A/N: This is a Snamione story. Warning! It begins in early HBP. Hermione is 17, an adult to her society, but she is still Severus' student. Some morally weird shit going on. Read at your discretion.
I expect this story to last about 30 chapters. The plot is mapped out, but only three chapters are written. If anyone is interested to beta this, please PM me!
Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Introduction
Wednesday 16th of October, 1996
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Among all the many feathers in her cap, Hermione Granger also holds the Gryffindor record for not getting detentions.
Only once in the six years of her Hogwarts career did she have to endure this utter humiliation that consisted in getting caught breaking rules and a teacher staring down at her with disappointment. It had been back at their first year, when Malfoy followed them to Hagrid's Hut and ran back to snitch. Hermione had nightmares of McGonagall's reproachfully thinned lips to this day.
The second time will haunt her even more, because it is completely uncalled for.
It was another Defence lesson under his tutelage, and things were going as unevenly as it was to be expected. A scowling, bitter man is unfit to be a teacher, no matter how much knowledge he holds on the tips of his fingers. Practice of non-verbal spells have become part of every wand-centric subject in Hogwarts' curriculum and Hermione has been among the first to achieve substantial progress.
In professor Snape's class, her performance and work ethic is no different. Hermione isn't naïve enough to expect a word of praise from the man, but she has come to terms with him mostly ignoring her. But this Monday last, professor Snape broke his long-standing tradition of pretending she did not exist; he abandoned his rounds among the student pairs that littered the room, and came to stand unnervingly close to Hermione. So close that every time she moved, she brushed against the material of his heavy black robes.
It was surprisingly soft.
That she was perplexed, it went without saying, while also experiencing the nervousness such threatening proximity naturally inspired. Nevertheless, Hermione gathered her wits, and performed each counter-curse and shield proficiently, not a sound coming out of her mouth.
"Cheating, are we, Ms Granger?" The unexpected words were uttered in so low a volume, she thought she had imagined them.
The way his whisper tingled her ear -not to even mention the effect its meaning had on her- cost her a precious moment of concentration; enough that when her training partner (Greengrass) hurled a silent hex her way, Hermione panicked. Instead of raising a non-verbal shield, she mumbled the incantation, unwilling to be hit by the spell and be hurled backwards across the room, with the stone wall as her final destination.
"Is that how you earn your praises, Ms Granger?" Drawled the professor, his thin lips curling in disgust. "By pretending to cast silently, while in fact murmur the words under your breath?"
Hermione did her best to ignore how half the class was already sniggering at her expense, while the other half pricked up their ears, eager to hear that the muggleborn's impressive achievements were a trick rather than actuality. These vultures who couldn't stand it when someone was better than them, and instead of labouring as hard as Hermione did to get where she was now, they prayed she'd fall from grace, to match them in their level.
"Cat got you tongue, Ms Granger?"
"But sir! It was you-"
"Are you blaming me for failing to pull off your own deception?"
"I didn't lie- I admit I mumbled the spell- But if I hadn't-"
"Enough of your incoherent stuttering."
"But, sir-" But she was interrupted again, this time by Harry, who rushed up to defend her.
"If Hermione hadn't risen a shield, Greengrass' spell would have-!"
"Done nothing at all to you whatsoever, except perhaps throw you on your back." The professor interrupted lazily, insistant on addressing Hermione, rather than Harry. "Greengrass is a rookie in silent casting, Ms Granger-"
"Which means her spell wouldn't carry the same force it would have, had it been cast verbally." Hermione rushed to finish off, damning her own reflexes. "Chapter one, page 13 of our textbook. I know, sir, of course I know that, but I panicked-"
"Panicked?" Mocked he, while Ron mumbled about how natural it was for her to panic when the dungeon bat was standing so close to her. Ron had uttered the words in a mock-whisper that echoed through the room, and yet the professor's bottomless black eyes never once flickered away from Hermione's face. "You panicked in the shielded environment of my classroom, while a professor was standing right beside you? Do you seriously expect me to believe that, Ms Granger?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Detention… Ms Granger." Said the man, drawing out each word with a sadistic gleam burning in his black eyes. "This Wednesday night, 7 o'clock, my office. And I won't hear another word out of your mouth. You've already said more than you should."
Her frustrated wrath hasn't abated one bit, as Hermione drags herself down to the Dungeons, two days later. She arrives in front of professor Snape's door five minutes before the agreed time; this is always her practice for ensuring she is never late, fortified even more in this case, to avoid any more unjustified outbursts from the bitter man. She waits for time to pass, leaning against the cold wall; she takes out one of her arithmancy books, to peruse as she waits and start a mental draft for the essay professor Vector has assigned for the week. There are so many productive ways she could be investing her time in, instead of loitering around an empty corridor, waiting for an infuriating detention to begin.
It makes no bloody sense! It's usually Harry the man vents on, and yet on Monday, he didn't even spare him a glance. He didn't throw one scornful taunt, he didn't even get close enough to him and Ron, only for his favourite purpose of mocking their performance. The professor avoided Harry like the plague, and opted to harass Hermione instead! Even when he and Ron talked back to him in her defense (but mostly because they hated the man, Hermione wasn't deluded), professor Snape completely ignored both Ron AND Harry. He did not even deduct any points!
It is all very strange, very atypical.
How can Sna- professor Snape afford to spare an entire afternoon merely to make Hermione's life miserable? The man has classes to teach, essays to grade, potions to make.. And all the spying, risking his life and lying to You-Know– Voldemort's face. How often did he have to attend Voldemort? Did… Voldemort ask for his presence often?
Having all that in his plate, Hermione simply can't fathom why he would waste his precious time on tormenting an exemplary student such as herself. But his malice, vindictiveness and general unpleasantness know no reason, it seems. Who can tell what had gotten in his nerves, for him to orchestrate this circus, only to vent on an undeserving party.
When the pointers of her watch finally strike 7 o'clock, she knocks on the office door, her hand posed on the handle, ready to enter at sound of the standard affirmation.
Affirmation doesn't come. Nor any kind of sound in fact, a voice, the rustle of papers, footsteps or the cover of a book snapped shut. Nothing. She thinks of gluing her ear on the door, but she is certain that a spy like him, from all people, has taken precautions against eavesdropping.
It does pass through Hermione's mind to capitalise on this occasion and leave as she came, to save herself from time wasted in the company of a black-hearted man. But she is a witch of her word, even against cruel and inconsiderate professors who do their best to besmirch her perfect record.
(There's also another thing that holds her back. No matter how frustrating this detention is, it's still a puzzle, the solution of which seems completely unfathomable. But every riddle has at least one answer; if she leaves now, she might never learn the reason why, and that will certainly frustrate her even more.)
Hermione knocks a second time.
If she wasn't meant to be here, wouldn't professor Snape have sent word? She isn't delusional to think he'd care enough to spare her a pointless walk six floors down, but even in her current state of righteous ire she can't ignore how the man has never been unpunctual or forgetful. Unless… there is some emergency that called him away? Concerning the war? What if he departed in haste for some urgent Order business and didn't have time to send her word that their farce of a detention has to be postponed?
Her heartbeat dances in a frightened rhythm now, her mind is spiralling with gruesome possibilities… She is about to knock for a third time…
"Come in, Ms Granger." Says his baritone voice, reaching her ears muffled by the heavy door between them.
That infuriating man has been in there all this time! Did he snigger at her expense, while her mind flooded with bloody images of Death Eaters raping, killing and savaging innocent muggles?
With no small measure of irritation Hermione pushes open the door.
The first thing she sees is him sitting behind his desk. Hermione covertly makes a quick scan of the room for any hints on what might keep him occupied, to justify playing with her patience. But the desk is tidy, with only a neat stack of parchments resting on the side, undisturbed. The only thing that fills the wooden surface is the man's pale hands, interlaced tightly in front of him. The candle burning beside his right hand casts its light upwards on his angular, pale face.
That lonely candle is also the only source of light in the window-less office, that has been taken over by darkness and shadow.
"Stop loitering and close the door, Granger."
Feeling like she wants to explain to him the difference between "loitering" and "politely waiting for instructions", Hermione opts to vent her displeasure by quietly mocking him under her breath. With the cover of closing the door and her back turned to him, he cannot see the range of grimaces she indulges in.
When she faces the man again, nothing has changed in his stance, apart from his hands. A few seconds ago they were interlaced tightly, resting on his desk. Now his left pointer is sticking out, all long and pale in the faint candle light, silently indicating the simple metal chair that waits for her in front of his desk.
Gryffindor's golden princess lets her bag fall on the floor and perches herself on the edge of her seat, knees closed and thighs covered by her uniform skirt. She has not dared to shorten it, as is the usual practice among female students of later year. Her bushy hair is pulled back in a haphazard bun, her face lacks any kind of make-up.
The piercing stare she's sending Severus' way is so stern and disapproving, as if Severus is the punishable student and she the teacher who frowns at him with disappointment.
The most humane task he was ever assigned, Dumbledore had described it as.
Severus is so going to kill that man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ …3 days earlier… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday 15th of October, 1996
Malfoy Manor
The fireplace is lit, but the luxurious study is cold.
Every room is cold, if He is in it.
The ground is hard beaneath his knees, even despite the thickness of the Persian rug that rests between him and the stone.
"My lord, couldn't my services assist you in a more important field?"
Sight of the Dark Lord's bone-white wand is drifting in and out of Severus' field of vision, as his master circles him like a vulture in search of a corpse.
"Getting cold feet, Severus?" Tuts the high-pitched voice. "I am surprised. I have assigned you far less savoury tasks than this one."
He can hear Bellatrix' snigger from the far end of the room, where she is perched to relish his humiliation.
"I just feel that a – mudblood-" Severus is conscious that his hesitation of uttering that dreadful word stuck out. He deliberately pauses to pour enough disgust into his face to cover up his misstep. "I merely feel that investing my time to mudbloods is beneath me, my Lord."
"It heartens me to hear it, Severus." The cold voice speaks with mocking warmth. "And yet it was a mudblood you fell on your knees for, begging me to spare her." The lipless mouth is stretching in mockery of a smile. "An irony, wouldn't you say."
The red cat-like irises watch him as if he were a little bird, cornered and unable to fly away. So Severus bows his head deeply.
"I am your servant, my Lord. If that is your order, I will carry it out to the fullest extent."
"It is more than my order, Severus." His master chides in his sadistic glee. "It is my most fervent wish and I will not be content until you make it true."
His master's wand is directly in front of Severus now. He can see how the Dark Lord's fingers clench around it in anticipation.
"May I enquire as to my time limit?" Severus asks, in his flat emotionless voice.
The Dark Lord hums, pretending to consider. "The sooner, the better, wouldn't you say?"
It is but a few moments later that Snape flees Malfoy Manor. He can't stay. Not with his mind being a rumbled mess of painful memories and angry thoughts. All the emotions he repressed, to shield them from his Lord's acute perception, resurface while he storms up Hogwarts' park. His breath produces a cloud of mist with every exhale, humidity burns through his skin, prickling his bones.
It's nowhere near as cold, as the cold rage that's spreading in his chest.
Ten minutes later he is spitting the password to the Headmaster's gargoyle on Hogwarts' top floor. He hardly hears Dumbledore's "enter", before he pushes both leaves of the heavy door open and closed.
"Ah, Severus, I had started to worry."
"For my well-being?" Scorns Snape, storming his way through the office. His billowing robes almost catch on the headmaster's tables, threatening to overturn the fragile instruments whizzing on top.
The headmaster sighs, putting away the letter he was writing. "Now, what complications did tonight's meeting birth?"
Finally Snape reaches the Headmaster's desk. He bangs his fist down on the plated oak.
"YOU OWE ME, DUMBLEDORE!"
The headmaster's flinch is imperceptible, but it is there. Nevertheless, coldness creeps into the grandfatherly face.
"Do I?" Dumbledore asks quietly, and it unnerves Severus more than he is willing to admit. One more reason for him to bare his crooked teeth and lean even closer.
"You OWE me. And I WILL collect. I will not do it. I will not do it. I have done so… much. I have rights. I HAVE A RIGHT NOT TO DO THIS."
"Severus, will you extinguish the flame under your cauldron, so you can finally fill me in? It feels so unfair having a one-way conversation, while I'm incapable of playing my part, since you failed to inform me early on about its context."
Severus cannot stop his nervous pacing. Being the Slytherin he is, it displeases him greatly to be in this position of weakness. Dumbledore is surveying him shrewdly, seemingly unfazed by his outburst. But Severus can feel his disapproval. Snape the spy knows he is crossing the line.
More importantly, Severus –the man- knows he has no chance of manipulating the headmaster into granting him what he barged in here to ask. No matter how he screams, cries, begs, cajoles or flatters. Albus Dumbledore cannot be fooled. Severus is entirely in his mercy.
The tale of his life.
"Let's start with your report from tonight's meeting."
Feeling gravity's pull more heavily than before, Severus complies like the beaten dog he is. He tidies his long limbs into a straight line and puts on his flat and indifferent mask.
If the Headmaster can pretend that this is just another social call, then so can he.
"Tonight, as the inner circle gathered for the meeting, an idea fell on the table, as part of a dare."
Dumbledore's gaze intensifies; he obviously wonders why would Severus bring up such a trivial, ordinary matter, as Death eaters daring each other.
"By whom?" The old man asks.
"McNair."
The wrinkles around his eyes grow prominent, as the super-centenarian easily recollects. "Was it along his usual tasteless lines?"
Severus wants to nod, but memory of it stiffens his muscles. "It would have been average of him, had it been brushed off as an empty challenge unworthy of more time or thought."
"As it normally happens." Albus nods. "How did it go different this time?"
Everytime Severus blinks, he is transported back into Malfoy's dining room, where taunts and covered insults shoot back and forth among the assembled members. The smell of woodfire drifts from the grand marble fireplace. It is so unlike the ozon smell of foul magic that had filled his nostrils as he held the corpse of his first and only love in his arms, fifteen years ago, in that wrecked cottage in Godric's Hollow.
There is no obvious link between the two memories, and yet, somehow, Severus' mind insists on bringing them up one after the other, merging them together, haunting him. Taunting and tormenting himself with them, in a loop as endless as history repeating itself.
"The Dark Lord heard it, as He happened to be entering the room right on McNair's cue." Says Severus, his baritone voice a failing whisper. "And then the Dark Lord proceeded by expressing his admiration at his wonderful idea."
"Let us take it from the top, shall we? Leave nothing out, Severus, no matter how inconsequential a detail."
Severus watches as Dumbledore reaches for parchment and quill. The Headmaster seeing sense would be his only hope, he knows, as his cold and hopeless heart crumples inside.
The spy starts his report in the same way he always does: by giving an account of who was present, who failed to attend and what were the reasons that kept them away. It gives him time to prepare on introducing the main course.
"McNair's fantasy is that when the Dark Lord takes over the ministry, he'll be appointed a teacher here in Hogwarts." He recounts flatly, nothing in his face showing his displeasure, but his curling lips. "He feels like he'll fit very well here, especially among the female students. The younger, the better, he often says."
Severus purposefully pauses merely to relish that ice like quality that has taken over Albus' eyes. The overwhelming aura of his anger is emanating off him. For the first time ever since he set eyes on the man, the sight of Albus Dumbledore in anger inspires relief instead of fear.
"Please, continue, Severus." Nevertheless the old man's voice is perfectly calm and collected.
"It's very disappointing to him, that he never manages to become as valuable a servant to the Dark Lord, to ever earn his wish. But that doesn't discourage him from loudly and repeatedly advertising what he would do, should he find himself in that privileged position. He dares to scorn myself, in fact, for not capitalising on what he describes as perks of the job."
"And this… challenge?" Albus asks, his voice a wry, boiling thunder.
"Won't it be a laugh –and I faithfully quote his illiterate phrasing- if Severus hit on the Potter boy's mudblood pet? Why don't he fuck her brains out until she has no mind left to help the brat?"
"All in all, a show of impressive insight." Dumbledore sighs wearily, taking off his half-moon glasses and dropping them on the desk. "Especially coming from a man known for his limited analytical and empathetic resources. And yet, Mr McNair managed to spot that which the rest and perhaps even Tom himself failed to, blinded as they were by their arrogance and bigotry. Ms Granger's input in aiding and protecting Harry. Her magical prowess and her unwavering support. And how useful it would be if she got out of the way."
"Are you done singing the praises of a paedophiliac drunkard?" Drawls Severus, showing none of the eagerness he feels, to get the Headmaster back on track.
"Yes, forgive me. I had just hoped this little detail would remain unnoticed." Dumbledore picks up his spectacles again and browses through his notes. "I presume Tom did not use that colourful phrase when he turned this empty challenge into a real, unyielding order?"
Severus could feel how his own brow was pulled toward his hairline. "That colourful phrase?"
"You know the one I refer to."
"Fuck her brains out?"
The Headmaster's nose wrinkles in distaste. "Out of all the possible turns of phrase in the English language..."
Severus doesn't bother to hide how his eyeballs flip over inside his skull.
"How did Tom put it then?" The Headmaster inquires. "How did he phrase his order? What would be the intended outcome of this… mission? Would you turn Ms Granger against Harry? Would you kill her? Lure her out of the school and into Tom's hands, where she would yield precious information?"
Severus can still feel Dumbledore's anger radiating off him, and yet the headmaster's flippant, accounting tone chills him even more.
"That…" Severus drawls. "… Was not something the Dark Lord deigned to clarify. At this stage."
"So, for now, the immediate aim is you seducing her?"
"I am NOT going to seduce her."
"Gain her on your side, earn her trust, her affections?" Albus rephrases in a flippant way that infuriates Snape.
"I suppose." He gritted out.
"Not force her?"
"Excuse me?"
"I realise this conversation makes you uncomfortable, my boy, but this particular detail is important." The Headmaster insisted. "Must Ms Granger wish to lay with you or must she be forced?"
"Do you really think the Dark Lord cares enough to make that distinction?"
Dumbledore throws him a glance, as if he is an uncooperative child. "So, he did not."
"The Dark Lord never runs out of straightforward rapes, Albus. His Death Eaters are always eager to satiate that particular thirst. It's me he wants to humiliate, by having me waste my talents in seducing a schoolgirl. All in all, I'd say a much more interesting spectacle, sadistically speaking."
Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. "I'm inclined to agree with you, my boy. Small blessings."
"Blessi-?" But Severus holds his vitriol before it's spilled from his tongue.
Albus pays no mind to him. He only sighs, and Severus thinks he detects a hint of relief hidden somewhere beneath the lines on his face. "That gives us some leeway."
"How much leeway?"
But Albus doesn't respond. He has fallen into one of his deep thinking pits, and Severus knows he can't drag him out of it before the older man wishes to emerge. Snape can live with it, as long as his retrospection bears the coveted solution.
"So, to sum up." The old man says at last, addressing one of the portraits hanging on the wall above their heads. "You were given a vague order you couldn't wriggle out of, that you must sexually approach one of Harry's safety nets, without any guidance at what the tangible outcome of your endeavours must be."
Severus doesn't appreciate having the absurdity of it all summed up at his face. "I tried to talk Him out of it, but He wouldn't-"
"Did you?" It was then that the Headmaster returns to the present, fixing him unyieldingly with his terrifying blue eyes. "Did you try your best, Severus?"
His eyes that even after all this time Severus finds hard to stare in for long; the eyes that soon, he himself would render unmoving and unseeing.
"Do not doubt me, Dumbledore." He warns, and he can feel his own clenched fists shaking.
"Are you sure you're not secretly yearning for it, Severus?"
It is a test, Severus knows it, as he picks up his pacing again. The old man doesn't really think Snape asked for this, but he needs to be certain before he eliminates a possibility. That kind of cold analytical prowess would normally please Snape, but not now. Not when he's the victim of it.
"Don't you dare make this my fault." Severus spits out each word, venting his ire by pacing back and forth, purposefully avoiding the piercing eyes of a man that used to be the closest thing he had to a mentor. "Don't you dare load me with responsibility for a thing I never asked for in any way! The Dark Lord is toying with me. That is what he does."
As if it wasn't enough that He took Her away, now He is throwing him another muggleborn as a bone to see how Severus responds. Snape is fighting tears now, they burn in the corners of his eyes alongside his anger and shame.
"I have been telling you for a year now, no matter what I do, I cannot earn His trust." Severus continues, uncaring of how his voice sizzles and breaks with tension. "The tidbits of information you allow me to pass over is the only reason he has yet to organise a nightly hunt on the grounds of Malfoy Manor, with my wandless self as the prey. If the Dark Lord does not WISH to be persuaded of my loyalty, then he CANNOT be persuaded. He doesn't trust me, which is why He's toying with me now, humiliating me, checking my limits-"
"You've got the wrong end of the stick, there, Severus." Albus interrupts, in that mentoring tone he used to guide Severus through his early years as a spy. "Don't get me wrong, this is obviously a test to check how far you'd go to please him, by forcing you into intimacy with a girl not very dissimilar from the one you lost."
"That insufferable Know-It-All is nothing like-"
Dumbledore cuts through his angry whisper as if it were made of cream. "It is me he means to taunt by forcing you to prey on one of my students, while I, choiceless, sit back and let it happen. I cannot fire you, Severus, no matter what you do. Firing you means letting you out of my sight, which is risking my precious insight into Tom's inner circle, and he knows I can never let that happen. You could be going around deflowering my students, and I would be unable to stop you."
"I would never-!"
"I am aware." Albus' nod of affirmation is meant as a compliment. "I'm only pointing out that this new little game your demented master has concocted is directed at me and me alone."
The Headmaster has left his seat and has started pacing himself, in that energetical way that's so unfit for a man in his 12th decade of life.
"He's making a show of power, meant to humiliate me." Now it is irritation that drips off the old man. "He's trying to mess with my mind, making me feel cornered and choiceless, hoping, perhaps, that I'll be crippled by my moral code and make a lapse of judgement that will prove to his gain. He may be testing you, but it's me he's toying with."
All the I's and me's in his speech have not passed unnoticed by Severus. "I don't see anyone forcing you to defile one of your students."
That garners enough of Albus' attention. "Is this concern, I hear, for Ms Granger's virtue?"
She can be gang-raped by a bunch of his death Eaters friends, for all Severus cares.
"I am concerned about my own state of mind, Dumbledore!"
Once again, his outburst isn't appreciated by the Headmaster, who surveys him sternly over his half-moon spectacles.
"I have…. far too…. many.. responsibilities…" Severus drawls out carefully, letting his anger drip into each word, "… to suffer the sentimental bother that seducing a schoolgirl will undoubtedly provoke. I'm referring to one of the students under your care, in case you have forgotten. Which is why I came to you, so you can pour your grand intelligence into finding us both a way out of this… circus! Seeing how I'll be murdering you by the end of the school year, it is a rather small favour to ask."
That is his strongest card, the ace he's hiding up his sleeve. It provokes no substantial alteration on the expression of the wizened man before him.
"Hmm." Albus hums thoughtfully. "What, I wonder, would Ms Granger think if she heard of this."
Severus can't help scoffing. "She can't know, why would she know?"
"And it would doom you both if Tom ever happened to enter her mind." Albus agrees. "Which is as good a starting point as any."
Severus' eyes follow his figure frantically. "What do you mean?"
Dumbledore has walked to one of his cupboards. He now returns, holding the Pensieve in his hands.
"Teaching her Occlumency." He murmurs, seemingly still lost in thought, while his lined face is illuminated by the light of the Pensieve. "It is one of the quickest ways to achieve intimacy with a stranger, and very useful in our case, when she masters the craft; as I have no doubt she will, being the bright young witch she is."
Ice-freezing coldness has risen from Severus' feet to his chest, paralyzing as it goes. "So, you won't help me? You won't help her?"
"Severus, you know very well there is no way to circumvent this. Voldemort will not back down, you cannot back down, and I have no option but to turn a blind eye. I cannot stop you, for all the reasons I just explained. But you are already painfully aware of it; it is why you stormed into my office at this time of night, intent on testing out both the strength of your vocal cords and my patience."
The old man has barely spared him a glance, still sunken deep into thought.
"This." Severus spits out, closing in to point his accusing finger in the wrinkled face. "How I'd love it if Minerva was here to listen to all this. Your precious Potter, your precious Gryffindors, all your sycophants and bootlickers and lackeys mistaking you for the paragon of light and righteousness. How would I laugh, as their faces fell, as they realised how corrupted, how ruthless you really are. Tell me, do you realise how this conversation would sound to your precious Potter? Or are you so good at fooling yourself, you think your golden boy will forgive you for throwing his best friend under the bus, just to save your shoes?"
"IT IS NOT…" Dumbledore's voice rises, enough to make Snape flinch back. "… my shoes I strive to save, Severus. You know very well that I will not be alive for much longer. It's our society that will suffer, should Voldemort win. And Voldemort will win, if I lose the inside information that only you can provide. You speak as if I'm sacrificing Ms Granger. Are you the bus I'm going to throw her under, Severus? Is that how you think of yourself?"
Severus doesn't care that Albus' tone has mellowed down; he doesn't care how warm his wise, ever-knowing eyes have become, how accepting and tender. He knows the games the old man plays, he has been a victim of them for so long, and he will not, HE WILL NOT listen to another tirade about how he should think more highly of himself.
"And what is she, to be thrown under it without putting up a fight?" Albus continues. "Is she a babe, a pup, a lifeless doll?"
Yes, Severus knows what he is doing. He is dragging him out of his anger and into a plain of reason. Because that is the esteemed Headmaster's greatest weapon. Reason.
"She is an inexperienced girl who's about to be fooled by a shameless man." Severus murmurs flatly, his desperation brimming in his chest. "She's an innocent I'm going to take advantage of. Another innocent I'm going to spoil beyond repair."
"I think you are underestimating Ms Granger, Severus."
Severus rubs his face with a terse, rigid hand. "I'm going to persuade her I have fallen in love with her… you FOOLISH CODGER! I'm going to manipulate her, fool her, use her and then throw her away. And you stand there, giving me your blessing?!"
"And she's going to let you?" Albus poses, masterfully ignoring his latest prod. "Is she just going to let you do all that, without any input from her? Is she going to trust you blindly, believe you without using a speck of that critical mind she's proven again and again that she possesses?"
"Critical mind- what's that have to do with-"
"I do not mean to doubt your powers in seduction, Severus." Dumbledore interrupts again, without a trace of irony or impatience in his stance. "But after having witnessed Ms Granger's growth for six years now, wouldn't you say this is a gross underestimation of her mind and heart?"
"She's-she's young!" Severus hardly realises he is stammering. He should have never let it get that far. He should have protested more, shouted and shattered all the instruments and ornaments of his crowded, asphyxiating office. "How can you not see how young and inexperienced she is! Brains are not everything and she's got too much of it. Too much brain and not enough experience- Young people can be foolish-!"
"Old people can be foolish." Albus interrupts calmly, perturbed by his seemingly flawed reasoning. "I'm 116 years old and I feel foolish at least once a week. I know you must feel foolish sometimes too. Foolishness is a product of circumstance and character, Severus. Age hardly ever has anything to do with it."
"So you're telling me," Severus is boiling with disbelieving rage, "that you were this wise and all-knowing when you were 16? That no one ever took you for a fool?"
In his agitated state, he needs a moment to realise that something has shifted in the Headmaster's stance. Something about him is different, he's less composed than he was a moment ago. He looks… older, somehow.
"I'm afraid I am as foolish now, as I was as a boy of 17." He says, a catch in his voice and eyes lost far away. "My lifetime of experience taught me ways to hide it better, even from myself. But that's as far as age can take you. I'm the same foolish man I was back then. And that I will remain, until my death."
Albus has recovered from his unprecedented fit of vulnerability, before Severus has gathered enough of his wits to capitalise on it.
"But that needn't be the case with Ms Granger. In fact I have high hopes that she'll prove superior to us both."
"What?" Severus scoffs, but without as much force as he would have done earlier. "Because she's smart? Do you know how many smart people I have tricked? How many of them I have manipulated?"
"Not as many as I have, Severus." Dumbledore remarks and it feels like a line on the sand. "But all this is beside the point. You will start Occlumency lessons with Ms Granger. Covertly, discreetly, under some pretence or other-"
Severus is shaking his head. This is exactly why he stormed into the office. He knew it from the first he would be choiceless in the matter. He knew it from the first that the esteemed, kindly Headmaster Dumbledore would prove more unyielding than the Dark Lord himself.
"That's all they're going to be, my boy. Mere lessons. You will get to know each other-"
"Is that what I'm going to report to the Dark Lord when he asks after my progress?" Severus can feel his own spit falling off his trembling mouth. "I'm opening up to her, my lord, we're getting to know each other, sharing confidences and going for picnics. He wants me to fuck her, Albus. He expects me to show him memory of the deed; He wants me to take her, deflower her, defile her. He stressed it in no unclear terms, what will happen to me if I fail. And the Dark Lord isn't known for his patience."
Severus can hear his own fear, he can see it reflected on Albus' blue irises. His voice grows small, and he doesn't try to control anything anymore. Control has early been taken from him, when the man who birthed him took out his own belt and thrashed him for the crime of being a wizard. He left him on the floor of his childhood bedroom, passed out from the pain, lying in a puddle of his own vomit and tears.
"Then, when Tom's patience runs out, we'll see how we proceed." The old man speaks evenly, empathetically, rationally.
He hardly raises his voice, his patience never falters. He's Severus' master, but he will not punish him for his disrespect, for his loss of temper, for calling him a foolish codger, for the vehemence of his swearing. Albus would not punish him in bloody, painful, twisted ways, like the Dark Lord usually does. But what Albus is asking of him is no less twisted than the Dark Lord's order.
"If you eventually realise your time is running out," the Headmaster continues, "isn't it important that familiarity between you and Ms Granger is already established? Nevertheless we have some time in our hands until then. Who knows what might be different in a week or two? For now, you will merely teach her how to shield her mind. You will not flirt with her, you will not bed her, you will not force anything that either of you don't wish to do. You will just get to know her, and give her a chance to know you."
Severus is tired, so tired. He just wants to crawl into a hole and die.
"For how long, Albus?"
"For now."
"She's a minor, Albus." Snape makes one last half-hearted attempt.
"No, Severus-"
"Yes, she is, blessed Potter is sixteen now, so she's sixteen now."
"Ms Granger has lost a year, Severus, due to her birthday being after school admissions close. Since a few weeks ago, she's officially an adult by our laws and customs, able to wield magic without supervision, able to vote, to be employed, to make her own choices."
"It is not right, Albus. Even I can see it is not right."
He has dropped down on a chair, he has buried his face in his hands. He doesn't care how exposed the nape of his neck is. He feels Albus come closer, hears the rustle of his heavy golden robes and the warmth of his long-fingered hand as it comes to rest on his slumped shoulder.
"Open up to her, Severus." Says the Headmaster in a heart-breakingly kind voice. "Show her that golden heart you only ever show to me. Give her a chance. That's all I ask."
"You ask." Severus repeats. "You ask, and ask, and ask, small thing after small thing, after small thing, until they're all a very large and heavy thing and I cannot bear my own shame."
The Headmaster squeezes his shoulder in a way that breaks Severus' cracked and bleeding heart even more; he comforts him as if he cares, and Severus wonders again, how will he manage to murder this man?
"From all the things I've asked of you, my boy…" Albus looks down on him in empathy and kindness. "Out of all the sacrifices you made in the name of Lily and her son, is this really the worst? All I ask is that you give a young woman a chance to get to know you better. Isn't that the most humane task you've ever been assigned? Both for you and for your so-called victim?"
But he will kill him. He will kill him, he will kill him.
He will kill Albus Dumbledore, Severus thinks, as he composes himself, as he stands on his own two feet. He reinstates the distance between him and the Headmaster, a distance that should have remained intact tonight. Severus will be haunted by this intimacy tomorrow. But nothing matters, because Severus will kill this man, who kindly advices he should get some sleep, who reassures that tomorrow will shed a new light to his latest ordeal.
That's why he will take pleasure in killing this man, because he's the most loving of all his tormentors.
A/N: Cross-posted on Ao3. I am desperately looking for a beta reader, PM if you're interested!
Thank you for reading! ANY kind of criticism is very welcome!