A Walking Shadow

A/N: My thanks to Melenka for keeping this honest.

The Equations Don't Balance

... He sat bleeding in the darkness, stroking her hair.

He felt her body tense, and he drew his hand away, lighting his wand.

She surged to her hands and knees, hair veiling her face. Sweat beaded on her skin, chilling in contrast to the warmth of his body. She felt strands of her hair sticking to her sweaty face, and reflexively she tried to toss the strands over her shoulder.

His heart tightened at the familiar gesture.

Reaching up, she pushed the offending strands off of her face, smudging dirt and grit from the long-neglected floor on her forehead. She snapped her head to look at him, and began, "D-" She winced, one dirty hand flying to her throat.

"Don't try to talk," he said, very gently.

She held her throat and dropped her head. Her hair again veiled her face, a single strand falling straight into her eye. She blinked rapidly and rubbed her cheek on her shoulder, trying to push her hair out of her eye.

He gestured. "May I?"

She stared at him warily, one eye screwed tightly shut in pain. "I-"

"Shhh. Don't talk. Look up." He carefully moved the hair out of her face. "Close your eyes now." He brushed the grit off of her forehead, and rubbed the smudge away as well as he could. He tipped up her chin with a finger. "There. Better?"

She nodded, looking at him warily.

"I am going to heal your throat. All right, Hermione?"

She closed her eyes and nodded again.

Darkness.

She flinched at the feel of his wand on her throat. Warmth and relief soon followed. A fleeting touch on her cheek.

With a flick of his wand, he lit the lamp on the table.

She massaged her throat. "Thank you."

His eyes glittered, and he nodded. "It was the least I could do."

"True, since you were the one who caused it to begin with." She frowned. "I assume you have my wand?"

He nodded, thinking, And so it starts.

She stood, rubbing her hands on her jeans, and drew a deep breath. "How could you?"

"That is a rather a broad question."

"With several follow-ups."

He waited.

"Fine. I'm not going to have this conversation in a dirty kitchen. I am going to the library, Severus Snape. Try not to hex me on my way out the door." Tossing her hair most effectively, she turned and stalked out.

Mrs. Black's portrait started shrieking. "Mudblood filth! Besmirching the halls of my House! Freakish contagion!"

From the kitchen, Snape heard Hermione snap, "Oh shut it, you foul-mouthed pretext!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. Pretext?

Mrs. Black continued her tirade, and Snape heard a distinct whump followed by a sudden silence that, even from where he sat, felt decidedly embarrassed. Then -

"Ow."

Despite himself, Severus Snape chuckled. Rising stiffly, he headed for the library.

In an astonished but - blessedly - hushed tone, Mrs. Black's portrait asked, "How dare you?"

Hermione laughed bitterly. "The question of the hour, Mrs. Black. Now, if you'll pray excuse me..."

Stunned, Mrs. Black gaped at her.

Snape heard Hermione mutter something about "manners" as she went into the library. He leaned against the wall, pulled the chunk of wood out of his shoulder and whispered a healing spell. Gripping the wood in his fist like a talisman, he entered the room behind her.

She sat on one of the leather chairs before the empty hearth, rubbing her arms. "If you would be so kind as to light a fire."

He complied, and stood by the fireplace, leaning his good shoulder on the mantle.

"Severus Snape, you owe me - and the whole world - an explanation. Several, in fact."

"You, indeed. The world-" he shrugged skeptically.

"Quit stalling."

His eyes glinted, but his voice was even as he asked, "One wonders where you would like me to begin?"

She sniffed. "The beginning, of course."

"If we had a week, perhaps."

"Just the high points then. Starting," she continued, her voice low, deadly, "with the Tower. How could you?"

He stared into the flames, remembering. "He was already dying. I believe you heard that part?"

"I heard."

He glanced up briefly, then turned his gaze back to the fire. "When he destroyed the ring, the darkness that had preserved that piece of the Dark Lord's soul entered his hand. It was a mistake made in ignorance, Miss Gr- Hermione."

She furrowed her brow.

"As he often seemed to be what we asked of him, he was not infallible. He did not know everything."

"What happened?"

"You are aware it takes a life to create a Horcrux, yes?"

She nodded.

"It takes another to destroy one."

Her mind immediately flashed to her friends' faces, the faces of people she loved. Harry... Ron... Horrified to hear herself counting, she stared at him.

A fleeting look of sympathy crossed his features.

"But... the diary..." she protested.

"Miss Weasley was nearly dead - enough to satisfy the Horcrux Indemnity, at least a weak one. The more power involved in its creation, the more powerful the remuneration required to destroy it. To create his second Horcrux, the Dark Lord killed his father and grandparents."

"Not an even exchange for Dumbledore," she said, tears welling in her eyes. A moment later, her hand flew to her mouth as she realized the implication of her words. "I didn't mean-"

"I agree, Hermione," he said softly. "And that is how Darkness works, preying on pain, promising justice. Do not judge yourself too harshly, but do not forget."

"Another lesson, 'Professor'?" she asked, deliberately twisting the knife that was his former title.

His irritation spiked. "If you are going to punch every portrait that offends you, Miss Granger-" he began.

"Hermione."

He shook his head firmly. "No. Miss Granger. We can ill-afford your childishness. I have barely begun to explain our situation, and if you prove to have no more self-control than your foolish friends, I fear there is no point."

She stood and stepped toward him, raising her voice. "If there is no point, then why do you bother?"

His eyes flashed dangerously at her. "For the same reason I have done everything for over seventeen years, Miss Granger. Because I have no choice."

The air crackled between them.

"We all have choices-"

Raising his voice, he cut her off. "I made mine long ago. And you, you foolish young woman, will listen to me until I have finished. Then you may judge me, Miss Granger. You will not judge me out of ignorance."

She refused to back down. "I came here looking for you, Severus Snape. Despite my friends, despite the Order, and despite what might happen if I was lucky enough to find you - exactly what you did to me in the kitchen, I might add - Despite every reason not to, to stay at the Burrow like a good little girl - 'Don't think' - 'Don't ask so many questions' - I have not been able to get what you did and who I believed you to be - needed you to be - to make any sense!" Scathingly, she continued, "I have used logic. I have used Arithmancy. I've reviewed all of my memories of you: your every expression and posture, every inflection in your voice, every harsh word and every cunningly hidden compliment - It's all a carefully crafted mask, an act, that's obvious - but still: nothing adds up. The equations don't balance, Severus Snape, they do not balance, and no one knows why except for you and a bloody portrait that's pretending to be asleep."

He looked Stunned.

"Oh yes" - a brittle laugh - "...he's faking. I'm sure of it. So please," she sneered, "please don't preach to me about ignorance when I am the only one who's bothered to realize that I don't know, that you do, and that whatever it is not only matters, but is probably the most important thing in the world." She stalked toward him. "What don't I know, Severus? What do I need to know?"

The silence rang between them.

She stopped less than a foot from him, raising a hand as if to touch his face, stopping just shy of it. She held his gaze for a moment. "We need you. Without you, we will fail." She let those words sink in, then dropped her hand and delivered her coup. "And I, for one, refuse to die just because your psyche has more buttons than your bloody frock coat."

Damn. Finally, he found his voice. Drawing himself ever so slightly taller, he said, "Then you will need to listen."

Her eyes narrowed. Took you a long time to choose the appropriate mask, there, "Professor." She nodded. "Agreed." Arranging her features into a flawless imitation of his own, she sat, crossed her legs and - looking for all the world like a medieval queen - opened her arms. "Proceed."