Teamwork

Teamwork

Chapter 5

"We have to get him out of here," Snape said, and Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Of course," she hissed, "but where can we take him?!"

Hermione racked her brains for a solution. Probably they were supposed to take him to St Mungo's or even the Ministry. Get him sorted out by a Mediwizard, cooperate with a whole team of them to cure his condition, and correct whatever was wrong with the potion. But the fact was: the right thing to do, however, would ruin her. She'd never be able to face her colleagues again when word got out about this. And it would if they did what was right. She had failed. Hermione Granger had failed. That had only happened once before, and she had never intended a repeat performance. The exams she had failed because of her escapades with Harry had easily been repeated and passed. But this was different. This time she wouldn't be given a second chance. A horror scenario played itself out behind Hermione's eyelids: even before nightfall every single secretary in St Mungo's and the Ministry would know. And that meant all the wizarding world would. Within the next few hours she would lose her job, which would of course go to Sybille. The mere thought made her shudder. This time no one would be able to keep it out of her records. No, they needed a better plan.

"St Mungo's," Snape said into her rush of thoughts. "Where else?"

Violently Hermione shook her head.

"No way, if anyone finds out about this, I'm history! The only thing we'll present to the Ministry is the perfect potion."

"Hermione! You can't hush this up!" He rushed around the counter and seized her by the shoulders. "What do you think you're doing? I'll say it again: you cannot keep this secret, this... this disaster!"

"Oh yes, I can!" she practically shouted.

She cast a worried glace at Mark, the impassive waiter. No movement save for the blinking of his eyelids. Then she swatted Snape's hands off her shoulders, and strode over to their subject, starting to pull him off the barstool.

"We'll take him to Grimmauld Place," she announced, trying to balance the docile man in her arms.

"And lock him up in your wardrobe, or what do you suggest?" he snapped, and came around the counter to help her steady the awkwardly swaying man.

Hermione had the odd impression they were playing a particularly absurd game of tug-of-war with him as a rope.

"Maybe Tonks is already back home to look after him. And if not, I will be there; it's early enough if we start in the lab tomorrow morning," Hermione said.

Snape could argue all he wanted; she was so not going to take this man to St Mungo's. She stared at him over Mark's shoulder, and almost had to laugh at the way the waiter's head leaned against Snape's silk-clad chest.

"What if we can't help him, Hermione?" Snape said, anger flashing in his eyes. "He needs a Mediwizard."

Okay, now she had enough of this. He was not going to destroy her life any further than it already had been destroyed by others. Most of all by herself if she was honest.

"My project, my decision," she declared stubbornly, and tightened her grip on Mark while she felt for Snape's arm with her free hand.

She continued to hold his glare for a second, and then she Apparated them straight into her living room.

~*~

Snape stumbled slightly upon the sudden change of location, but quickly regained his equilibrium. No one had ever dared to Apparate him against his will. What was she thinking? She could have splinched them all! He was about to say so, but Hermione was trying to move the waiter, and asked him - not very kindly - to help her before he could get a word in edgewise. Together they sat him down into an armchair by the cold hearth, and then it was definitely time to give her a piece of his mind. But he couldn't risk that in front of the Muggle. Who knew what would happen to him if they Obliviated him? Three doors led from the room that was obviously Hermione's living room, as a quick glance around told him. He grabbed her hand, and pulled her to the nearest door. Her bedroom. Great instinct, he congratulated himself ironically. He dragged her inside anyway, and leaned against the closed door, arms across his chest.

"I always thought you were sensible, Hermione," he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. "That you knew not to mess up your life."

He waited for her to answer then. Hermione had stalked over to a dresser opposite the door and was mimicking his posture.

"And that is exactly what I'm doing," she said, her chin stuck out stubbornly. "I don't think anyone expects me to really succeed with this project. They just don't care. But if anyone sees this..., I can pack my bags at the Ministry. And I love this job, and I want to keep it."

He felt his eyebrows rise toward his hairline. Somehow he was skeptical about this. Did she really love a job in which she had to use memory charms on a daily basis? If it was so, why had she instigated this project then? What had happened to the sensible, ambitious and responsible girl he had known at Hogwarts? What had gone wrong? Somehow the failure of his potion had settled for a backseat in his mind.

"You're telling me you like to run around and steal people's memories?"

"That's not what I said," she whispered; he could hardly hear her.

"I know I have to change things. But I'm beginning to doubt if it's worth it. No one in the Ministry cares for Muggles. No one in a position that matters. I'm trying to change that, and there are people who are only waiting for an opportunity to throw stones in my way. And I know you don't care, either. This is just a little science project for you."

She took a deep breath, and Snape could see she was fighting tears again. And again he wondered what had happened to the girl he'd known. Never had she been this teary. And he should know; he'd made so many of them cry. Then she went to sit down on the bed and examine her hands.

"That's what I thought when I got the request. But it's grown on me. Your project," he replied carefully, and sat beside her. "You've grown on me."

There was a long stretch of silence between them.

"Hermione? Since when do you think so little of yourself?"

"What?"

"This is clearly an accident," he elaborated. "Why do you think everyone will interpret it as your personal failure?"

"They've been waiting for it to happen," she stated briskly, and stood up from the bed.

A flick of her wand made the portrait of a young blond woman swing forward to reveal a cupboard hidden in the wall. Hermione took out a bottle half-filled with a clear liquid.

"Drink?" she asked.

Snape shook his head, and watched with barely concealed concern how she shrugged her shoulders, and poured one for herself. Not even flinching when the liquor ran down her throat, she'd already tipped the shot glass with her wand for a refill.

"That won't help any," Snape felt obliged to say, and got exactly the response he'd expected.

"Thank you very much, Mum."

She glared at him, threw back the shot, and refilled the glass once more.

"Accio," Snape murmured and, getting to his feet, caught the bottle in his hand. Vodka.

"We're taking him to St Mungo's," he declared, and continued when Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "I don't know what made you such a desperate person, and I may not care about Muggles. But I won't let that innocent man suffer because of it."

He waited for a response, but Hermione only leaned back against the nearest wall.

"We can't do that," she whispered, desperately shaking her head. "We just can't."

Slowly she slid down to the floor, and drew her knees up to her chest. Her hands fell loosely to the carpet. Her gaze was empty, directed into nowhere. He couldn't leave her like this, could he? A vision of her floated before his eyes: floral summer dress, naked feet on green grass, radiant smile, sun on her face. The vision he'd seen of her for the last two weeks every night in his dreams. But what he saw now was a defeated young woman, sitting broken on her bedroom floor. He could just walk out and take that Mark-guy to St Mungo's. Being Head of Slytherin for all this time had confronted him with teenage angst and petty concerns about grades and parents. But he couldn't handle this. He knew he's had his share of problems. And the word "problems" didn't even begin to do it any justice, either. His trite and true way to deal had always been to swallow it all down, even though he had known that was no sensible way to deal with severe personal conflicts. There was no way he was giving that piece of advice to Hermione. He'd made his own life a misery by employing this handy policy: don't let it show, don't tell anyone, just carry on as if nothing's happened. But this situation was simply too much for him; he just wasn't cut out to deal with stuff like this. Giving advice to people he cared for. Real problems, life closing in on those people. Not that there was a terrible lot of people he cared for, but he certainly wasn't the bastard the students saw in him, either. And he did care for Hermione; he'd finally stopped denying it. The only advice he could give would be false, a deceptive excuse for real consolation and help.

He should go downstairs - they were on one of the higher floors, weren't they? - and find Tonks or Potter or whoever was there to talk to her. Someone who really knew her, someone who was not him. But Tonks would still be on her case. And anyway, how could he just go to one of them and ask for help? They probably knew more about her and that Vodka thing, though. On the other hand he had been working with her for two weeks now; he would have noticed if it was anything really serious. But still... she was desperate right now. He could see it in her posture, and he was sure it was in her eyes as well, but those were hidden from his view. No, he didn't dare to leave her alone just now. And maybe he didn't even have to say anything to her. Maybe she didn't expect him to give her the means to end her predicament. So he threw the Vodka bottle and Hermione's wand onto the bed, and sat down beside her on the floor. Hesitantly he let his hand fall onto hers on the floor. It felt cold and tiny under his larger hand. Very slowly she lifted her head, and turned to look at him.

"What happened, Hermione?" he asked as quiet as possible, ready to listen to whatever she was willing to share.

~*~

What happened? He was asking her what had happened?

"Life," she whispered finally. "Life has happened."

She returned to studying the carpet, and was grateful that he didn't ask any more questions. She knew he was waiting for her to tell... what exactly? She couldn't start and dish out everything that had gone wrong in her life. Of course the Harry Disaster, as she liked to call it these days, wasn't the only thing. It was just the tip of the iceberg. Her parents were another thing that hadn't worked out the way she'd wanted it to. She refused to think about the break with them now, but it had cut the ground from under her feet at the time. And there was still more that she desperately wanted to push to the back of her mind. And she had never shared this with anyone. Maybe she should now. But with her former Potions professor? No, she definitely wasn't going to tell him. Only moments ago she'd been ready to cry for the second time that day, but somehow all her tears had dried up all of a sudden.

"I messed it all up, you know. This is the last chance I have to do things right. My last straw."

She had to pause and gather her thoughts. It was now or never. She should show some trust in him. And she did trust him; she was sure of that. The last two weeks had made her feel strong again. True, she'd never shown any weakness on the job, but deep inside her was a weakness so profound that it seemed to drag her further down by the minute. But with him around she'd felt like she was able to move things again. To find a way back to the person she'd once been. Before it had all come crashing down on her. And there was one thing she desperately needed to tell someone who was not involved in the whole mess. Someone who didn't have to see it happen.

"I suppose you know that story about Harry and me? Two years ago?" she asked. Of course he would know. There was no one in the wizarding world who hadn't heard the rumors. But the Daily Prophet's version of events was much cleaner than the truth. Much more in the direction of romance novels than the nasty reality: the dream couple gets together right after school, everything is fine as long as the girl doesn't find out about his infidelity, they break up, blah blah blah. She couldn't understand how they could write pages and pages without even grazing at the truth. But it was better for them that way. Even Harry could live with the story.

"I only know what was in the Prophet," Snape said, lifting her hand and cradling it reassuringly in his hands.

Those strong, warm hands that sliced and cut up so expertly anything you'd want to put in a cauldron. Almost, but not quite, she lost her thread of thought over the touch of those hands. But then she drew a deep breath, and tumbling out of her mouth came the whole nasty truth she kept so neatly covered all the time.

~*~

When she had finished her story, they just sat there in silence, staring holes in the opposite wall. Snape knew he could say nothing to help her now, and he couldn't think of anything to make her feel better. And it was then that he realized he had fallen in love. Despite all the tragic and misery he'd just listened to, he found that what had been lurking in the corners of his mind all this time was true: he was in love with her. So simple and yet so difficult. He couldn't bother her now. After all she wouldn't want him anyway. She'd just told him about a devastatingly complicated relationship, and anything resembling a relationship with him would be nothing short of complicated, he figured. And when exactly had he started to think about a relationship with her?

He was still holding her hand in his. It had trembled slightly during parts of her narrative but he'd never let it go. His fingers had started to caress her fragile hand seemingly of their own accord. And as he thought about it, it was the only comfort he could dare to offer. Slowly, very slowly he felt her body relax beside him, and finally grow a bit warmer. She was no longer radiating the eerie cold that had permeated the room ever since he had dragged her inside.

"Severus?" she asked, her voice quiet but steady. "Thank you."

He shook his head. "I didn't do anything."

Now she finally looked at him, her features still grave, but the tension had drained away.

"You listened. I've got no one left to listen. Really listen. You know Tonks. She's a great friend, but listening just isn't her strong side. At school I used to talk to Harry or Ron. Things are still difficult with Harry, and I've got no idea where Ron is these days. My parents... I used to talk to them. But that's over. I can't go into that now, but I haven't talked to them in years. It was nice to have someone to talk to."

She paused, but he had the feeling she wanted to say more; so he waited. And after a while she continued. Carefully, as if feeling each word thoroughly for its truth. "I've been wanting to talk about something else. About... what happened in the lab."

Snape nodded in acknowledgement. He'd been waiting for that talk as well as he had been dreading it.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of your... vulnerability at that moment."

But she shook her head, and grasped for each of his hands now, sitting up on her knees.

"Wait, I... I don't want you to apologize. I just wanted you to know that I don't... I'm not imagining anything, you know. I mean, I know it was just spur of the moment."

"Maybe it was," he answered, hesitating to continue.

What if he told her now? She wouldn't believe him; she'd think he'd just said it to make her feel better. He freed his right hand from her grip, and reached out to stroke a stray tendril of curly brown hair out of her face. On the other hand he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Feeling her eyes observe him carefully, he also rose to his knees.

"But I can't lie to you," said Snape after another long moment.

And then he leaned in to kiss her. Words would not be enough, she wouldn't believe if he just said it. Maybe she would believe if he showed her. He saw her eyes were wide as his lips finally touched hers, and then they fluttered shut. She let out a tiny moan when the tentative kiss intensified. Longing to feel her warm living body against him, he drew her as close as possible, and snaked his arms around her waist.

But suddenly she stiffened in his arms, and pushed at his shoulders. Feeling slightly dazed, he watched her stumble up, and got to his feet as well.

"No," she gasped. "I don't want your pity!"

~*~

Snape stood before her, a look of bewilderment on his face she would have paid for under any other circumstances. It had taken some time, but then realization had dawned on her: he pitied her. Earlier in the lab when she had been so upset about the delay in their work, and just now after she'd told him about Harry.

She'd done a lot of things she wasn't proud of, but this was simply too much. So often in the last two weeks she'd wondered if he could love her. If she could have some happiness in her life, finally the comfort she had been seeking for so long now. But she didn't want him to pity her. And much less did she want him to love her out of pity.

Despair crept up inside her, so profound she couldn't stamp down on it. She had to be alone now; she had to leave, or she would explode from the sheer force of it. With a final trace of sense she grabbed her wand and Apparated.

TBC