Iridescent Snow

Chapter Five: Wizard's Debt

It was only after she had tripped on a step containing an especially wide crack that Hermione realized she did not actually know where she was. She blinked in alarm--being lost as a seventh year, and Head Girl, no less, could prove to be rather embarrassing. So eager had she been to depart the Potions classroom that she had failed to notice in which direction she was heading. Stifling a yelp at the sudden pain in her toe, she sat down, clumsily adjusting her robes around her. She looked about and noted that she was in a staircase leading up to the top of one of the Hogwarts towers. Not recognizing the color of the stone walls, she was sure she was not in Gryffindor, though judging by the lack of foot traffic, she supposed she wasn't in Ravenclaw Tower, either. Craning her neck slightly, she saw half a window peeking around the curve in the staircase and wondered if she could get a better sense of her location from the view outside. But before she could give her quandary further thought, she felt her injured toe complain with another spasm of pain. With an impatient huff, she pointed her wand at it and muttered a healing charm. Then hoisting herself to her feet, she turned her attention to the window.

She peered down into the nighttime darkness enveloping the school grounds and immediately recognized the glowing speck that was Hagrid's hut sitting along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She cringed at the memory of witnessing Umbridge barge her way into Hagrid's home with her retinue of Ministry duds during her fifth year OWLs. She must be in the Astronomy Tower then, she concluded. How in Merlin's name did she manage to wander her way up the Astronomy Tower? She scrubbed angrily at the wetness clinging around her eyes. Well, obviously, she had lost her poise and given in to the compulsion to flee, she thought, feeling confounded and unhappy. Professor Snape's cold rebuke still rang in her ears and thinking of her mother and father still chafed at a raw spot inside her. But the most prominent feeling of all was a sort of self-directed rage, an admittedly strange reaction. Even now, she still panted from the effort of her frenzied flight. Why had she run away like a frightened animal? It wasn't as if she hadn't long grown accustomed to Snape's cruel and malicious ways. She and her Gryffindor fellows had endured much worse from him during class, yet here she was, a spineless fool cowering in a staircase! Why hadn't she simply ignored the stinging insults, as she always had, and focused on her potion?

She had but one purpose in working with Snape; she had even risked her reputation and her credibility as Head Girl to gain the opportunity, and now she had squandered it in a paroxysmal moment of indiscipline. Even if she had somehow miraculously garnered a modicum of his respect for her theories, she knew that she had surely forfeited it all after that display. The thought of her nascent success and its now-quashed potential made her feel even more miserable.

Sighing, she gazed aimlessly up the winding stairway and contemplated where she ought to go next. The Common Room was the obvious answer, but she found herself continuing to climb upwards anyway, though at a much more leisurely pace this time. Since her traitorous legs had borne her here, she might as well enjoy a bit of fresh air and take in the magnificent view. Plus, she considered with dark humor, she wasn't in any hurry to explain to Harry and Ron how fifty precious house points had resulted not in the hoped-for lessons with Snape, but rather in an ignominious exit from his classroom.

As she clambered around the last turn of the spiral, she found her path to the outside doorway blocked by a large lump, indistinguishable under the flickering light of the candle sticks.

"Lumos."

Wand in hand, she approached. To her shocked horror, she realized that she was looking at a person. Robes strewn over the face concealed the identity, but Hermione noted the Slytherin crest on the uniform. She quickly thrust back the robe.

"Malfoy!" she gasped.

The instinctive revulsion that followed the recognition of one her chief tormenters at Hogwarts almost caused her to drop the robe back onto his face, but with trembling fingers, she set it aside. She rapidly gathered her wits about her and took a closer look at her fellow Prefect. He lay haphazardly across the steps, limbs askew, as if someone had tossed him away carelessly. His eyes were closed and his blond head lolled, the neck extended at an unnatural angle. Fearing the worst, Hermione bent and pressed two fingers beneath his jaw. Her own breathing came in tattered bursts as she concentrated on detecting any sign of life. She was relieved when she felt a faint but steady pulse.

"All right, alive, that's a start," she murmured to reassure herself, there being no one else around to hear her words.

Rocking back on her heels, she held her wand between her fingers in a moment of deliberation. She considered sending a messenger Patronus. No one had ever taught her how to perform this spell, and she was unsure whether she was even permitted to know about it. One glance at the deathly still Malfoy cemented her decision. With a shrug, she produced a glittering silver otter from her wand and sent it to Professor Dumbledore. Now was as good a time as any, she thought.

Her attention returned to Malfoy. Since she was not a Healer, she knew that there was likely very little she could do for him. She racked her brains for something helpful to cast while waiting for assistance to arrive. Perhaps she could determine what kind of spell had put Malfoy in this state. Bending over him once more, Hermione waved her wand while incanting, "Ostende," in the hopes of gaining some idea of his magical condition.

No sooner had the spell left her lips before she felt an overwhelming tightening in her chest. The air struggled to enter her lungs and her sense of hearing became oddly diminished, or perhaps it was merely being accosted by the sound of her own frantic heartbeat. Panic surged through her, and she scooted quickly away from Malfoy. Bracing herself against a wall, she tried to resist allowing her vision to swim. And then, as suddenly as it had all begun, the unpleasant sensations came to an abrupt end. Her breath rushed into her with an unencumbered gasp, as much from surprise as from need, while she stared bewildered at her wand.

"Merlin!"

She looked at Malfoy anxiously and then her wand again, her mind comprehending the implications with mounting dread. She didn't know for certain, but she had a fair guess; if she was correct, then Malfoy's life was in grave danger, his body being consumed alive by his own magic even as she stood here. I don't know the counter incantation! she thought disjointedly. Professor Dumbledore and the rest of her teachers were on their way here, surely. But even another moment would be disastrous for Malfoy. Her lips worked soundlessly as she assessed her options. She couldn't counter it, but perhaps...? Without further thought, she jabbed her wand toward him and exclaimed, "Ostende!" again, this time with urgent speed.

Now the suffocating sensations were expected and therefore slightly more bearable. She knew that she had one attempt, or at most two, to try to mitigate the Perurere curse before the terrible Dark Magic that had wrought it would overpower her, too. Fleetingly, she considered with irony the wonderfully stimulating discussion she'd had with Professor Snape about spell apexes just hours ago, before the effort of staying conscious drove all else from her mind. As she battled against being dragged into the looming darkness, she schooled all her energy to focus on Malfoy's magical core. She shut her eyes in an attempt to better visualize it, though she knew that it made her all the more vulnerable to losing herself. She could feel the coursing magical current, and how it swelled at each apex. With only abstract theoretical knowledge to guide her, she didn't know whether she could find the dark contaminant, or even what to look for.

Yet... Something was definitely there, subtle and slippery.

She screwed her eyes tighter, causing little starbursts to flash behind her eyelids. That. Apparently, there was nothing to see while accessing a spell apex. There was only what one could feel. While most of the magic felt familiar and soothing, there was something else here too, hot and repugnant, leaking toxic essence. Beads of sweat dripped down her temples, and her chest felt like it had been weighed down by lead. With every fiber of her body screaming that she couldn't do it, that she hadn't the strength, but yet knowing that she must succeed, she shouted,"Expungere!"

The last thing she heard was her own voice reverberating forcefully against the walls of the narrow tower. The dark fog that she had been holding at bay pitched upwards to consume her, and her wand clattered to the ground, falling from nerveless fingers. She didn't know what she had done or whether it had worked. All she knew was that she couldn't keep her eyes open for one more minute, that she simply must sit down...

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Inexplicable.

That was all Severus could think of as he braced himself over his desk in his office, head bowed over the mysteriously dry and empty Pensieve, which he had banished, but then re-summoned, for lack of anything better to do. Granger had left ten minutes ago, yet he still was here, frozen in place, feeling strangely stupid and thoroughly incapable of any coherent action. His lips felt dry. His knuckles were sore from bearing all his weight.

Damn her!

He allowed himself to sink slowly into his chair again. He felt brittle. He was a Potions Master, a man with an instinct for perfection. He gravitated toward the calm, the well-reasoned, the logical--qualities that recommended him in his profession. Ingredients in correct proportions, flawless execution of protocol, well-articulated steps carried out in precise order--these were what he subsisted on. Governed by intellect and the unsentimental exhortations of his well-disciplined mind, his whole existence was a study in indifference. It could not be any other way. To stray would mean a summary death at the hands of the Dark Lord.

He was therefore not ever prone to random fits of passion. Anger, he understood, for he frequently cloaked himself in it as a means of self-preservation, as well as to more convincingly serve his two masters. But fury and menace of any kind should always be premeditated and controlled, never allowed to commandeer the faculties.

Well then, this unfettered maelstrom of wrath and fervor in reaction to Granger, this could not be tolerated. He must put a stop to it immediately. Even now, with a jar of phoenix eyes glaring at him and a malfunctioning Pensieve sitting right before him, he could think of nothing but her. Or rather, his reaction to her. As with everything having to do with Granger ever since that brisk fall day when he was entrusted by Albus to convey her to the headmaster's office, nothing he felt or did when around her was normal. This latest outburst was not only atypical of him, but, he realized bitterly, both unprofessional and humiliating.

Certainly, the fault was all hers, he decided, and he felt a small measure of consolation. Granger was an uncommonly intelligent young witch. It was expected that she would know better than to attempt idiocy of such unparalleled magnitude. Was he truly meant to believe that she intended to brew Water of Styx with no thought of safeguards? Of course he had every right to be irritated. She was being foolish beyond justification, in spite of her admittedly singular talents. Even the most patient and tolerant of instructors would have been exasperated--and he was neither patient nor tolerant. As for his own lack of control, he was convinced, as he had always been, that he was being stretched to his limits. These last few weeks, he had known no peace. Between the unwelcome intrusion of his own personal demons, his ceaseless ruminations over Granger's theories, and his general preoccupation with...well, Granger, he decided that he had finally found his way into some bizarre incarnation of hell.

Severus closed his eyes. Why then, for Merlin's sake, did he feel...he had no words to summon from the limited supply of vocabulary he kept on hand to describe feelings. He was opposed on principle to the notion of feeling anything, a habit he adhered to with conviction, for it had saved his life more than once. Yet, he supposed he felt as if he had somehow behaved in a manner that reflected poorly on himself. In those charged few seconds after he had admonished her, he saw, and he remembered, with a spy's unerring vividness, the flash of raw pain that had darkened her eyes to the color of mahogany. He knew that she had tried to conceal it. It was easy for one who frequently hid his own thoughts to recognize another individual doing the same. But she was young and inexperienced, and his hard, unyielding words forced up a vulnerability that flowed unbidden from her, like a weeping wound that had been lanced. He doubted she knew how very disturbing the effect was. He recalled how the color had risen in her cheeks and how her hair, dampened from the heat of potion fumes, had clung miserably to her neck. There was something claustrophobic about the memory, how his mind's eye seemed to forget all but that brief moment when she looked upon him in uncomprehending betrayal.

Surely, he must put a stop to it. There would be no more private sessions between him and Granger. With what felt like the first rational impulse he had had in some time, he resolved to--

He tensed and whipped about. Before he even knew what he was doing, his wand was already out pointing straight in the face of an intruder.

"Severus, I must be constantly reminded not to come upon you in one of your rare unguarded moments," the headmaster said wryly in greeting, eyeing Severus over the half-moon spectacles on his nose.

Severus glowered, not appreciating how Albus had a way of treating him like an errant school boy. "My apologies, Headmaster. Perhaps if you entered a room through doors or fireplaces like the mere mortals among us..." he suggested snidely, lowering his wand.

"...a courtesy that I'm afraid I was unable to abide by this time, Severus, as we have a rather urgent situation to attend to. Miss Granger has informed me that she has found a member of Slytherin House, Draco Malfoy, incapacitated in the Astronomy Tower," Albus replied.

"Malfoy?" Severus said incredulously. He was instantly out of his seat, striding after the headmaster. What could possibly overcome the preening son of Lucius Malfoy that would also involve the maddeningly conscientious Granger? He kept those thoughts to himself and instead inquired, "Do we know anything of his condition? And is Granger harmed?"

"Unfortunately, there were no details in Miss Granger's message. Was it you that taught her the use of the messenger Patronus? That was most impressive spellwork on the part of our Head Girl," Albus observed serenely, as though they were not both sweeping through the castle at a bruising pace, but merely promenading through the corridor.

"I taught her...?" Severus sputtered, appalled. Albus favored him with raised eyebrows.

Their arrival at the Astronomy Tower saved him from having to answer for anymore of Albus' misguided speculations. The headmaster led the way up the stairs, spry and quick in spite of his years, his signature robes afloat behind him.

They both noticed the unforeseen addition to their problem at once, and Severus' heart leapt to his throat unexpectedly. Granger was hurt, too.

They quickly took in the scene. Draco lay face-up, splayed across the steps in the most grotesque fashion, and Severus suspected there were more than a few broken bones inside the boy. Granger was lying a few steps beneath him. Unlike Draco, she was crumpled in a heap face-down, her wand on the ground a few feet away from her. Evidently, someone had a great desire to see Draco Malfoy harmed. Severus was quite certain that said adversary was definitely not Granger.

"Tend to Miss Granger, Severus," Albus ordered, voice taut with worry as he lowered himself next to Draco.

Severus swiftly knelt beside the girl. He swept the abundant curls aside, searching for a pulse. It was strong, and he let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. Gently, he turned her so that her face was no longer pressed to the ground. A small amount of blood was flowing from the corner of her lip, which Severus assumed was from the impact of the fall. He spelled it away. Her skin was cold to the touch, he realized, and her coloring was alarmingly pale.

Before he could cast a warming charm however, she stirred, and her hand batted weakly at him. Blindly, she attempted to roll and she would have succeeded in hurling herself further down the stairs if Severus hadn't reached out and dragged her into his arms. She groaned at the abrupt yanking sensation and opened her eyes. They roved about foggily until they met his, and he saw the startled confusion.

"'fessor Snape?" she slurred. She struggled feebly against him, then gasping from the exertion, she collapsed against his chest. "What..." she murmured.

Severus found that he himself was momentarily disoriented. He had grabbed her without thought, a reflexive maneuver to prevent her from further injuring herself. Now he held her in an awkward sort of embrace. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, for he had not been in such close proximity to another since...a very long while. She felt fragile and soft, unlike the heavy, muscular bodies of his Death Eater fellows that he had on occasion been forced to torture. His fingers found no easy purchase as a result and he fumbled clumsily with her weight. Her face somehow became buried in his robes.

"Miss Granger," he ground out slowly in what he hoped was some simulacrum of soothing. "You alerted the headmaster to the fact that Draco Malfoy was in distress, and we arrived only to find that you yourself have also been injured. If...you would be so kind as to...elaborate, if you can recall--"

His own ineloquent query was interrupted by Albus, who had been probing Draco with his wand and quietly casting a series of complex diagnostic spells. "I fear that we have a very serious situation on our hands, Severus. Mr. Malfoy is the victim of a Perurere curse." Albus paused, then finished in bemused tones, "Although this spell seems to have been curiously quenched, as if someone had snuffed it out mid-progress."

Granger, who had been lying in silence, made an attempt to sit up again, and then failing once more, whispered something inaudible. Severus, troubled by her visibly weakening state, leaned down close to her and growled, "What did you say, Granger? Do not fall asleep! Stay awake, for the love of Merlin!" He shook her slightly and endeavored not to be distracted by the subtle scent of gardenias that rose from her hair.

"I said, I found the apex, I found it!" she gasped. Her eyes rolled back into her head. His arms were still around her and he felt her grow slack again.

"You found the..." Shock assaulted Severus' brain. Apexes? It could not be possible. Cursing, Severus managed to draw out his wand in spite of Granger in his arms, and he bit out, "Patefacio vestri potestas!"

The spell confirmed what he already knew. Granger's magic had been drained to debilitating levels, and she was suffering from magical exhaustion that occurred only with the use of extremely advanced core magic. Advanced, untrained magic, Severus reminded himself faintly. In the predictable fashion of her blighted House, Granger had chosen to launch herself straight into the path of a deadly curse...and had succeeded. It was almost too much to grasp. He had known some seasoned Aurors who could barely perform the spells of that class.

He looked back up at Albus. "It is difficult to believe," Severus began slowly, "but it seems as if Granger has managed a core magic intervention. I myself am hard-pressed to think it attainable by a seventh year student, but she has just insisted to me that she 'found the apex,' and now I have assessed her magical levels and found them to be abysmally low. Albus, there's simply nothing else that fits."

Albus nodded gravely. "I believe that as Miss Granger has yet to encounter Dark Magic, such an onslaught to her naïve sensibilities must have been quite traumatic."

Severus dipped his head in impassive assent, yet felt an eyelash twitch.

To Severus' chagrin, after a momentary but intent glance, Albus felt the need to say to him, in that infuriatingly solicitous manner of his, "Ah, do not worry for Miss Granger, Severus, she shall be restored to good health after a few days spent with Poppy."

"I am well aware, Albus, I thank you," he answered stiffly, scowling at the headmaster's unwarrantedly amused expression.

"Come, Severus, to the hospital wing with our young charges. They have both had a difficult evening, though I daresay they will soon be right as rain again." Albus rose, the sound of his cracking knee joints the only incongruous reminder of his advanced age. Carefully levitating Draco in the air, the headmaster added, "Miss Granger is an immensely well-read student. She would have easily been able to infer the cause of Mr. Malfoy's incapacity and recognized the gravity of his condition. However, I confess myself astonished. It takes extraordinary courage and skill to subject oneself to such powerful, elemental magic without prior exposure. It is evident that she saved Mr. Malfoy's life, at great peril to her own."

Albus was making his way back down the stairs. Severus prepared to follow suit, and raising his wand, he murmured, "Mobili--"

He did not know what stopped him. For the first time, he allowed himself to look closely at the light burden in his arms. He experienced a sense of disquiet while doing so, as if he were violating her by observing her in her unconsciousness. But still he looked, remembering the muted anguish with which she had left his classroom earlier, contrasting it with her currently preternatural expression of peace.

Perhaps it was out of respect for the exceptionally difficult and accomplished magic she had just performed. Or perhaps he was reluctant to impose upon a magically compromised individual yet more spells. But almost against his will, Severus found himself compelled to stow his wand, and then to cautiously readjust Granger in his arms, so that her head rested more fully in the crook of his elbow. Slowly he stood, and tightening his hold, he began to descend the steps with meticulous care, his burden cradled securely against him.

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"That is impossible, Professor Snape, I refuse to believe it!"

Severus towered imperiously over Draco's bed in the hospital wing, his expression grim and his arms crossed. All the years of the boy's pampered, spoilt upbringing were now being brought to bear, judging by his pugnacious expression and his argumentative tones. He sat up in his bed, ensconced in pillows and sheets like a king, his eyes flashing with the righteous indignation of his supposed persecution. In no jovial mood himself, Severus feigned ignorance and sneered, "Oh, believe it, Mr. Malfoy, and believe it well. You were at the receiving end of a rather potentPerurereand your magic has done quite the number on you. Just attempt to take some food and drink and we'll see how well your digestive system has fared!"

The boy's sallow hue became splotchy red with humiliation. "You know that isn't what I meant! I meant the Mudblood! What kind of sick joke is this? What do you mean she saved my life and that I'm now beholden to her? Dumbledore must have put you up to this. It has to be the most absurd thing I have ever heard!"

Well-practiced in the ways of his House, Severus swooped down over his student and grabbed a handful of his hospital gown. Still weak from his ordeal, Draco hung limply, gaping up at him, open-mouthed with terror.

Leaning in so close that he could distinguish the silver shards in Draco's gray eyes, he hissed, "Listen to me carefully, Draco. I will not accept this insolence. I am not in the habit of repeating myself, so I will say this only once more. Yes, you are indeed tied to Granger by way of a wizard's debt. She found you in the Astronomy Tower, being devoured alive by your own magic and half dead already. At the risk of her own life, she was able to intercede and halt the progress of the curse. You would do well to cease these childish antics at once and face reality!" He took care to thoroughly enunciate the last word to ensure that the child would understand. Then he promptly released him, letting him fall unceremoniously back upon the bed.

The child looked stricken, but Severus felt no sympathy for him. He was truly his father's son, blinded by rhetoric and dogma. Lucius had achieved his ends, Severus thought disdainfully, if he was aiming to produce a sniveling, brainless fool of an heir.

"Why are you telling me this, Professor? You know I'd rather die than have my father know," Draco whispered.

"Because, you sightless idiot, you may very well be dead if you ever try to lay hands on Granger again! Wizard's debt, boy, do not forget!" Severus scathed.

Draco sagged, appearing deflated. "A Mudblood," he muttered. "It's really the bloody truth."

"Yes," Severus agreed silkily. "The Mudblood. But it would perhaps be easier if you did not refer to her as such."

Draco guffawed mirthlessly, believing him to be joking. Severus did not care.

"Rest," Severus commanded. "The headmaster is securing the castle. In a few hours, we will return to ask you questions. You do not have to speak to anyone if you do not wish to. However, I suggest that for once you subscribe to nothing but honesty, Draco. It is for your own good. You do not know with whom you deal."

With that, Severus spun away. He would leave the patting and reassuring to Albus. Comforting was not in his purview, not that he believed the prideful Slytherin would accept his comfort.

He was almost out the door when he spotted Granger's bed, on the opposite end of the hospital wing from Draco's. She lay still as a statue, spelled into healing sleep by Pomfrey's potions. Potter and Weasley, of course, were there, the Weasley boy holding her hand. Severus frowned at the boys' grubby appearance, evidently a result of Quidditch practice. He stalked soundlessly over, avoiding detection by the Gryffindors. He permitted himself one cursory inspection of the girl, cocooned tightly within the coverlet, brown curls arrayed wildly upon the pillow. He was pleased to see that her color had improved slightly.

Then sweeping by Weasley, he grabbed his wrist, prying the boy off his hold of Granger. He pronounced softly, in a voice that brooked no disobedience, "Your hands, Weasley, are in contact with a sickbed. Spell the mud off them before I do so for you."

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Author's Notes:

Apologies again for the unbelievable 3 years between updates. I'm highly doubtful anyone who was originally reading this story is still following it. I know better than to make promises now. But being out of school helps a lot, and I still do love writing fic, so I'll keep my fingers crossed!

A lot has happened between when this story first got published and now. For starters, both HBP and DH came out. So obviously, this story is now HBP and DH disregarded. I've tried to work in any new canon knowledge gained from the new books without losing consistency with the previous chapters. Finally, I've graduated college and am now 23 as opposed to 18. So if you notice changes in writing style or outlook, I am trusting that it will be for the better :) I am hoping that becoming older has earned me some new flair at the very least!

For anyone with a Livejournal, I'd love to friend you! Mine is listed in my profile. Also, I am on Twitter as labrt2004

And as always, many thanks go out to my betas, Natalie and Snarkyroxy!

Reviews are very much appreciated!