That sound had been deliberate, too precise, and too heavy to belong to a creature simply wandering through the forest.
Quickly, she stood from the cold stone she had been kneeling on and pressed herself against the rough bark of a nearby tree, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. She stepped cautiously to the right, using the enormous trunk to shield herself as her ears strained for any follow-up sounds.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, the usual rustling of leaves and faint calls of nocturnal creatures fading into an eerie stillness. Her grip on her wand tightened as she whispered, "Lumos Solem." A faint glow emanated from the tip, enough to illuminate the immediate area without drawing too much attention.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she peered cautiously around the edge of the tree. The forest remained dark and impenetrable, the shadows shifting slightly with the faint breeze. She held her breath, waiting for another sound, another sign that she wasn't alone.
Nothing came.
Hermione exhaled softly, trying to calm her nerves. She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or more uneasy. Gathering her courage, she whispered a silent incantation, a spell designed to amplify her hearing, and waited again.
And then it came, a faint, deliberate rustling, much closer this time.
Someone, or something, was out there. Watching. Moving. Waiting.
The Gryffindor listened intently, straining her ears for any other sounds of movement. Her eyes darted to where she thought the noise had come from, her heart still pounding. But all she saw was a small deer, cautiously stepping into view. She exhaled in relief, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Just a deer," she whispered to herself, lowering her wand slightly.
She was about to step out from behind the tree when a sudden, sharp movement froze her in place. Something struck the deer – a silent, brutal impact – and the animal crumpled to the ground, its fragile body convulsing as it struggled for breath.
Hermione's hands flew to her mouth, tears stinging her eyes as rage bubbled up inside her. Someone had hurt the helpless creature in the most senseless way, and the sight filled her with a burning need to intervene. Her grip on her wand tightened as she prepared to step out from her refuge, this time not to hide, but to act.
Before she could move, the sound of rustling foliage stopped her. From behind a nearby bush, a man emerged and walked toward the injured deer. Hermione's breath caught in her throat.
The figure was tall and gaunt, his black, unkempt hair falling messily over his face, obscuring his features. His clothes – ripped and hanging loosely on his thin frame – gave him an almost spectral appearance, as though he'd risen from a grave. She didn't recognize him immediately, but there was something familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of her memory.
He crouched over the struggling animal, his movements deliberate but unsettlingly calm. Hermione's first instinct was to rush out and stop him, but as she took a tentative step forward, a strong arm suddenly encircled her from behind.
Before she could scream, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, muffling any sound. Panic surged through her as she imagined the worst: The man had an accomplice, and now they had her too.
Desperate, Hermione bit down on the hand covering her mouth, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste hit her tongue, but the grip on her didn't loosen. Instead, the person holding her dipped their head, whispering in a familiar, low murmur: "Miss Granger, I would suggest ceasing your theatrics if you wish to ever rid yourself of detention."
Hermione froze. That voice – it was unmistakable. Her panic dissolved into confusion as she stopped struggling and turned her wide, astonished eyes toward her captor.
"Professor Snape?" she tried to say, but his hand was still firmly in place.
Snape sighed, his breath warm against her ear. "Do keep your voice down, unless you want to announce our presence to every creature in the forest," he hissed, his tone dripping with exasperation.
Hermione nodded slightly, and after a tense moment, Snape removed his hand. She turned to face him, her wand still clutched tightly, her mind racing with questions she couldn't yet voice.
"What are you–" she started, but he cut her off with a sharp motion of his hand.
"Not here, not now," he whispered. His dark eyes flicked toward the man by the deer, narrowing as he observed him. "Be silent and stay behind me."
Hermione wanted to protest, to demand answers, but the gravity in Snape's expression silenced her. Whatever was happening here, it was far more dangerous than she'd initially thought. She nodded reluctantly, stepping into the shadows behind him as he turned his focus back to the eerie figure in front of them.
"Shh…" Snape whispered, his voice low and commanding. "Do not make a sound. And stay here. Do not move."
Before Hermione could fully process his words, he had stepped away, disappearing into the shadows with practiced silence.
Hermione's heart pounded as she crouched behind the tree, gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her thoughts raced. Who was the other man? How did Professor Snape know he would be here? Her stomach twisted with worry as she tried to make sense of the situation, but the fragments refused to align. She peered cautiously around the trunk of the tree, her breath catching in her throat. The skinny, ghostlike man was still standing near the injured deer, his movements jittery yet deliberate. Then, with no warning, his voice echoed through the dark forest.
"Impedimenta!"
The spell shot toward Snape, striking him with enough force to knock him to the ground. Hermione's panic surged, and she instinctively shifted to go to his aid. But before she could move, Snape was already back on his feet, his movements fluid and controlled despite the attack. His wand was raised, his dark eyes locked onto the stranger with a piercing intensity.
"Blood traitor!" the man spat, his voice filled with venom. His bony hand jabbed his wand forward, sending another jinx hurtling through the air.
Snape reacted immediately, a precise flick of his wrist conjuring a shimmering Shield Charm that absorbed the curse with a deafening crack. The spell's impact lit up the forest for a brief moment, casting harsh shadows across both men's faces.
Hermione pressed her back against the tree, her heart racing as she clutched her wand. She wanted to help, to leap into action, but Snape's earlier command echoed in her mind: Do not make a sound. Do not move.
Still, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene unfolding before her. The man's wild, unkempt hair and tattered robes only added to his menacing presence, but it was his words – blood traitor – that made Hermione's stomach drop. This was no ordinary stranger. Whoever he was, he had come here with a purpose, and that purpose was Professor Snape.
"What are you doing here, Dolohov? Didn't you hear Daddy Voldemort is no longer with us?" Snape drawled, his smirk cutting through the tension like a blade. With a sharp flick of his wand, he sent a jinx hurtling toward the prisoner.
Dolohov snarled, his gaunt face twisting in fury. Hermione, still crouched behind the tree, felt her breath catch. So it's Dolohov, she thought, her heart pounding as she processed the name. Taking advantage of the distraction their battle provided, Hermione moved cautiously. She darted from tree to tree, each step quiet but deliberate, until she found herself behind Dolohov. From her new vantage point, she gripped her wand tightly, waiting for the right moment to intervene.
Snape's taunt seemed to have its intended effect. Dolohov's curses came faster and with less precision, his rage driving his every move. Jinx after jinx streaked through the air, each deflected by Snape's Shield Charm with impeccable timing. But even as Severus held his ground, Hermione noticed his attention flicker toward her for the briefest moment.
That split second of distraction was all Dolohov needed. With a vicious flick of his wand, he snarled, "Crucio!"
Snape collapsed to the ground, his body writhing in agony as the Cruciatus Curse took hold. Hermione's blood ran cold as she watched him convulse, the sound of his groans cutting through the night. Her chest tightened, fear threatening to paralyze her. But then, resolve overtook her panic.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione's voice rang out, clear and commanding.
The spell hit Dolohov square in the back. His body went rigid, and he toppled to the ground with a heavy thud, his wand clattering from his hand.
The forest seemed to fall silent for a moment, the tension hanging thick in the air. Hermione wasted no time rushing to Snape's side, dropping to her knees beside his still-trembling form.
"Sir? Sir, are you all right?" she asked, her voice thick with concern as she hovered over him.
Snape groaned, his eyes squeezing shut against the lingering pain. His breath was ragged, but he managed to lift his head slightly, dark eyes meeting hers. "You... absolute… insufferable… know-it-all," he rasped, his voice weak but unmistakably laced with annoyance, and perhaps, just the faintest trace of reluctant gratitude.
Hermione let out a shaky breath, relief washing over her as she fought back tears. "I'll take that as a yes," she whispered, gripping her wand tightly as she turned her gaze back toward Dolohov, ensuring the man remained motionless on the ground. The fight wasn't over yet, but for now, she'd done what she had to do.
"Insufferable girl!" Snape growled as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his robes with sharp, irritated movements. "What were you thinking? I told you not to move. You could have been badly hurt!"
Hermione's eyes flashed with indignation as she stood as well. "Well, a thank you would have been enough," she snapped, her tone brimming with anger.
"Thank you?" Snape repeated, incredulous. He stepped toward her, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. "You want me to thank you for distracting me and ensuring I was tortured?" His voice rose, sharp with frustration.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to back down. "Distracting you? How did I manage to do that, exactly?"
"I told you to stay there and not to move!" Snape's voice was nearing a shout, his composure slipping further with each word.
"But I was worried! I just wanted to help you!" Hermione shot back, matching his tone without hesitation.
"Well, stop trying to help me!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. "I don't need anyone's help."
Hermione sighed, her anger cooling into exhaustion. She had no energy left for arguing, not after everything that had just happened. "All right," she muttered, her tone softer now. "I'll try to remember that next time." She gestured toward the motionless Dolohov, still rigid and lifelessly sprawled on the ground. "Now, can I go back to the castle? And… what's going to happen with him?"
Snape turned his attention to Dolohov, his expression darkening further. "You will return to the castle immediately," he said curtly. "As for him," he added, his voice laced with disdain, "the Aurors will be summoned to take him back where he belongs. This forest is no place for you to linger any longer."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, glancing at Snape's still-tense posture. "Will you be all right, sir?" she asked quietly.
He stiffened, his gaze snapping back to hers. "Miss Granger," he said, his voice dangerously low, "I suggest you follow my instructions for once and leave. Now."
Understanding that the conversation was over, Hermione nodded. She picked up her basket, her grip tightening on her wand as she cast one last glance at Snape and Dolohov before making her way back toward the castle.
As she walked, the adrenaline from the night began to ebb, leaving her with a mix of exhaustion, frustration, and a lingering unease. Behind her, the dark forest grew quieter, but the image of Snape facing Dolohov alone stayed with her. For all his anger, all his sharp words, she couldn't shake the feeling that beneath it all, he had been afraid – not for himself, but for her.
By the time Hermione reached her room, every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion. The events of the evening played over in her mind, her thoughts a tangled mess of frustration, fear, and the faintest hint of pride for having acted when it mattered.
She dropped her basket on the floor by the door and changed into her pajamas, her movements slow and heavy. Her eyes fell on the Transfiguration book she had started earlier that day, still sitting on her bedside table. The urge to lose herself in its familiar pages tugged at her, offering a momentary escape from the chaos of the Forbidden Forest.
But as she sat on the edge of her bed, her gaze drifted back to the basket she'd left by the door. Her stomach sank as she realized it was still full of the ingredients she had gathered. If left overnight, many of them would spoil or lose their potency, and she could only imagine the scathing remarks Professor Snape would have for her if she returned them in a useless state.
Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Why didn't I just give them to him in the forest? The last thing she wanted to do right now was march back to his quarters and face his inevitable criticism, but there was no way around it. She wouldn't let her hard work go to waste – not to mention she dreaded the thought of the lecture that would surely follow if she delayed.
With a sigh, she slipped back into her shoes, spread the dark school robes over her pajamas, grabbed the basket, and headed out of her dormitory. The castle was quiet, the late hour and dim lighting giving the corridors an eerie stillness. Her wand cast a faint glow as she navigated the familiar path to the dungeons.
By the time Hermione reached Snape's office door, her nerves were frayed, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders. She paused, staring at the dark, imposing wood, debating whether to knock or simply leave the basket outside for him to find in the morning. But she quickly dismissed the thought—Snape would undoubtedly chastise her for such carelessness, likely pointing out every reason why her decision had been foolish.
With a resigned sigh, she steadied herself and raised her hand to knock firmly. The sound echoed faintly in the silent corridor, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he was even there. Not much time had passed since she'd left him in the forest, and she couldn't help but think that perhaps he hadn't yet returned to the dungeons.
The door swung open almost immediately, and there he stood, his dark robes blending with the shadows of the room behind him. His expression was, as always, a mixture of irritation and suspicion.
"Miss Granger," Snape drawled, his voice low and edged with irritation. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon. What is it this time?" Hermione felt a flicker of relief knowing curfew wasn't a factor, though his tone made it abundantly clear he found her presence no less irritating.
Hermione straightened her shoulders, holding up the basket. "I realized the ingredients might spoil if not properly stored," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I thought it best to bring them to you right away."
Snape's eyes flicked to the basket, and for a brief moment, his expression softened—though it was gone so quickly she almost thought she'd imagined it.
"Indeed," he said, stepping aside to let her enter. "At least you have enough sense not to let your incompetence compound itself further."
Hermione bit back a retort and stepped into the room, setting the basket carefully on his desk. She watched as he inspected its contents, his movements precise and deliberate.
"You managed not to destroy anything," he remarked, his tone almost begrudging. "Impressive."
Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't respond, too tired to rise to the bait. "If there's nothing else, sir, I'd like to get some rest," she said, trying to keep her voice polite.
Snape glanced at her, his sharp gaze lingering for a moment. "Go," he said curtly, waving a hand toward the door. "And next time, try to follow instructions without improvising."
With a tired nod, Hermione turned and left, grateful to be free of the tension in the room. As she made her way back to her dormitory, she couldn't help but wonder what it would take to ever impress that man – or if it was even worth trying.