Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Hermione Granger
Genres:
Drama Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 03/19/2002
Updated: 09/01/2005
Words: 220,150
Chapters: 28
Hits: 163,807

Falling Further In

KazVL

Story Summary:
The story begins in the summer holidays before the sixth year. After her parents are murdered by Voldemort Hogwarts becomes Hermione's home. She joins the staff in the fight against Voldemort and learns more of the man behind the dark sarcasms of the classroom. Will *eventually* be Snape/Hermione. Lupin is again the Professor teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and has a black dog who lives with him - Sirius Black in his animagus form.

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary:
Hermione learns more about the man behind the dark sarcasms of the classroom
Posted:
03/22/2002
Hits:
6,017

TEN

"May I come in?" asked Dumbledore mildly.

Four hours sleep, lunch and an Energy Enhancing Potion had left Snape looking heavy-eyed and irritable. "Would it make any difference if I said no?" While he stepped away from the door to his chambers it was obvious he was in no mood for visitors.

"I hope I didn't wake you," said Dumbledore.

"You didn't."

Without looking to see if Dumbledore was following him, Snape went through a gothic arched doorway and began to climb the stone stairs that circled their way to the top of Serpens Tower. As Snape removed the wards a doorway appeared, which led into the laboratory. The first impression was of light and warmth, followed by a workmanlike sense of order and purpose with just the odd idiosyncratic touch. The atmosphere was surprisingly tranquil, given whose workplace this was.

Untaxed by the climb, despite his advanced years, Dumbledore was surprised to see Snape breathing as if he had been running, sweat gleaming at his temples and on his upper lip. Then he took in the changes in Snape's appearance in the four days since he had seen him last. The sharp weight loss accentuated the jut of his nose and definition of his cheekbones, hollowing out his eyes. The marks of sleeplessness and stress were stamped on his face as plain as the raw marks around each wrist and splotched across his hands.

Chained like an animal in the dark, only to creep away to lick his wounds in private...

"Severus, I - "

His breathing more or less under control, Snape was heading for a workbench at the far end of the circular room.

Wondering if he would ever live long enough to acquire all the patience he needed, Dumbledore followed him. "Earlier today... You were missed," he said, picking his way through a potential minefield.

While Snape met Dumbledore's gaze there was a curious blankness to his face; so many doors were closing it was difficult to know how far behind them he might be. "Please don't insult my intelligence, Headmaster. I was there."

He turned away and began to weigh dried lacewings, although his hands were less than steady. Bad enough to be so needy, worse to reveal the fact to the world. One by one they would come trouping along, full of remorse for not having thought of him, and he - Should have taken a sleeping draught. Or two.

Dumbledore stared at the tension-locked back with a degree of frustration. Sirius - even the less ebullient Remus - would have barrelled their way into the centre of the celebrations and taken centre stage as their right; accustomed to rejection, Severus had assumed he wasn't wanted and left. "May I sit down?" he asked.

"If you wish." Snape brushed spilled lacewings from the counter.

"Have you had any sleep?"

Snape nodded.

Knowing how little it could have been, Dumbledore said only. "Perhaps a Dreamless Sleep Potion might have been wise after so traumatic an experience."

"In the short term it can be beneficial but experience has taught me that it merely delays the inevitable."

"Sirius explained the part he played in all this. I believe his contrition is genuine."

"Well there's a surprise. So do I," added Snape unwillingly.

"He also mentioned a misapprehension under which he believes you are suffering," pursued Dumbledore.

Snape began slicing leeches with more vigour than was necessary. "I'm not responsible for Black's feeble thought processes."

"Yes, yes. But in this insistence... He said you seem to have the idea that I wouldn't object if he - anyone - were to kill you. That there would be no one to care."

"Yes?"

"How dare you place so little value on your existence!"

The thunder of Dumbledore's voice made Snape jump; the knife slipped and he sliced open the side of his thumb. Unable to rely on his own first aid skills he resorted to the time honoured method of holding the wound under the cold water tap.

"How could you, Severus?" demanded Dumbledore, striding after him and gripping Snape by the shoulder.

"Spare me," Snape said in a hard voice, easing free of the unwanted contact. "Had I needed a reminder of my place in the scheme of things, I received it this morning. It hardly matters, there are more important concerns." Rather than the self-pity of even a year ago he sounded as if he genuinely expected nothing better.

Dumbledore sat as abruptly as a puppet whose strings had been cut. "We hurt you with our thoughtlessness, I am aware of that. But to assume it arose from a lack of... You're wrong."

"If you say so, Headmaster." Disposing of the leeches contaminated with his blood, Snape took a fresh board and started again.

"I wish I could have been with you during your long wait," said Dumbledore simply.

"You couldn't have done anything. It gave me a chance to think." Dumbledore's gaze like a weight on his sore shoulders, Snape became increasingly edgy. Having to discard the second lot of leeches when he realised he had neglected to use a fresh knife, he wheeled around, every nerve end feeling rawly exposed. "If that's all?"

"You look exhausted. Must you work today?"

"What else is there?" said Snape, fighting against the exhaustion which made thought itself an effort.

"It was my impression - it was certainly my hope - that you were relearning just how much more life has to offer. I know something of what you must have gone through during those dark hours of waiting and fear but - "

"No," said Snape with precision, "you don't."

Dumbledore paused. "Then tell me. I want - I need - to understand."

Feeling harried and pressured, Snape abandoned his pretence of doing any useful work. "Whatever for?" His arms were already defensively folded across his torso.

"Because I failed you twenty two years ago and I don't want to do so again - unless it's already too late."

Snape hunched his shoulders, stuck his hands in his pockets, and studied his feet. "Why do you do this to me, Albus?" he muttered. "Just let it go. It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine. I over-reacted, that's all."

Dumbledore's voice stroked the silence, tender as the embrace he longed to offer. "I wish that was true. I've often blamed you for the difficulties we've experienced over the years but I know in my heart of hearts that the blame must be mine. Why else would you consistently deny your feelings? Do you think I don't know of the affection in which you hold Minerva, or Ceres - Poppy and March? Even myself, on occasion."

Snape looked up then, his expression that of a child who has been beaten for no reason it can understand. But when he began to speak, it became obvious he had no intention of answering Dumbledore's most recent question.

"During the last four days I became convinced my fate was sealed. After a while it occurred to me that, in many ways, it would be preferable to my current existence."

Dumbledore's head shot up. Reading the truth in those bottomless eyes, he made no attempt to speak, averting his own head as he sought a measure of control. There could be no greater indictment of himself than that.

"It's not as melodramatic as it might sound, just realistic," continued Snape in the same disquieting, matter of fact voice. "For at least four days a month I would be free from all responsibility. No Dark Mark, no Voldemort, no memories, no guilt. It would be easy enough to adjust to - one way or another I've grown accustomed to being locked away over the years."

It was a moment before Dumbledore trusted his voice. "I know I ask much of you. And I know what working as Voldemort's interrogator cost you - both in the past, and now. But you are my only contact with his thought processes. What alternative do I have?"

Conscious of the debt he could never repay, even as he stared bleakly down the weeks and months - years, if he was really unlucky - of his servitude, Snape granted Dumbledore absolution, as he always did.

"None," he said colourlessly, wanting irrationally to weep, not least for his unrealistic expectations. He didn't of course. Instead, because he didn't know what else to do, his hands resumed work. Gradually, as so often, that provided a solace of sorts, even if it couldn't dispel the childish yearning that just once someone would place his needs first.

Reseating himself, Dumbledore was content just to watch. It wasn't often he had the chance to see Snape in the setting where he was most content. There was a certain beauty in seeing a master at work. His concentration narrowing, Severus seemed sharper while conversely more relaxed. He was a physically graceful man but it never seemed more apparent as now, when he was fully focussed on the work he loved.

"May I ask what you're working on?" Dumbledore did his best to ignore his growling stomach, although the appalling smell coming from a small copper cauldron was stealing his appetite away by the second.

"Some Easiheal while I wait for... I'm running a series of tests on the remnants of the corrupted Wolfsbane Potion. The contamination aside, Remus shouldn't have transformed so early or so fast. This batch was made the previous month - Remus helped with the preparation. My skills have been impaired because of the Cruciatus but the potion was checked and double-checked at the time we completed it, and each time Remus has taken it since then. It was heated to the correct degree for the correct time. The goblet and cauldron contained no silver, nor were any silver utensils used in its preparation. Which suggests that one of the ingredients must have been compromised in a manner which escaped the tests I routinely perform to check their integrity."

"What's that terrible smell?"

"The corrupted potion."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, pinching off a sprig of Moroccan Mint from the plant growing in a pot on a shady window ledge; holding the sprig to his nose, he inhaled with pleasure. "If you wish to discuss this with Remus you will need to do so quickly. He believes he should resign and leave Hogwarts."

Snape continued working.

"Well?" demanded Dumbledore a few minutes later, irritable because Snape hadn't reacted in the way he had hoped.

"What response would you prefer?"

"An honest one," snapped Dumbledore, stung by the implication.

Snape raised his dark eyebrows in polite surprise. "I don't know why. You never pay any attention to my opinion, so it seems simpler just to say what you wish to hear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to concentrate."

"You're right, of course," said Dumbledore into the silence. "I hoped for the answer which would save Remus and Sirius from a life on the run, with little money or hope of earning any."

"Very affecting," drawled Snape. "Do you do encores?"

Dumbledore's mouth thinned. After four days at the Ministry of Magic keeping his temper wasn't easy. "I suppose I should be grateful you haven't thrown in my face the fact you told me so."

Snape glanced at him but obviously thought the better of whatever retort he had intended.

It was only as he sat in silence, studying Snape's severe profile, that it was brought home to Dumbledore how close he had come to losing the younger man, who had come close to being eaten alive by a werewolf. "Severus, I..."

"Was wrong?" offered Snape. He sounded amused.

"I'm surprised you find anything humorous about this."

"Me, too," Snape admitted. "It's just... You always sound so taken aback when you're wrong. And resentful. It's very Slytherin," he added blandly.

"Ah, the cruellest cut of all," said Dumbledore, knowing better than to try to hug him. "May I ask you something? It's personal."

Snape looked decidedly wary. "Since when have you waited for my permission?"

"A simple yes would have - "

"There's never anything simple with you. You pick over my bones like a - " Snape stopped. Leaning back against the workbench, he visibly braced himself. "What do you want to know?"

"Nothing you're not willing to tell me. You've already given over half your life to fighting Voldemort. Taking risks that would make most people... You don't put yourself through all this for my sake, do you?"

It was a moment before Snape trusted himself to reply. "Do you have any idea how insulting the inference behind that question is? Although with my track record it's hardly surprising, I suppose. Relax. I'm not working for the greater glory of Albus Dumbledore. Or even that of Severus Snape." His fatigue was such that while he managed to control his voice, the expression in his eyes gave him away.

Dumbledore stared at him aghast. "Severus, I didn't - "

" - mean it? You never do, Albus. You never do."

Pushing himself away from the counter Snape strode off. But rather than abandoning a difficult emotional scene altogether, as he would have done even a year ago, he prowled around the perimeter of the large room, oblivious to the fact he was under surveillance. The frown line between his eyes deepening, he eventually sank on to a high stool, propping his elbows on the work top. His fingers linked over his head, shoulders hunched, he audibly exhaled.

"Remus can't resign," he said at last, sounding very tired. "He's a passable teacher - for the academically challenged - and he's your best hope for a replacement Potions master. More importantly, he's a powerful wizard. As is Black, although his control leaves something to be desired at present. If Remus goes, so will Sirius and Hogwarts needs all the protection it can get. No one else need know what happened. Though it might be prudent to extend the period Remus is kept from the children to five days. Just so long as I don't have to cover any of his classes. Red Caps and Grindylows aren't my idea of a challenging lesson." He half-turned to see Dumbledore staring at him, his brilliant eyes blazing, but bright with unshed tears.

"Albus?" said Snape, wondering what he could have done wrong now.

Dumbledore rose to his feet and went to stand behind him, resting his hands lightly on the younger man's shoulders. "I know how many mistakes I make - not least where you're concerned. Unfortunately, I only seem able to recognise the fact after the event." He paused to kiss the top of Snape's hair. "Thank you, child. That was well said. I'm proud of you."

"Only because I've done what you wanted," muttered Snape, but his heart wasn't in it. Drooping with fatigue, he tried to concentrate on anything but his need for sleep.

"That, too," smiled Dumbledore, sitting beside him. Taking in the finer points of Snape's appearance for the first time his eyes narrowed with concern. He took out his wand, making no secret of the fact he was monitoring Snape's readings.

"Don't let Poppy catch you doing that," said Snape, eyeing him warily.

"With energy levels this low I'm surprised you managed to light a cauldron. Eat this." Fishing in a capacious pocket Dumbledore produced a variety of items before locating the slab of medichocolate he was after. "Don't argue, just eat."

"I'm fine," said Snape grumpily, before he disposed of the chocolate in a few swift bites of his strong teeth.

"Better," conceded Dumbledore, taking a second lot of readings a short time later. "More chocolate?"

Snape shook his head. "I always forget how fast that works." Only now, as energy began to seep back, did he appreciate how ill he had felt before. It would have been convenient to blame his over-emotionalism on that weakness, even if it wasn't true.

"You haven't asked me about Black," he added, giving Dumbledore a quizzical look.

"I was afraid to, given the circumstances. Recent events can hardly have improved matters between you."

"They didn't. Except that I owe him my life," added Snape baldly.

"What?"

Snape picked at a thread hanging loose from one of his shirt ties. "If it hadn't been for Black the werewolf would have got me. I froze."

"I'm not surprised. So would most people when faced with a werewolf."

Snape waved away that sop to his pride. "You needn't look so worried. I can work with them both, if I have to."

"Thank you. On their behalf, too. Remus is extremely concerned about you. It took some...persuasion to prevent him from coming after you this morning to ensure that you were all right."

"I didn't credit Black with that much sense," said Snape idly.

"It was Miss Granger who pointed out you probably wouldn't welcome company."

Snape paused. "How perspicacious of her." Of course, she'd been wrong, but there was no need to betray just how humiliatingly needy he had been.

"Remus is a good man, as I think you've discovered while working with him."

"Know your enemy? The therapy worked."

Dumbledore parted his hands. "As I recall, teaching Remus Potions was your idea, not mine."

Snape leant past Dumbledore to retrieve a small silver cauldron. Picking it up, he peered at the side.

"What are you looking at?" asked Dumbledore.

"My reflection."

There was a mystified pause.

"Why?"

"To remind myself what a gullible prat looks like."

"You can't blame me for every decent impulse you have," protested Dumbledore, smiling.

Snape's side-on glare begged to differ.

"Am I keeping you from your work?"

"Obviously. It doesn't matter. You were at the Ministry a long time," Snape added.

"Don't remind me. More attempts to interfere in the running of Hogwarts."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. Insanity even to consider allowing them around children." Dumbledore's expression was grave. "The noose is tightening, Severus."

His mouth set in grim lines, his eyes veiled, Snape nodded. "I know. And I have absolutely no idea what we can do to stop it. Nor do you. It's all right. Just for now you don't need to pretend."

Dumbledore looked at him. "How long have you known?"

His expression schooled, Snape shrugged.

For a moment Dumbledore allowed himself the luxury of dropping the facade he presented to the world; he aged twenty years. "Oh, Severus... Some mornings I don't know how to look those courageous children in the face. Any of you. I fear for the future."

"Something will turn up," Snape heard himself say, reeling from the knowledge he had just acquired. If Albus saw no way to defeat Voldemort, what hope was there?

Dumbledore blinked. "Optimism? From you?"

"Desperate times require desperate measures," said Snape solemnly, winning a faint but appreciative smile.

"You're right, of course. But... I can't tell you what a relief it's been to be able to share this with you."

Snape gave him an awkward pat on the arm and tried to remember one of the soothing platitudes which always drove him to verbal savagery when he was on the receiving end.

Both men looked unwelcoming as a knock on the door sounded from the magical amplifier by the entrance to the laboratory.

"Miss Granger is wishing to speak with you, master. If it is convenient." The house elf was obviously quoting.

"It isn't," said Snape disagreeably, before he caught Dumbledore's eye and sighed. "Send her up anyway."

"She was concerned about you," said Dumbledore, as they waited for her to complete the climb.

"She's concerned about everyone."

"She has - uh - decided opinions, doesn't she."

Snape looked amused, if unsympathetic. "You noticed that? She's also young enough to think she can make a difference. Although in her case I'm more likely to believe it. For a witch she has a remarkably orderly mind. And she understands logic." From his absent expression he was obviously following a train of thought.

"Ah, logic," said Dumbledore, looking pensive.

"Is not our strong point. But it could be a useful tool, if only we understood better how to employ it against Voldemort. It occurs to me that you may wish to invite her to speak to the Inner Circle when you meet next."

"Logic," Dumbledore said again, with a small grimace.

Snape gave him an affectionate look. Dumbledore was an excellent alchemist, an even greater wizard, and helpless as a new-born baby when faced with the simplest logic puzzle.

"You really think we should - ?"

"We need all the help we can get, Headmaster."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed. "But I insist you be present. You're the only one of us with any hope of understanding what she's talking about."

"Which isn't saying a lot," conceded Snape wryly. "I spent four days devising that logic puzzle to protect the Philosopher's Stone. Miss Granger solved it in fifteen minutes. Of course, Quirrell solved it as well, although we don't know how long it took him."

"Or if it was Quirrell who solved it. I don't remember Tom Riddle displaying any talent for logic," mused Dumbledore. "But then it isn't something we test for. I shall consult my Pensieve. If he didn't..."

"We may just have found a weapon to use against him. Ah, Miss Granger. Come in."

"Thank you for seeing me," Hermione said, doing her best to control her surprise as she took in her surroundings. She gave Dumbledore a vague smile of acknowledgement. Who would have expected anywhere occupied by Snape to feel so...welcoming, she mused, before she realised Snape was talking.

"...suppose it was too much to hope I might have your full attention. I hope the laboratory meets with your approval?"

The barb missed its target. "It's wonderful," she said simply. He looked alarmingly focussed for a man who could have had so little sleep, even if he did look as if he had just received some devastating news and didn't know how to hide it. Fear caught her by the throat and it was a moment before she was able to speak.

"You really are all right, aren't you?" she blurted out, with all the finesse of Ron asking a girl for a date.

Taken aback by her urgency, Snape blinked. "Yes." He looked puzzled. "There's no need to concern yourself about me."

"Of course there isn't. Silly me." If she didn't think of something else to say she was going to burst into tears - she was really going to have to work on this crying thing. "How can you bear the dungeons after this?"

"The smiling, happy faces of my pupils is reward enough," said Snape, hardly aware of what he was saying.

While she smiled, the acknowledgement was obviously forced and she looked pale; violet shadows were smudged under her eyes, giving her a fragile look. He frowned. At her age it should take more than a sleepless night to dim her radiance. Then he remembered. Potter was due to arrive in a few hours, just after she had spent three days learning everything a Pilgrim of Love could teach her. And while she and Potter weren't lovers, or ever likely to be if he was any judge, Potter took a proprietorial interest in Granger's burgeoning sex life. He was also something of a prude - just like his bloody father.

"That chocolate made me hungry," he announced briskly. "Headmaster, have you eaten?"

"Not today," said Dumbledore. The scene he had found on his return to Hogwarts had stolen away his appetite.

Snape summoned a house elf. "Tea for three in the study. All the usual, plus cucumber sandwiches for the headmaster - leave the crusts on, cake, buttered crumpets. Miss Granger, do you have any preference?"

"I don't want anything."

"Ah, of course not. You'll want to eat with Potter when he arrives."

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "He isn't coming."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked far from happy.

"Mr Black just received an owl. Harry's with the Weasleys. Charlie got expelled from Roumania."

"I'm almost afraid to ask why," said Dumbledore, relaxing.

"Um, something about an unnatural relationship with a Roumanian Longback."

Even Snape blinked. "Are they insane? I know the Weasleys aren't over-burdened with brains but - "

"Where is Harry now?" interrupted Dumbledore.

"With the Weasleys. Ron owled Harry and Mr Weasley went to collect him. Though apparently he got a bit confused and Mrs Weasley had to go after him. They're all staying in Diagon Alley tonight, ready to watch the Chudley Cannons tomorrow. Mr Weasley won a family season ticket."

"I see," said Dumbledore, looking unusually stern. "So Harry passed up the chance to spend time with his godfather for Quidditch?"

Hermione looked unhappy.

"I imagine Sirius is very disappointed."

"Yes," said Hermione, surprised they hadn't heard Mr Black shouting from up here.

"Aren't we all," drawled Snape, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"You don't have to look so pleased, " said Hermione crossly.

"It's preferable to hypocrisy. Potter's an irritant I'm only too happy to dispense with. I'll be seeing enough of him in just over two weeks' time."

"Sit down, my dear," said Dumbledore. "I must send off a couple of owls."

"Use my study," said Snape. "Miss Granger and I will take tea with you in ten minutes or so. If, of course, she will consent to accompany the spider to its parlour?"

Knowing she was the first pupil Snape had allowed into the sanctuary of his chambers - which had been his only home for some years, Dumbledore was looking thoughtful as he headed to the study on the floor below.

"Well, Miss Granger?" prompted Snape. "What did you want to see me about?"

"I didn't intend to interrupt your work."

"Nor did the headmaster. It didn't stop him either. I won't be doing any worthwhile work today," he added, in a rare admission of weakness.

"I can smell the corrupted potion. It occurred to me that - "

"I might be ahead of you?" inquired Snape, before he took the unusual step of explaining himself.

Hermione's face fell. "That's why I came to see you. I know you buy a lot of stock from Mrs Comfit and you said she liked her games."

"Which is why I check every ingredient purchased from her. But it was well thought of. I must have missed something," he added, thinking aloud. "I suspect the potion hasn't been as effective as it should have been for a couple of months. I need to speak to Remus to verify that."

"Sugar nullifies Wolfsbane Potion."

"Obliged, Miss Granger. Oddly enough, I already knew that."

Duly snubbed, her mouth tightened, although her only obvious response was a glare.

While he noticed, Snape's mind was elsewhere. "How much sugar do you suppose it would require - how little should I say?"

Hermione shrugged. "Who cares?" She must have been mad to come. Of course he was fine. He'd already made it obvious he didn't want her company any more than Harry did. A wave of hormonal self-pity swept over her, exacerbated by a sleepless night and hours of anxiety over the ungrateful, sarcastic -

"What did you say?" she asked, belatedly becoming aware that he was speaking to her.

"I asked if you would care to assist me in researching the subject," repeated Snape with unusual patience.

"Me?"

"False humility, Miss Granger?"

"Just surprise, given that you make me feel as welcome as a dose of the - "

"Surely not that bad?" said Snape, mildly entertained. It was like being savaged to death by a gerbil. A pink-eyed gerbil at that. While she had many faults, she wasn't usually this irritable - or at least not with him. Of course, she'd been disappointed at not seeing Potter and -

Hermione moved past him to the window and he caught a hint of her unique scent. Identifying the change in her hormone levels, he wondered why the simplest explanation hadn't occurred to him first. Over-looking the obvious was something every Potions Master had to guard against. He made a quick review of his store cupboards. The Leniomensis Potion should do the trick. Fortunately it was quick and simple to make and could be brewed in bulk, which was the only reason there was any left. He couldn't remember a time when his stock cupboards had been this empty.

Resisting the urge to curl into a moaning knot of misery Hermione sank on to a high stool and watched Snape move around his laboratory. In six years of Potions classes they had never seen him work and she was curious to see him create something - he wasn't a man who would be satisfied with giving anything less than his best. Distracted by the grace of his prowling walk and set of the wide, flat shoulders, she was mildly irritated by his white silk shirt, which fell to mid-thigh. While the billowing robes he usually wore probably kept him warm in the dungeons it was a sin to hide the only body on staff worth lusting over.

To her disappointment she realised that rather than brewing a potion Snape was merely heating one in a small silver cauldron. He added a drizzle of amber honey and a few drops of fresh lime juice before pouring the pale orange liquid into a plump mug shaped like a bumble bee. The wings of the bee began to vibrate, a soothing hum filling the air - not the sort of item you expected Snape to own.

"A present from the headmaster," Snape said, following the line of her gaze. "Here, drink this while it's still hot. There's more honey if you want it."

"What is this?" asked Hermione, curling her chilly hands around the mug and being careful to avoid the bee. The steam smelt of honey and lime, and faintly of ginger.

"Poison. Drink it."

It was too hot to do more than sip but the familiar bitter hint of wormwood seeds and conserve of motherwort were just evident beneath all the other flavours, if less so than usual. Her eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"A lucky guess," he said dryly, cleaning the laboratory as he spoke. "That and having my head bitten off more often in the last ten minutes than the previous six years. I'm obviously losing my touch. Eat this afterwards." He set a bar of medichocolate beside her.

"Oh, good. Now I can have spots, too." Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip. "This must be a different recipe. It tastes much nicer than the potion Madam Pomfrey was using last term."

"My small reputation as a Potions Master is confirmed," he said, but she could see he was pleased.

"You made this? Second years learn how to make Leniomensis Potion."

"I hadn't forgotten," he assured her. "Longbottom has the dubious distinction of being the only pupil to ruin three batches - and just when I had assumed it was idiot proof. Until last year I made all the potions Poppy was likely to need for the students. This year circumstances have kept me from as much potions making as I would have liked," he added, skating over a period he remembered most clearly in nightmares. "In consequence she'll need to buy virtually all her stock from outside this term."

"But aren't a lot of the potions she needs beneath a Master capable of brewing Wolfsbane Potion?"

Snape poured the rest of the potion into a container, a wax stopper slowly melting into an airtight seal before he fastened the lid. "You shouldn't need more than one dose a day. If you do, speak to Poppy. Nothing should be beneath the notice of a Potions Master. It's the worst kind of snobbery. Dangerous, too. It's true many potions aren't demanding, but others are deceptively simple. Whatever the degree of difficulty their preparation keeps a Master grounded - and on a more prosaic level, offers a useful period for reflection." Seating himself beside her, he broke open the bar of chocolate and absently helped himself to two squares.

"Potion making as a spiritual experience?" she mused.

Because he could see it had caught her imagination he refrained from snapping to deflect her from what he had inadvertently revealed. "If that's how you wish to interpret it. I'm eating your chocolate," he realised, sitting back.

"There's plenty. Here."

Snape's potion took effect quickly, unobtrusively reducing symptoms rather than leaving the muzzy head and background ache Hermione had suffered with the last dose of potion Madam Pomfrey had given her. Full of goodwill to all Potion Masters, she prepared to take advantage of Snape's unusually tolerant mood, even it if was probably due to nothing more than physical exhaustion.

"All those rumours which persist about you wanting the Defence Against the Dark Arts position are rubbish, aren't they?" she said briskly.

"What makes you assume that?"

"Oh, please." She looked pained.

Snape grimaced. "Fair comment. The more grudges against the headmaster and Hogwarts that I appear to have, the more likely it is that I'm working to betray both. As for teaching the Dark Arts, what do you imagine I've been doing in Potions for the last six years?"

"Oh," said Hermione, as she thought about it.

"You'll need to be more alert in the Seventh Year. The Dark Arts are everywhere, all the time, just waiting for someone to succumb to the dreadful fascination they exert. A curse is no more than the darkest of charms. Do you think it's beyond March Flitwick to teach you about the Unforgivables? But he's a gentle soul and not an imposing figure. Who would take him seriously?" Snape paused to eat a square of chocolate. "But bring on Mad-Eye Moody... Most people listen to Alastor. Or who we thought was Alastor," he added sourly, yet to forgive himself for missing that deception.

"Is the real Mad-Eye like that?"

"Oh, yes."

"You don't like him?"

"Miss Granger, I like very few people."

She gave the smallest of grins, which he affected not to notice.

"I suppose the Dark Arts are closest to Potions," she said.

"They're most obvious there. They're far less so, and therefore more insidious, in subjects such as Divination or Arithmancy. Imagine a Divination class given by someone less..." he visibly searched for something inoffensive to say "...benign than Sibyll Trelawney."

"Then why don't we simply have lessons warning us about how easy it is to get enmeshed in the Dark Arts?"

Snape gave her a look of contempt. "You have a brain, use it. If I told you there's a book in my library downstairs that could give you unlimited power wouldn't you be tempted to read it - if only to discover how it was possible?"

"No, of course I wouldn't!" Innate honesty stopped her dead. "No, I would. Of course I would. Anyone would, even if they despised themselves afterwards."

"A common symptom amongst those who believe they can 'dabble' in the Dark Arts."

Hermione's head shot up, the question she knew she could never ask him dying stillborn. While Snape's expression was forbidding, she took heart from the fact he was still sitting beside her, even though she had the oddest sensation that a gap was widening between them second by second.

"And yet it could start so simply. 'For want of a nail...'" she murmured.

"'...the battle was lost'. Indeed. But not, let us hope, in this instance."

"That's a Muggle rhythm."

He gave her a look of hauteur. "So?"

She found the wisdom not to pursue the point but couldn't help speculating about what books he might have read. She knew he had a library on the floor below from the glimpse through an open door as she had come up here.

"I suppose brewing the Wolfsbane Potion counts as practising the Dark Arts," she said, pushing the last of the chocolate over to him.

"I think you could assume that," he agreed dryly, "although it isn't illegal, per se."

"Harry said Professor Lupin had told him how difficult it was to make - how few Potion Masters were even capable of making it. Why is it so difficult?"

"There are a number of factors involved. It requires a complex series of ingredients, many highly volatile in nature, all needing to be added in meticulous amounts with meticulous timing. There is absolutely no room for error, which means great concentration is required over a long period of time. But more than that, as with any of the dark potions, the main difficulty lies in the amount of energy required to brew it. More even than inflicting one of the Unforgivables, although the focus is very different."

Hermione's eyes widened, not least at hearing him speak of them so casually. But then if you'd suffered from the Cruciatus as many times as he had ...

"It never occurred to me that the Unforgivables might require unusual amounts of energy," she mused.

"A relief to all your many friends, I'm sure."

"No, I meant - "

"I know exactly what you meant, Miss Granger."

Hermione licked a smear of chocolate from her palm. "Do you think that the need for so much energy is why so few wizards - comparatively speaking - use the Unforgivables? Rather than mere strength of character or innate goodness, I mean?"

"I can only marvel at the casual fashion with which you dismiss those two qualities," said Snape dryly, studying her with an expression Hermione wasn't sure how to interpret. Only then did she appreciate that she had just inferred he was weak and evil.

She felt herself go pink but forced herself not to look away. "I never meant to imply... That is, I wasn't thinking of you when I... I didn't intend..."

"I should stop before you tie yourself in verbal knots," Snape advised her. To her surprise he sounded wryly amused rather than offended. "And to answer your question - from the perspective of a Death Eater who has inflicted the Imperius Curse three times - yes. I believe it is only the exceedingly high energy demands which prevent many wizards from using the Unforgivables."

"To be able to make someone do whatever you wish, whenever you wish... It would seem like a dream come to true to many people."

"And it would turn into a nightmare," said Snape quietly. "This isn't a world where something comes from nothing. There is always a payment to be made."

"Can the Imperius be resisted? I mean, I know Harry said he could, a bit. But then he's the Boy Who Lived. What about the rest of us?"

"It can be resisted, if you have the strength of mind."

"Can you - ?" She stopped.

"No," said Snape.

"Is that 'no, I shouldn't have asked', or 'no you can't'?"

Snape gave a snort of amusement, his head drooping for a moment, as if in surrender. "So much for gerbils," he murmured to himself.

"What?"

"Never mind, Miss Granger. Never mind. Yes, I can. Well, I could when Lucius Malfoy... But against Voldemort..." He shivered. "Not that he employs it often. It amuses him more to twist people to his will by other means."

Her chin propped on her elbow, Hermione was frowning. "I don't understand why the Avada Kedavra is an Unforgivable. Surely, if you're on the point of being murdered it must be all right to defend yourself. It's as if the odds are stacked against the wizard with moral scruples."

"Ah, morals..." said Snape, in a tone of such silken-voiced temptation that Hermione would have fallen headlong into the trap if she hadn't suddenly noticed Dumbledore sitting by the doorway, watching them with an expression she didn't know him well enough to interpret.

"Headmaster," she said, trying not to resent him for interrupting them just when Snape had begun to treat her like a human being rather than an irritant.

"Miss Granger, Severus. I did knock on my return but you were - understandably - engrossed in your conversation. Severus, I have a question for you."

Looking distinctly apprehensive, Snape sat a little straighter. "Headmaster."

"At what point were you proposing to let me know that Miss Granger had discovered that you were a Death Eater - let alone your activities during that time?"

"Ah." Snape rubbed the back of his neck. "I intended to tell you. But you got called away, and then there was the accident with Remus and... I'm sorry."

"Which, of course, solves all our problems." There was an edge to Dumbledore's voice and a look in his eye which made Snape scramble to his feet.

"Please, sir. It wasn't his fault. I made him tell me," said Hermione, humiliated to hear how squeaky her voice had gone

Pinned by those blazing blue eyes, Snape's gaze dropped to the top of Hermione's head for a moment before he looked back up and shrugged, a wry smile twisting his mouth. It was difficult to image how they could fail to beat Voldemort with such staunch allies - although she was an appallingly bad liar. He would have to work on that.

"Really? A seventeen year old girl forces information from a thirty eight year old ex-Death Eater. I look forward to Professor Snape's explanation of your technique because unless he plans to offer the defence of the Imperius..."

Recognising all the signs, Snape sent Hermione down to his study before the storm broke around his head. The knowledge that Albus was over-reacting because of the stress he was under didn't help as much as it might have done when he was left feeling as if he had lost several layers of skin.

Only when Dumbledore stepped into the fire he had lit in the chimney and disappeared to his own office, did Snape allow himself to relax, his face unguarded for a moment as he tried to regroup his defences.

It was at that inauspicious moment that the amplifier squawked into life.

"Severus! It's Remus! I've been so... May I see you? Speak with you? Whenever would be convenient, of course."

Standing beside the amplifier, Snape propped his forehead against the wall and exhaled softly. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that life in the dungeons was far less wearing.


AUTHOR'S NOTE



My thanks to Susanna for improving on the name of the potion Snape brews for Hermione.