Hidden Within

Hidden Within

Chapter Two - Roundabouts and Revelations

Sitting once more on Severus's table, with a stack of books piled between them, Severus and Hermione took notes. They couldn't tell how many days had passed, only that they ate when they were hungry and slept when they were sleepy. He had allowed her to sleep in his bedroom on a permanent basis, having transfigured the living room sofa into a bed for himself. He could easily understand the fear she felt of leaving his quarters, that only safe spot in the whole of Hogwarts. Even the library had felt oppressive; on that first trip they had made there they had been unwilling to sit there, and had opted to bring the books to the dungeons instead. Now, after two more such trips, his quarters were an endless sea of books, his own collection neatly placed on his shelves and the few hundred others they had brought down lying on every available place in the room. Of course, having a bed and a magically enlarged table in that relatively small room did nothing for décor, either.

Taken by a sudden rage, Severus shut his book and threw his quill to the floor, standing up. He would have thrown the book after it if he didn't have so much respect for books. Startled, Hermione looked up from her research.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

"It's no use! It's simply no use! I have tried every diagnose spell I know and some I shouldn't know, our memories have not been tampered with! Which leaves us with the selective amnesia theory, except the only potion that could possibly help the memories surface again requires the use of freshly caught mandrake root and we don't have any! Yes, Miss Granger, something definitely is the matter!"

Hermione closed her own book softly. She wasn't used to such outbursts from her otherwise quiet professor - because, yes, he had revealed himself quiet, and not even slightly venomous -, but she could empathise with him. A Potions Master, convinced he could brew a simple potion to help them out of their particularly desesperate situation, prevented from doing so by the inability to obtain a common ingredient. She transfigured one of the chairs into a comfortable sofa, promising herself she would transfigure it back later - the room was crowded enough as it was. She rose effortlessly and walked towards him.

"Please sit down, Professor. You're overworking yourself and it's doing you no good."

Oddly touched by her concern, Severus complied, and was surprised to see her sitting next to him.

"Maybe we shouldn't be so obsessive about this research. Maybe we should take breaks and do other things, even if it's just talking. Is there anything you'd like to talk about, sir?"

He smiled inwardly at the way she addressed him; for all they knew they were the only two people left in the world, but still her respect was unwavering. Driven by a strange and unknown force, commonly known as impulse, he replied.

"Given our rather... unusual circumstances, Miss Granger, you may, if you so wish, call me Severus."

She broke into an awed smile. "Thank you sir... I mean, thank you, Severus. If you would call me Hermione..."

"Very well... Hermione."

They discovered a new complicity after that. Hermione never let him feel too depressed and he, in turn, helped and taught her. In whatever time had passed since the massacre, with his help, she acquired an extensive knowledge in Potions, Transfiguration and Charms, most not included on her curriculum but rather useful. She came to understand, as she had already had a hint during his duel with Gilderoy Lockhart in her second year, that his disdain of "foolish wand waving" stemmed not from any lack of skill with a wand, but rather from an excess skill. Spells held little secrets for her Potions Master to discover.

Sometimes they would plunder his fiction collection and simply read to each other. Hermione still mourned the loss of her friends, but the feelings of despair were rapidly receding. All in all, definitely not what she would have envisioned if someone had told her that she would be alone with, of all people, Severus Snape.

However one day it changed. She could tell his sleep hadn't been restful by the way his sheets were the next morning. Ever since that day he threw himself into research with a vengeance, sometimes not sleeping for days on end. He barely ate and did not speak altogether, mumbling monosyllables when it was absolutely imperative for communication. Hermione was beginning to feel extremely worried, and it didn't help when the deep lines below his eyes became impossibly deeper.

Finally, with an enraged scream, he cleared the table with his arm, sending everything on it flying. Books, quill, inkwell, notes, even the table itself went crashing down. Hermione, who had been getting ready for bed, came running from the bedroom.

"Severus! Severus, calm down! Please, what is it?"

"It's useless! I've been trying, it should work! God damn it, this spell should have worked if I was a bloody muggle!"

"Severus, what spell? You haven't told me anything. What should have worked?"

He sat down on the sofa she had never retransfigured, suddenly drained of his anger, taking in air in ragged gulps.

"I've been developing a spell. For the Floo. It should have worked even if it's been disconnected at the source. It should work. I've gone over the notes, over and over, Hermione, I can't do it. I can't get us out of here. Forgive me, I can't get us out. I can't make it work."

The tone of his voice almost made her want to cry. He had, against everything she would have expected, tried to help her, been kind to her, even gentle, and she had missed all the signs. He felt guilty. He felt guilty and had been killing himself over research because he somehow felt it was his obligation to take her somewhere safe. Without thinking about it, she came closer and surrounded him with her arms in a tight embrace.

"It's alright, Severus, it is. It's not your fault." It wasn't until she had him in her arms that she realised how much she had missed human contact. How good it felt, almost liberating. It felt right. Severus, for his part, was too beat to fight it. The way she held him, even after he had so obviously failed, made his eyes burn. He closed them and leaned into her embrace, still asking forgiveness.

"It's not your fault. Please don't do this to yourself, Severus."

She caressed his hair, oilier than normal from the time he had spent immersed in research.

"You don't understand. It is my fault."

"No, Severus-"

"YES! It is! You don't know. I've been a Death Eater, Hermione, I've been a spy. I should have known about the attack, should have prevented it, but I knew nothing. NOTHING! I should have known, but-"

"You couldn't. Not if they didn't tell you. It's not your fault. And I already knew you were spying, Harry followed you to a gathering last year. Said you were the only one there with a soul."

"'The only one there with a soul'!"

Severus laughed, a manic, frightening laughter. "You still don't understand! It was meant for me! Lucius Malfoy talked to me, he intruded in my sleep the other night. He meant to let me live. It is my fault."