Reminiscences

The following week saw Hermione taking trembling steps to Snape's quarters one blustery evening. Summoning all her courage, the crimson Iridescent vial clutched in one hand, she hesitantly rapped on his door, her knuckles white, her pale fist clenched so tightly it was almost numb.

The echoes resounded in the dark hallway for what seemed like eternity, until the door opened, just a fraction, and Hermione found herself face to face with Severus Snape.

His gaze was curiosity tinged with a trace of suspicion, and Hermione found herself speechless, for raw emotion was welling up within her like a geyser ready to erupt. Her large, liquid eyes, however, spoke volumes; they were the window to her very soul, and they brimmed with a mixture of confusion, of fear, of desire and of hope.

Wordlessly, Hermione stretched out her hand, extending the almost-full vial of crimson liquid, a silent question in her eyes.

Something flickered in Snape's expression, and when Hermione lifted her gaze to meet his once again, she saw that it was no longer filled with distrust, but instead with sympathy, understanding, and a hint of sadness.

Rolling up his left sleeve, Snape pointed to the symbol emblazoned on the flawless olive skin on his left arm - the Dark Mark, the embodiment of evil.

And Hermione instantly understood.

"Professor, you're bound to Voldemort?" she blurted, bitter disappointment mingling with anguish and shock.