As The Seasons Decay

Hermione felt a cold, bony hand on her shoulder and shivered in response, opening her eyes to find herself staring into the blackened irises of Severus Snape.

Upon reflection, screaming around Snape was not, perhaps, a great idea. Considering that his immediate reaction was to seal her mouth shut cruelly with one hand while the other went around her neck, thumb prepared to crush her windpipe. Hermione's eyes were bugged out, pleading with the Potions Master to get a hold of himself and let her go. Preferably alive, thank you very much. Her wish was abruptly granted and she spent the next several moments of her life coughing and spluttering. At last she gained control and was able to look up at the Headmaster's profile, turned in concern towards Snape, who had backed away from the hospital bed with a look that Hermione didn't understand.

Snape caught her staring at him and quickly turned as if to leave the room, only to be arrested by Dumbledore's voice.

"I believe you have something you wanted to say to Miss Granger, Severus?" The voice was stern, but Hermione was certain that she caught amusement behind the words.

Professor Snape turned around rather reluctantly, but quickly gathered himself up and morphed into the imperious figure he was in the classroom and usually outside it as well.

"Miss Granger, it has come to my attention that due to your performance in Potions, you would make an almost acceptable applicant for the position of a Potions Research Assistant for my latest project. Along with the title comes credits which will be transcribed onto your school record and increase the chances of your getting the employment of your choice, especially if it is in the Potions field." He sneered and turned away to look out the window at the pitch-black November sky and the rolling landscape of Hogwarts underneath.

Hermione studied his silhouette against the window and tried to figure out whether there had or had not been a compliment of some sort in his long-winded offer. She decided there was.

"Yes." Simple and to the point, in stark juxtaposition to his paragraph long sentences.

He seemed lost in the world outside the Infirmary, in the few stars that twinkled from the heavens, avoiding the clouds. He didn't turn or make any reply at all.

"Professor?" She waited a few moments but there was still no answer. How could he have possibly not heard her? His hearing was certainly acute enough to hear Harry and Ron every single time they tried to talk in his class. Was something wrong? She finally remembered that the Headmaster was in the room. She could ask him what to do. She turned to him, but he wasn't there. Now how had he disappeared without her realizing it? Well, there was nothing for it. She would just have to get his attention herself.

She eased herself out of the hospital bed, wincing as her body felt the effects of the medical treatments she had undergone. As she walked over to the window slowly, she suddenly felt the fact that she was only wearing a paper-thin hospital nightgown. At least it covered her more than a Muggle hospital gown would. To be half-undressed in front of her stern Potions Master was not her idea of a good night.

"Professor?" she asked again, this time from right behind him. She was so close that she saw the tense line of his shoulders and the bulge of muscles (muscles?) through his ever-black robes. It was interesting being on the other side, she thought. Sneaking up behind him instead of the reverse. It gave her a sort of childish satisfaction and she wondered if it would make him as nervous as it had made her countless times when she was younger. Apparently not, as he had yet to notice her presence. Now she was a little miffed. She wasn't that unnoticeable, was she? It was vaguely reminiscent of that horrible Potions Lesson in her fourth year- I see no difference, Miss Granger... As she ran off to the Infirmary, the tears in her eyes were not for the enormous teeth invading her mouth but for the harsh words and the scraping glance. The sneers and remarks that issued from the Slytherin side of her Potions class for the rest of the year were a constant reminder that no matter how hard she tried for approval, no matter how much the other teachers gave it to her, she would always want the approbation of the one man who would never give it to her.

But that had been years ago. She had been young, and other people's opinions had mattered more to her than what she thought of herself. Now she felt that she had grown into herself and her brains. And her ambition. Where others would characterize her as merely smart, she knew that the truth was that she wanted to go to dark places and do incredible things, rivaling even Ron's quest to get out of the shadows of his brother's lives.

"Professor!" She didn't think she'd ever heard of anyone yelling at the forbidding Snape, but there was nothing else for it but to shake his shoulder. And even just a few inches from her, he was so untouchable, an ephemeral shadow encased by the crystal pane of glass. She shook those thoughts from her head. He was human. A professor, yes, but if there was no other way to make him hear her, she would just have to go ahead and do it. She winced a little, slowly, slowly, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, closer, closer...

And then he turned around, a split second before her hand brushed his body. She snatched her limb back quickly and clumsily, the spitting image of a young child who was caught just a little too close to the cookie jar. A raised eyebrow chastised her more than a sound scolding, and Hermione was vaulted into a past of a warm yellow kitchen and her mother's sharp voice, a contradiction that pervaded her life.

A cough acted to bring her out of thoughts that she tried not to have. Tried so very hard. She raised her head to look into the eyes of her teacher of seven years. Wished that she hadn't, when she discovered how hard it was to pull her cinnamon brown eyes away.

"I believe that there was some reason you so inconsiderately dragged me away from my thoughts, Miss Granger?" The wasp was back in fine stinging form, she noted.

"No, Professor, there was something that I believe you wanted me to say. Yes, I will be your assistant for whatever your current project is. Thank you for the offer."

He merely smiled in mocking amusement.

"I did not ask, Granger. I don't do 'asking'."

"What do you do, Professor?" She shot back sassily, not realizing the double-entendre until too late. Blood beat its way to her cheeks in mortification. "Sir, I-"

"No need, Miss Granger, to get yourself in any more trouble with your naiveté." His voice cut her off sternly, brushing away all her dignity. "Be in the classroom tomorrow morning at six." He turned away and swept towards the door, but was arrested by Hermione's indignant voice.

"That isn't possible, professor-."

"Miss Granger, if you feel that you cannot comply with such a simple command, regardless that it is on a Sunday morning and will force you to actually get up, then I will be more than happy to rescind my offer." His voice dripped with sarcasm. Hermione rolled her eyes and it was rather lucky that he was facing the door. Although he often gave the uncanny appearance of being able to see in the back of his head.

"Professor, it isn't possible no matter how much I would love to get an early start on the project because Madame Pomfrey has bound me to this cursed hospital bed for at least a week. And for the record, I regularly rise before six on any given day. Sir." The last was not a last-ditch attempt to infuse her normal respect for a teacher into the statement, but a sarcastic spike. If there was one thing that made Hermione angry (and in fact there were many things) it was an attack on her dedication or perseverance, two things she prided herself on.

Snpe gazed at this student who always seemed to be hovering on the border between obsequious and obnoxious with a new perspective. He gave a hard nod.

"Fine. I will simply be forced to delay my work-." He was cut off by her again.

"No, that won't be necessary. Three-quarters of Potions work is research. Simply drop by with some books tomorrow morning at your earliest convenience...and I will need a summary of what you are hoping to achieve and anything that you are basing your work on, and by the time I am able to get out of this place, I'll have gone through any material you bring me." Her tone was confident, sure of her abilities. It was tempting to Severus to give her so many books it would be impossible for her to fulfill her foolish promise. Very tempting. He simply graced her with another curt nod and left the room.

Hermione had never really noticed how much presence her teacher had. Of course, she had never been stuck alone with him in a small room at night, either. She felt as though she only now dared breath again, yet there had been something comforting about him as well. Perhaps simply that he seemed to forbid anything from coming near him without his express permission. And that meant that people were safe. She found yet another reason Headmaster Dumbledore was so eager to keep this man. The other she had stumbled upon this last summer while going over some extra Potions reading she had wanted to do. She had progressed beyond doing it simply for her teachers' benefit, and although the result was the same, she now did such things simply for her personal edification. Anyway, the journal was for professionals and so not read by Hogwarts students or their parents, which was sad, because that denied their knowing of just how much a Master of his field the Potions Master was. He was more than just nationally acclaimed; the article had gone so far as to call him a 'genius' among other flattering things, and had gone far towards cementing Hermione's opinion of him and rushing her towards her decision to assist him. To work with him was a high honor indeed, and she knew it even if she hadn't showed him that she did. Questioning whether she wanted to get started with the research, indeed. Hadn't she been a conscientious and almost perfect student of his for years? Didn't he notice anything about her? And why did that keep coming up? Hermione thought for a moment, and then recalled to herself the amount of pain dulling potions Madame Pomfrey had given to her. Although their intended effects had worn off, the side-effects were just beginning. Sleep would undoubtedly be the best thing at the moment.

Professor Snape had but one thing on his mind as he exited the room; bed. The past several nights had been devoid of sleep for various reasons, and he was hoping to rectify the situation. Admittedly, he subsisted on almost as little sleep as his students credited him for, but he was human. If he was to perform at his best, he needed a few hours of repose to do that. However, he was arrested on his ways to the dungeons by a familiar but no less excruciating pain on his left forearm. He made a sharp u-turn to the Headmasters office. Yet again, his plans were foiled by Voldemort.

"Sir, I've been Summoned. I will report to you as soon as I get back. I was given no advance warning about this meeting, and the previous one was just two days ago, so there may be some important information announced." Snape's voice was calm and clear, and Dumbeldore's demeanor the same, but the old man's eyes possessed a wealth of worry for his young friend's safety. The young man in question, however, had no more expression than were he discussing last week's staff meeting.

"Yes, Severus- or they may have found you out. I have told you time and again, you need not go-."

"Bullshit, Albus. I'm going. I'm going and you are going to let me because I am the closest spy to Voldemort and were I to expose myself by not attending the meeting, you would never again get close enough to place a spy within Voldemort's grasp. Any man that tried would be killed...after a long, long torture session. Besides, Poppy's getting useful training for when the Resistance declares open war against Voldemort." Now he sounded rather amused. He gave Dumbledore a jaunty two-finger salute and turned on his heel.

It was all a show, and the Headmaster knew it. They both did. Severus would never let on even if he was terrified, certain of his death...although Albus, who revered life above all else, was forced to admit that the latter was probably not so high on Severus's list of things to preserve. Severus would never admit that things weren't going as well as he would like. In truth, however, they were. Voldemort, intelligent, calculating, cruel, vain, arrogant never believed for a moment that his prize lieutenant had strayed from his flock. Instead, he readily believed that Severus had simply decided to bide his time waiting for the Master by getting himself into as useful a position for the furtherment of the cause as possible. That was what Severus claimed.

Readily, he had called it, Dumbledore thought bitterly to himself. Two months of Cruciatus and Unspeakable Potions and Muggle torture methods...and then he was once again accepted as Voldemort's right hand man. Summer vacation for the Potions Master after Potter's fourth year was not spent basking in the glorious, child-free atmosphere of Hogwarts. It had been spent being pushed again and again to the point of death and being revived again and again to be sent back for it all to happen until Voldemort was satisfied or Severus was dead. Dumbledore had understood this, had loathed every moment the reasons he was forced to do this, but ultimately Severus was right; there was no other, was no better choice. He was the pawn and the king.

The next year had been spent with both sides gathering personnel; trying to ascertain who was on what side. The second year after the Reascension both sides had needed to gain strength, brush up on training and skills rusty after fifteen years out of the battlefield. But the seventh year was shaping up to be different. Already, the Muggle killing total was almost as high as it had been during Voldemort's peak of power, and the Resistance had found that many more of its key parts were dead or unable to fight than the opposing side. A little over two months into school and already the place had begun taking on the feel of a wartime school, with laughter tinted with the knowledge of death acquired too soon and children white-facedly staring at the Ministry owl landing in their breakfast cereal. Yet Severus made a difference. Great as Voldemort seemed to be getting, he placed so much trust in one who would never again follow him with even a portion of his heart, that he was bound to eventually fail. The problem was that Severus could not disobey Voldemort much, and the things had had to do added pounds more to a heart that already was too heavy with sins for him to bear. Additionally, it added even more that he knew that the Light side could not tolerate this slow biding of time if they were to preserve themselves; the mortality rate was simply too high. They needed to act now. For once, rumors were correct in placing Voldemort's biggest act of defiance of the Resistance at Graduation. In one fell swoop, he would control the greatest wizarding school and take out Harry Potter and Dumbledore, his two greatest enemies. Or so he thought, as he discounted the viper at his side in the form of one Severus Snape. Still, the toll was too heavy on all of the Resistance, especially Snape, and Dumbledore had literally turned his brain inside out looking for a plan. That had had the unfortunate consequence of giving him the side-effects of the Obliviate spell, and he had gone about the castle humming Christmas tunes for a week in October. It was now the first week in November, and the Death Eaters were particularly active.

Albus sighed, tired like he almost never got. This was exactly why he told Severus to stop dwelling in the past. It was not only unproductive but it sucked too much out of you. He reached into the fourth drawer, tapped it with his wand and pulled out a long string of Agatha Wiggle's Wonderfully Waggling Watermelon Worms. He'd be waiting awhile for Severus's return.

Snape had done this so many times in the past two years that it was simply routine. The pain, the immediate palpitations of the heart quickly stopped by his rod-iron control, the announcement to Dumbledore...the old man would never know, hopefully, that the main reason he did this was so that someone would know where he was if he died. Then his calm return to his rooms, sometimes arrested by the taking of House points if a hapless student happened to cross his path, as always. The adorning of the Death Eater robes and the Death Eater persona, and then the exiting of the Hogwarts ground. This was the worst part of thenight, or day, or whenever Voldemort so chose; the moments between being safe in the fold of Hogwarts and in the perilous grasp of the Dark Lord. His mind was filled with lists of things he needed to say, needed to find out, needed to keep covert. Filled with a detached curiosity regarding how much pain this visit would entail. For no, not even Voldemort's most favoured acolyte was exempt from his wrath and as of late, Snape had been coming back with more and more injuries. Although to put everything in perspective, Malfoy and Pettigrew had gone home with even more pain than he. Which was saying something, on bad days. At the moment, Snape really had no idea why he was being Summoned. His best guess was that he had been discovered and was to be made a public lesson of Death Eater obedience and honesty, oxymoronic as the last was. He nearly smiled at the thought of Avery ever being honest with his sweet, pathetically stupid wife as to where he had been last night. With that, he made sure his dark mask was secure around his face and stepped over the boundary of the Hogwarts grounds, Dissapparating into very possible death. Unaware of two eyes fastened on his figure as it shimmered and disappeared as the last vestiges of light evaporated and swamped the castle in darkness.