The Quality of Mercy

Five: Secrets and Lies

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" George Weasley exclaimed. "What did you do to yourself?"

Hermione put a self-conscious hand to her head. "You don't like it?"

He appeared somewhat taken aback. "No -- I mean, actually, it looks really good. I wasn't expecting that."

Resisting the urge to laugh, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So are you insinuating that normally I don't look good?"

"No, I -- well, erm -- " He floundered for a few seconds, then said, in exasperated tones, "Oh, just come on in, then!"

Grinning, Hermione moved past him and into the little anteroom just inside the front door. There she paused to take off her cloak and hang it from the stand reserved for that purpose. A loud clamor of voices toward the back of the house told her everyone had, as usual, congregated in the kitchen. With George tagging along behind her, she headed off in that direction. His reaction had been more than satisfactory, but she figured it couldn't hurt to get a few female opinions as well. Ever since she'd left the hairdresser's earlier that afternoon, she'd caught herself sneaking surreptitious looks in the mirror, her mother's car windows -- almost any reflective surface which would tell her that, although the stylist her mother had brought Hermione to for the all-important hair appointment might be a Muggle, he'd certainly worked some sort of magic on her unruly locks.

When she entered the kitchen, everyone turned toward her, and the multiple conversations that had been in progress abruptly halted.

Molly was the first to speak. "Hermione, dear!" she said, giving her daughter-in-law a warm if slightly shocked smile. "Don't you look nice -- something different about your hair, is it?"

"For once it doesn't look as if you stuck your finger in a light socket," Harry commented, and Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. Around him other members of the Weasley clan assumed friendly -- although somewhat puzzled -- grins. Hermione doubted that any of them understood the reference.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione replied. "I should have known you'd go right to the heart of the matter."

"It does look very nice," Ginny said at once. "Did you go back to using the Sleekeazy Hair Potion?"

"No -- what you see before you is the product of pure Muggle know-how."

Molly made a skeptical noise before returning her attention to the all-important act of basting the goose. Although she would never come out and say it, she possessed the usual wizard-born distrust of all things Muggle. Privately, Hermione had come to realize that -- in some matters at least -- nonmagical folk had a leg up on the wizarding world. She knew she wasn't the only young witch to use Muggle cosmetics, nor was she the only one who could be seen sporting distinctly un-wizard-like garb for more casual occasions. Of course, she had the advantage (or disadvantage, as some might say) of having been raised a Muggle for the first eleven years of her life. For her the nonmagical world was neither foreign nor dangerous, but, as with everything else, filled with a mixture of the good, the bad, and the occasionally useful.

Her mother had finally convinced her to visit the stylist, saying the man was a genius with curly hair. Hermione had decided the worst that could happen would be she would hate her new hairstyle, in which case she'd either research charms to make her hair grow quickly or invest in some hats. However, in this case her mother had spoken the simple truth. Although frightening amounts of hair had fallen on the floor during the process, by the time Clive was done snipping away Hermione's hair hadn't looked much shorter, but it was far less bushy. After warning her against ever lifting a brush to her head again -- "and I will chase you all the way out to Otter's Ski Pole or whatever little village you're hiding in and spank you with that brush if you do -- " Clive had applied a generous amount of some specialized product to her hair that transformed her bushy mop into a fall of sleek, gleaming curls that fell over her shoulders and framed her face. Her mother had gifted her with several more tubes of the pomade to take home with her, so the frizzies appeared to be banished for the immediate future.

Truthfully, Hermione had never cared much about her appearance one way or another, and had never understood the untold hours some girls had spent in the Gryffindor dormitory grooming themselves before they felt ready to appear in public. Ron had fallen in love with her bushy hair and all, so it wasn't as if she had to play up her looks in order to catch a man. Oh, once she started work at the Ministry she had developed a fast routine of mascara and lip tint in an attempt to look a little older and more polished, but that was about it. But after receiving more than a few admiring looks during her trip from the salon back to her mother's car, Hermione had begun to wonder if she had overlooked an important part of her development. Surely she shouldn't care if she attracted the attention of some Muggle men on the street, but somehow it felt good to realize that complete strangers apparently thought she was pretty. It was a novel experience, one that erased some of the sting from phrases such as "a plain but ambitious girl," words she had shrugged off at the time but which had continued to rankle somewhere deep inside.

"Well, I think it looks wonderful," Ginny said. "Really changes you. I might have passed you on the street and not even recognized you!"

"I would not say eet ees so drastic," cut in Fleur, who gave Hermione an appraising look. Although the events of the War and motherhood had softened her somewhat, Hermione could tell Fleur still did not particularly like another woman being the center of attention. Ginny scowled, and Fleur hastened to add, "But eet ees certainly an improvement."

Hermione wanted to laugh at the backhanded compliment, but instead she managed to smile and murmur a thanks, then gratefully accepted the goblet of elf-made wine Bill handed over to her with a wink. After asking Molly if she needed any help -- a question which always met with demurral, but which convention demanded -- Hermione took the empty spot at the table between Ginny and Charlie.

The conversation drifted this way and that, with Harry and Percy discussing the latest developments at the Ministry, and Ginny and Fleur occupied with an in-depth analysis of which cribs and layettes were superior. Hermione found herself listening to both with only half an ear, comforted more by the sounds of their voices and the reassuring familiarity of her surroundings. Ron might be gone, but at least the Weasleys still considered her to be very much a part of the family. At the same time, she felt herself detached from the group, a friendly observer at best.

Perhaps it was merely because of the secret she carried with her. She knew Severus Snape was still alive, but she hadn't breathed a word of her discovery to Harry. Not that she'd really had the opportunity -- her parents had kept her busy after she arrived at their home on Monday afternoon after she got off work, and she knew better than to expect she would have a chance to speak to him in private at the Burrow.

Should she even tell him? Hermione had wrestled with that question in some depth, unsure as to what exactly Harry's reaction would even be. To be sure, he hadn't seemed exactly thrilled with her investigation into the mystery in the first place. Then again, didn't he deserve to know? Just because he had kept his own secrets didn't mean she should respond in kind.

Back and forth she went over her dilemma even now, as the conversation ebbed and flowed around her, until at last the feast was spread out on the table before them. All talk died as everyone attended to the important business of showing their appreciation for Molly's culinary talents. Once or twice Hermione looked up from her plate to see Harry staring at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes, but he was seated far enough away from her that she didn't much fear him asking any awkward questions. Both Charlie, who sat to her right, and Percy, who sat on her other side, seemed to respect her need for silence and allowed her to eat in peace.

After dinner, once the plates had been cleared away, the group wandered into the living room for the all-important opening of presents. Tiny stars Charmed to provide an ever-moving constellation of light circled the somewhat lopsided fir tree in the corner, and a fire burned warm in the hearth. Harry began to edge toward Hermione, but was intercepted by Arthur, who decreed that he should play Father Christmas for the evening and hand out the presents. An air of determined cheer pervaded the room; everyone there must have felt Ron's loss as an old, unhealed wound, but it was quite obvious that none of them would publicly acknowledge such a thing. Perhaps the forced merriment was for little Victoire's sake, who had barely known her uncle and who was now toddling about the room and trying to rip open every brightly wrapped package she saw, whether or not it belonged to her.

Hermione didn't want to acknowledge the relief that flooded through her as she watched Arthur neatly sidetrack Harry. After all, she would have to tell Harry the truth about Professor Snape at some point. But she didn't want it to be here, where the Weasleys would no doubt pounce on the information like a starving crup on a bone. They did have a tendency to dissect ever piece of noteworthy news from the wizarding world, and somehow she found she didn't much care for the thought of Severus Snape being the focus of such a discussion.

"Woolgathering?" Harry asked, and Hermione looked up to see him holding out a lumpy package.

"I expect I was," she admitted, but said nothing else as she accepted the gift. By the size and feel it was most likely another one of Molly's hand-knit jumpers. Really, how many of the things did Molly think she could reasonably wear? At least this one, as Hermione discovered when she opened the package, was a rather tasteful dark green garment with a pretty pattern of leaves around the neck and sleeves. "Thank you, Molly," she called out. "It's really lovely."

The sincerity in Hermione's voice must have been evident, for Molly smiled and nodded, looking pleased. Probably she'd had to do with quite a bit of grumbling over the years from her brood in regard to her knitting projects, but at least in this case the recipient showed genuine gratitude.

Hermione had rather recklessly spent her money on somewhat frivolous gifts -- a transistor radio for Arthur, who would no doubt take it apart the very next day; a set of bath salts and lotions that would magically change scent depending on the user's mood for Molly; fur-lined slippers for Ginny, who always complained of cold feet. It should have comforted Hermione to watch as everyone opened their presents and exclaimed over them, but she felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of sadness wash over her...not, she realized, because Ron wasn't there, but because she had had a sudden vision of Severus Snape all alone in that isolated dale, spending Christmas Eve with no one but himself for company.

Why that thought should cause her so much sorrow, Hermione couldn't quite guess. After all, Snape had no one to blame his exile on but himself. Still, it hurt her to think of him in his solitude at this season. To the best of her knowledge, he had always stayed on at Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays, probably because he had nowhere else to go. At least there he had had the spurious comfort of his fellow staff members if nothing more.

She had thought herself alone all these months, but although Ron's loss echoed through her life like the clanging of a prison gate that locked away all her future hopes, as she gazed on the determined, cheerful faces of the people around her, Hermione understood she hadn't been alone at all. Not like Severus Snape, who had no one -- no family, no friends, no loved ones -- to whom he could turn when the solitude became too great, and the echoing emptiness such a weight that sometimes the mere act of drawing breath became a burden.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Hermione felt the familiar tightness in her chest and throat, and the bright scene before her blurred into tears. Blindly she set aside the jumper and pushed herself out of the chair, ignoring Harry and Ginny's worried queries. She blundered out of the living room and into the hallway, where she pressed her forehead against the lintel of the front door and fought the sobs that wanted to tear their way out of her.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice, thick with concern.

She did not lift her head. "I'm all right."

"Liar."

At that remark she managed a shaky laugh. "Fine, then. I'll be all right in a minute." She turned and crossed her arms in front of her, forcing herself to meet Harry's troubled gaze.

He shifted his weight, as if uneasy at her unexpected display of emotion. "I know it's tough," he said. "First Christmas without him...we're all just doing our best to hang on."

Hermione nodded, but for some reason Harry's comment only made her want to break into renewed sobs. Better, though, that he should think her grief for Ron was the reason why she wept.

After all, how on earth could she ever explain to Harry Potter that she wept for Severus Snape, for his utter isolation and the lost, empty days of his bitter life?

***

Christmas Day came and went, a bright blur of cheerful, ordinary traditions. Hermione almost welcomed the sheer Muggle-ness of her family's celebration; it was easier to be with her parents and her cousins and uncles and aunts, since they of course knew nothing of Severus Snape or her mad impulse to seek him out. But after Christmas came Boxing Day, and as much as Hermione looked forward to seeing Neville and Luna and even Ernie, she had come to dread the idea of being alone with Harry. The prospect of sharing confidences didn't seem quite as appealing as it had only a few days earlier.

I didn't think it would be so hard, she thought, after Apparating on the front doorstep of number 12, Grimmauld Place. And I must be losing my mind, to have broken down like that on Christmas Eve. If Snape likes his solitude, why should it upset me so much?

To that she had no real answer, so she sucked in her breath and lifted the knocker on the front door. At once it swung inward, and Kreacher poked out his long nose. Luckily his outlook and his behavior had suffered a sea change since the time he had greeted Hermione with the hated epithet of "Mudblood." Now he bowed and said, in his rusty voice, "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Weasley."

The name made her want to look over her shoulder for Molly, but Hermione had long since given up this battle, as hyphenates were apparently beyond the house-elf's understanding. Instead she replied, "Thank you, Kreacher," and entered the ground-floor hallway.

Kreacher wasn't the only thing about the house that had experienced a change for the better. Certainly the late, unlamented Mrs. Black wouldn't have recognized the place. Gone were the peeling wallpaper and musty carpet, along with the rows of forbidding portraits that had once populated the downstairs corridor. Harry hadn't quite had the nerve to dispose of them altogether, but they now resided in the basement, from whence Mrs. Black's outraged shriek would emerge at random intervals. The first few times that had happened Hermione had jumped about a foot, but now she had grown used to it, the way someone who lived near a railway might become accustomed to the intermittent shrilling of a steam whistle.

Now the house looked trim and smart, quite like something out of one of Hermione's mother's interior design magazines. Polished wood gleamed on the floor, and warm tan paint served as the perfect backdrop for the subtly moving landscapes Ginny had hung on the walls to replace the grim Black portraits.

Hermione heard voices drifting up from the staircase that led down to the basement kitchen and moved in that direction. Kreacher followed her for a few paces, then returned to his post by the door.

Sure enough, Harry and Ginny sat at the long kitchen table, with Ernie hovering in the background. Hermione didn't see Neville or Luna, but as Luna was not known for her punctuality and Neville often didn't seem to have room in his head for commonplaces such as a calendar, Hermione did not find their tardiness all that unusual.

"Something for the table," she said, offering a bottle of elf-made wine she had picked up in Diagon Alley a few days earlier. "And my mother sent this for you, Ginny -- she says it's very good." Hermione set a bottle of imported sparkling peach juice down on the table next to the wine; since her expecting sister-in-law of course couldn't drink the elf-made liquor, Hermione had been glad of her mother's suggestion to bring Ginny some of the fizzy juice.

"It looks lovely," said Ginny, who reached over to pick up the bottle and take a closer look at the label. "Tell your mum thanks so much." She put the bottle back down and then rubbed a hand across her distended belly. "I'm beginning to feel as if I'm carrying around a giant, but I suppose I should just be glad that I'm at my biggest now and not over the summer."

"Not much longer, though, right?" Hermione asked, with what she hoped was a knowing glance at Ginny's stomach. It had begun to seem as if her sister-in-law had been pregnant forever.

"About a month, if all goes well. Mum's been feeding me horror stories about how Bill was three weeks late, though. I guess it's not that uncommon with the first child."

"Well, we'll just have to hope for the best," Hermione replied, feeling a little uncomfortable. Ginny seemed so matter-of-fact about the whole thing, and of course the healers at St. Mungo's were some of the best in the world, but Hermione wasn't sure she would be so calm if their situations were reversed.

"Some wine, Hermione?" Harry asked.

His questioned startled her a little, but she said at once, "No, not yet. With dinner, perhaps." The last thing she needed was to start drinking the heady wine on an empty stomach.

He smiled. "Some pumpkin juice, then?"

She agreed to that at once, and just after Harry had poured it for her a clatter of feet on the stairs announced the arrival of Neville and Luna. Although Hermione thought she would have been used to it by now, somehow Neville's appearance continued to shock her. It didn't seem quite right that the chubby, awkward boy he had been had grown up to be quite a good-looking young man. And Luna, despite her mismatched robes and faraway mien, somehow managed to project a wistful, fey quality that went well with her clouds of pale hair and dreamy blue eyes. It seemed that the hand Neville offered her as they reached the bottom of the step had a touch more than friendliness to it.

Or I could just be imagining things, Hermione told herself. I hope I'm not succumbing to that dismal tendency of some females to mentally match everyone up everyone around them. Still, she was fairly certain she hadn't mistaken the brief, admiring glance Neville gave Luna before she came to sit down at the table on Ginny's other side.

Harry offered their new guests drinks, and after everyone had settled themselves -- including Ernie, who finally ceased his hovering and sat himself next to Hermione -- Ginny flashed the company a grin and inquired, "Have any of you seen the Daily Prophet today?"

Hermione shook her head; although she subscribed to the paper, she had of course spent the last few days at her parents' house, where the newspaper of choice was the Times.

"The Prophet doesn't interest me," said Luna dreamily. She stared off in the direction of the stove, where Kreacher had reappeared and was doing something complicated with a standing rib roast.

Hermione had to quash the impulse to offer Kreacher some help; the house-elf would not stoop to accept any assistance. Besides, she knew she had no real idea of what one even did with a rib roast. Better to let it alone.

Neville looked mystified, and Ernie shrugged and remarked, "Took a quick glance at the paper, but I confess I didn't see anything of particular note."

"Well, it was buried toward the back," Ginny said, then added, "Accio Prophet!" The paper came sailing down the stairs and nearly smacked Harry in the head, but he ducked just in time. Still grinning, Ginny snatched the paper out of midair and flipped to almost the last page, then smoothed it out on the table in front of her. "Just a small announcement: 'Married lately at Malfoy Manor, Miss Pansy Parkinson to Master Draco Malfoy.' I guess she finally snagged him."

"And I can only imagine what their children will look like," Harry remarked. "Pairing a ferret with a pug!"

"Harry!" Hermione said, in reproving tones. True, Draco did have quite a pointed nose -- but then again, so had Ron. And Pansy had improved greatly over the past few years. Hermione had actually caught a glimpse of the erstwhile Miss Parkinson the preceding Saturday in Diagon Alley. Pansy had been coming out of Madam Malkins' shop, accompanied by a taut-faced older woman whom Hermione had guessed must be her mother. Probably getting a last fitting on her wedding robes, Hermione realized. "I'm surprised it took them so long."

"Well, the Malfoys haven't been exactly the favored children of the wizarding world since the end of the War," Ginny replied. "They've been lying pretty low, but there's still quite a bit of bad feeling. And although Pansy was a Slytherin, there's never been any evidence to show that her parents were supporters of Voldemort. I doubt they were exactly thrilled with Pansy continuing to stick by Draco despite everything."

Which would explain the grim look on the elder Parkinson woman's face, Hermione supposed. They hadn't worn the appearance of a mother and daughter shopping for wedding clothes, that was for sure. Ignoring a flare of unexpected sympathy for Pansy, Hermione just said lightly, "No doubt you'd say they deserve one another, Harry!"

He refused to take the bait, and instead replied, "Let's just wish them all the happiness they deserve." With that he raised his glass, and everyone around the table followed suit. "To Draco and Pansy -- here's wishing them a long life in which they can plague one another to the end of their days!"

Ginny laughed and said, "Hear, hear!"

Ernie chuckled as well, and drank some of his elf-made wine. Neville looked somewhat puzzled, but gamely toasted the lucky couple, while Luna just smiled and shook her head.

Hermione wasn't sure the mockery was warranted, but she held her tongue and drank a little of her pumpkin juice. Oh, Draco had proved to be a double-crossing sneak, and a coward as well, but one couldn't hold a grudge forever. Surely he must have had some redeeming qualities, or Pansy would have given him up years ago. Even if it were misplaced, Hermione found she couldn't deride that sort of devotion.

After clearing his throat, Neville said, "Well, I've just gotten a bit of good news myself."

Perhaps he hadn't meant to steer the conversation away from Draco and Pansy, but Hermione mentally thanked Neville for giving her a chance to change the subject. "Really?" she asked. "What is it?"

"Professor Sprout has decided she wants to step down after this year, and she's putting my name forward as her replacement." Neville uttered these words with a diffident air, but the flush that spread across his cheeks gave the lie to his nonchalant manner.

Immediately the table erupted with congratulations and well wishes, and Neville blushed even more. "Well, nothing's final," he went on. "But usually the outgoing professor's recommendation is given a lot of weight. I should know for sure by the end of May."

"That's wonderful news," Hermione said firmly. "Your grandmother must be so proud."

"Oh, she is. After all, after the way things started out for me at Hogwarts, I'm pretty sure she never thought I'd end up teaching there!"

That self-deprecating comment made everyone laugh, and Hermione joined in as well, although Neville's remark somehow brought home to her how much everything had changed over the past few years, how one could never be sure what twists Fate might decide to throw in one's path. Certainly she could never have imagined being widowed at twenty-three. She became acutely aware that it was Ernie Macmillan and not Ron who sat next to her and laughed and joked with the rest of the company.

You will not cry, she told herself. Just paste on a smile and get through the evening somehow...and it is good to see everyone, even if the person you wanted most to be here is gone.

The moment of melancholy passed, and Kreacher announced dinner would be served soon. That appeared to be the signal for them to leave the cozy if cramped quarters of the basement kitchen and troop dutifully up the stairs to the dining room, which was located on the first floor. And truly the rest of the evening did pass cheerfully enough, with all the inevitable catching up that was the hallmark of such gatherings.

Much later, however, after Ernie had left, with Neville and Luna following within a few moments, Harry fixed Hermione with a stare that seemed impossible to avoid and asked, "Would you mind giving me a hand with these glasses? I've sent Kreacher to bed -- he worked himself too hard today."

Well, she had to give Harry credit for knowing exactly how to corner her. She couldn't demur without making it sound as if she didn't care whether Kreacher was tired or not, and of course Ginny couldn't be expected to carry the glasses down to the kitchen. Besides, she looked worn out, propped up in an armchair with her hands draped limply across the bulk of her belly and her eyes half-closed.

"Of course," Hermione said. She knew she was trapped.

In silence they gathered up the empty glasses and went downstairs to the kitchen. Once he had set his burden down on the counter next to the sink, Harry crossed his arms and said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

He frowned. "Don't play stupid, Hermione...it's one of the few things you're not good at."

Hermione felt a scowl of her own crease her forehead. "I fail to see why I should have to tell you anything, considering you've been less than forthcoming with me."

"Oh, so we're back to that now?"

"Yes."

His mouth tightened. "I don't see how what I know can make any difference."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

He'd learned to control his temper better over the years, but Hermione could tell he was angry with her. It showed in the tense muscles of his throat and the pinched look around his eyes. He said, "Did you know about the portrait?"

Puzzled by this non sequitur, Hermione replied, "What portrait?"

"Snape's portrait. The one in the Headmaster's office."

"What about it?"

"It's empty."

Anger of her own flared, and Hermione snapped, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"They didn't want to give him one at first, but Professor McGonagall and I argued for it." Harry's lips quirked. "Odd as that may sound. So they hung the frame -- and nothing. No Snape."

"Really?" Hermione responded, but she thought her voice sounded a little shaky.

"Really. Some people thought it was because he hadn't been Headmaster when he died -- after all, he'd been sacked -- but I thought it was still strange. So tell me, Hermione -- is the reason Snape never showed up in that portrait because he's not really dead?"

The question seemed to hang in the air for a long moment. Then she said, "Yes."

A strange expression passed across Harry's face, one that came and went so quickly Hermione couldn't even identify what it was.

"Yes, he's alive," she went on. "So I was right after all."

For a few seconds Harry said nothing. At length he asked, "How is he?"

"Alone," she said shortly.

Harry glanced away from her but did not reply.

"So I've told you the truth," Hermione said. "Are you going to return the favor?"

Another one of those silences.

Again she felt a rush of anger, and with it the beginnings of regret. Why on earth had she told him the truth, when it was obvious he had no intention of showing her the same courtesy? What could possibly be so important he would continue to hide it from her?

Coldly she said, "Goodnight, Harry," and turned away from him.

"Hermione -- "

Ignoring the pleading tone in his voice, she continued to walk toward the stairs, only to feel his hand reach out to grab her by the arm. It was slightly less rude than having him block her with an Impediment jinx, but all the same she whirled around and wrenched herself from his grasp.

"Manhandling me won't help, you know," she said.

"Look, Hermione, I'm sorry -- "

He did sound sorry, but at the moment she didn't much care. "After all we've been through together, you're still keeping secrets from me. How do you think that makes me feel?" As she uttered those last words, Hermione realized she was dangerously close to tears again. Damn it, she might as well Transfigure herself into a wet blanket and be done with it.

For what seemed like an eternity Harry merely stood there, gazing down into her face. The dull glow from the fireplace reflected in his glasses, and she could read nothing from his expression. Finally he said, "He loved her."

Again she felt as if Harry's remark had somehow come in at right angles to reality. "What?"

"Professor Snape. He loved my mother. And that's why he worked all those years for Dumbledore -- so he could somehow find a way to atone for telling Voldemort the prophecy, for giving Voldemort a reason to want me dead."

The enormity of what Harry had just told her didn't quite sink in at first. Hermione said the first thing that popped into her mind. "I didn't realize they knew one another."

Harry smiled thinly, as if he understood all too well her shocked incomprehension. "They grew up together, were in the same class at Hogwarts. I think they were even friends for a while. But he started messing with the Dark Arts, and she dropped him. Guess you know now why he hated my father so much."

It explained so many things, so many undercurrents Hermione hadn't even been aware existed until now. It was like looking through her father's binoculars at a fuzzy landscape and having him come up and adjust the setting so that everything slipped into sharp focus.

It explained as well the edged retort of "don't I?" when she had accused Snape of not knowing what it was like to lose someone. He had lost Lily, and doubly so. The empty months since Ron had died had taught Hermione a bitter lesson about loss. It wasn't just the idea of that person being gone forever which hurt so much, but the realization you had lost as well all the possibilities that had existed while he was still alive. To deal with such a burden was bad enough; to feel yourself responsible for that person's death must have been untenable. No wonder Snape had risked his life over and over again to bring about Voldemort's defeat. It would not bring Lily back, but at least it would have earned him some measure of absolution.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," Hermione said at last. "I had no idea -- "

The bitter smile that pulled at Harry's lips was almost worthy of Severus Snape. "My own fault, I suppose. If I'd just told you the truth in the beginning, maybe you wouldn't have been so eager to go chasing after Professor Snape."

Possibly, although Hermione knew deep down that very likely her respect for Harry's situation might not have overcome her desire to solve the mystery. "Perhaps," she allowed.

"So what now? You've found him -- what are you going to do next?"

Hermione gave Harry a weak smile. "I don't know. He all but threw me bodily off the property -- I doubt he'd be happy to see me again!"

Harry made no effort to hide his relief. "Well, if he wants to be alone, I suppose we'd better just let him."

Not quite trusting herself to reply, she nodded. She knew that Harry would expect her to let the matter go, and if she had an ounce of common sense, she would do as he wished. But something in her ached at the thought of Severus Snape left to a gulag of his own making. The realization that he had once loved Lily Potter -- and had continued to love her, despite everything -- awoke a stirring within her own heart. It was not pity. Severus Snape would only meet pity with scorn. Rather, it was the birth of a new compassion for someone who had, in his way, suffered a loss as great as hers.

Since Harry obviously expected a reply, Hermione nodded. She hated what she was about to say, but for now it would be better to let him think she had dropped her pursuit of Severus Snape. After all, even she didn't quite know what she planned to do next.

"Yes," she lied, "it is best to let him be."