This Present Darkness

"For we fight not against flesh and blood but against Powers and Principalities - the rulers of this present darkness."

Ephesians 6:11-13

Prologue

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

1 Corinthians 13:12

"There is no man that hath power over the spirit to retain the spirit; neither hath he power in the day of death."

Ecclesiastes 8:8

It was Hermione's final term at Hogwarts and she was tired and burnt out. There was only a few weeks left to go before final exams and she wondered if she'd make it without collapsing in a fit of exhaustion.

She sighed as she added her carefully ground Grindylow bones to the potion. The potion turned a clear green much to her relief. She needed to wait five minutes before adding the dragon scales.

Her eyes roamed around the room and came to rest on Snape, her disliked and feared Potions Master. He was preparing some ingredients for a complicated looking potion brewing on his lab bench. He was absorbed and frowning darkly, not an unusual expression. His dark, greasy looking hair fell in clumps around his lean, bony face. His eyebrows were heavy and as pitch black as his hair. A line of concentration was cut deeply between them. His nose was large and hawkish, and his pale lips thin. His skin had a sallow tinge but his hands were as blue white as skim milk and beautiful; strong, slender and long-fingered.

Hermione turned back to her potion, checked her timer, added dragon scales and reset the timer once more. It was now another 5 minutes until she added the Griffin feathers.

Her eyes went back to her Potions Master for lack of any other distraction. His mouth was pursed slightly in concentration and his black eyes were intense as he added an ingredient and adjusted the temperature. He went back to finely chopping something. Whatever he was brewing, it must be important for him to be neglecting the class. Usually his prowled around them, sneering at their efforts and deliberately un-nerving them.

She noticed a sulphurous steam coming from the cauldron. It must be a very potent potion. She frowned. She hoped he often didn't brew such nasty substances. Being around fumes like that constantly had to be bad for your health.

She checked her potion and carefully snipped in some of the feathers into it. It turned a golden brown - perfect! She set the timer again and glanced around the room. Other students were frantically chopping and grinding but she'd prepared her ingredients before beginning so her timing could be exact for adding each ingredient. Her spider venom had been exactly measured and would need to be added in a few minutes.

Once more she examined Snape, speculating on what on earth drove the man. He was such a nasty, evil git. Once, he'd been a Death Eater - hated and feared by the wizarding community. Now, he was teaching at Hogwarts. It was a bit absurd. Most of the Death Eaters ended up in Azkaban. What was it that had saved him from the Dementor's Kiss? Why did Dumbledore have such faith in him? He didn't even look trustworthy. He looked dangerous, cunning, secretive and vicious.

She checked on her potion again and added the venom drop by drop. Slowly it changed colour to a navy blue. She stirred it with some holly bark quickly then poured it into a goblet ready for testing. It needed to stand for ten minutes, gently smoking before she could try it. She extinguished her flame, cleaned her cauldron efficiently and packed up her equipment while she waited.

By now, Snape was peering into his cauldron, his expression tense. He is breathing in those fumes, Hermione thought with a frown. Why did he do it? She knew he didn't use charms to protect himself because she'd never seen him use one in the 7 years she'd been at Hogwarts. He'd taught the students how to use them and ensured that they did, so why didn't he? Unaware she was doing it, her gaze grew more intense as she puzzled over this new question.

Maybe it was a form of self-punishment, she hypothesized? Or maybe he was self-destructive? Maybe he did feel guilt over his activities as a Death Eater and he really did despise himself. Maybe he simply didn't care what happened to him anymore and he'd given up on life in a way. In that case, the only thing that could possibly drive him was loyalty to Dumbledore and the possibility of being useful to him.

As though Snape could feel her eyes on him, he glanced up suddenly and looked right at her. There was a dark frown of anger and annoyance on his face until he realized her stare was in no way hostile.

Hermione was so deep in her ponderings that she was no longer really seeing him even while looking right at him.

Snape felt odd. He didn't like being looked at let alone stared intensely at. He didn't like the shrewd intensity of her gaze but there was something more he couldn't name immediately because it was foreign to him. He couldn't take his eyes off her face for a full minute. Fortunately, the other students were frantically trying to finish their potions before end of class to notice their Potion Master's sudden stillness or obvious distraction.

Suddenly, Hermione snapped out of her compassionate reverie to find Snape staring fixedly back at her with a peculiar expression. It was at once intense, perplexed, resentful, stunned and a bit bemused - almost hypnotized. It was obvious he had no idea what to make of his top student staring steadily at him and he had been unsettled for once in his life.

"Miss Granger," he said, recovering immediately. "I take it you have finished your potion?" he said with characteristic contempt.

"Yes, sir," she replied coolly.

Snape hated her arrogant self-assurance. "Is it ready to test?" he asked coldly.

She checked her timer. "Just, sir," she confirmed, gazing back at him unblinkingly.

"Well, I suggest you try it Miss Granger," he said sarcastically.

With a shrug, she drank it. It tasted foul as all potions did. She waited. The potion was designed to reveal your animagus form by creating a pattern on your skin that lasted only 5 or so minutes. Part of their homework had been to study common patterns that resulted from drinking this potion so they could recognize their own. Most people would get common mammals, birds or reptiles of some type.

In a few seconds a pattern began to emerge. Good. The potion worked, she thought. Now Snape can't sneer. She frowned at it. The pattern looked nothing like any of those she'd studied. She bit her lip. She'd fail, if she couldn't identify it. Frantically, she began to sketching it in her notepad. It didn't look like fur or feathers or even scales.

Snape waited until the potion should have begun to take effect, then stalked over to her bench and took her arm in one ice-cold hand. The pattern showed best on the transparent skin of the inner forearm. He turned her arm over and examined the pattern expertly. His eyes narrowed and a strange look flittered over his face.

"You'll have to do research on this one, Miss Granger. You have until end of exam week to give me the answer," he said, dropping her arm and going back to his own bench at the front of the room.

She gritted her teeth. She was sure he knew what it was but he wasn't going to tell her nor was she going to ask for a hint or a clue. She pressed her lips together and went back to sketching. To her surprise, the pattern didn't go entirely. She was sure Snape would take marks off her final grade because of that.

Meanwhile, thanks to Hermione's help Neville found out he was a rabbit. Harry was a large black hound with magical properties, commonly known as a shuk in the British Isles. Draco was a ferret, much to her amusement. Ron was a fox. Crabbe was a toad and Goyle was a lizard. Hermione sighed. What the hell was she?

Hermione didn't feel Snape's gaze as they filed out of the Potion's lab after class.

* * *

Later that day Snape went back to his potion and brooded over it, missing dinner. As he watched it bubble he suddenly remembered Hermione's stare earlier that day. It had been pushed to the back of his mind with the startling revelation of her unusual animagus form.

What was it about her gaze that had paralysed him? He added some dragon's blood to his potion and it fizzed. He struggled for an answer. Then it came to him. She'd looked at him with compassion and empathy. He nearly dropped too many dried fish eyes into his potion. He frowned deeply. When was the last time someone had felt compassion for him? Dumbledore had of course; he had his deathless loyalty now but before that? No-one. Not ever. Now this annoying school girl had and it changed something in him toward her. He scowled. He didn't like it. He didn't want to feel... warmth or.... or gratitude towards her. What did she really know about him anyway? About what Death Eaters did? The murders, torture and humiliations they had inflicted on their enemies.

Snape's hands trembled as he added wormroot to his potion. Stupid girl, he thought savagely. She would soon lose her compassion if she knew the full extent of his crimes. His black eyes glittered in the half light of the dungeons as he stirred the potion. He hardened his heart toward her. Her knew full well that if she knew the whole truth, she'd hate him. Just like everyone else did; even those who didn't know the full truth.

He tossed some ground unicorn horn into the noxious mixture and sneered. Where did Hermione find compassion for him so suddenly? There had never been any evidence of it in the 7 years he'd been her Potions Master. He deliberately ignored the memory or her sympathetic gaze or how it had seemed to burn a trail of warmth and comfort through him and nestle somewhere in the region of his chest. He didn't want to remember the strange feeling. It was alien and confusing and a distraction. He had important work to do. He glanced down into the murky depths of his cauldron. Human sympathy was not a part of his life and never had been nor was it likely to become so. Best not to explore the thought any further.

He stared sightlessly into the distance. His eyes were empty of expression. Still, he thought, I don't think I can stand this half life much longer. His eyes wandered to the potion. Half a goblet of it would finish him off, he calculated. He could never bring himself to do it. He was a lot of things but a coward, he wasn't.

His lips thinned. Somehow, he'd have to find a way and a reason to continue living.

* * *

Dumbledore was frowning deeply as he made his way to the gardens on the Eastern side of the school grounds. He was dreading having to tell Hermione the news he had just received by Muggle phone. He had sent to the Gryffindor common room first only to be told she was in her garden patch. A first year had offered to fetch her to him but he decided the news he had for her may be best received in familiar surroundings and away from others.

He found Hermione sprinkling Osmocote on her pots of roses. "Hello, my dear," he said smiling at her healthy rose bushes.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," she replied with a smile. Seeing Dumbledore around the grounds was a regular and pleasant thing.

He examined the young woman before him. Her hair had darkened into a deep brown over the past few years and her features had fined down. She had started doing something to her hair to make it straight but it was still very thick and fell heavily around her face. She had certainly become one of the most attractive girls in her year, if not the school.

"Your roses are the healthiest in the school," Dumbledore commented kindly.

"Yes. It seems like I can only successfully grow roses and African violets," Hermione observed wryly. "I kill everything else off outright," she added and laughed.

A flicker of a frown crossed Dumbledore's face and his eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "So, you can grow exotics that even experienced gardeners often fail at but ordinary plants are beyond you?" He observed with a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.

Hermione shrugged. "I'd never thought about it like that but I guess so." She smiled in amusement at her own perversity.

Dumbledore sighed suddenly and looked serious. "Hermione, I didn't come down here to discuss your garden," he said gently. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Hermione glanced at him, puzzled and frowning. He took her hand and looking sympathetically into her suddenly frightened face, he said, "It's your parents Hermione. I'm afraid they were both in a car accident and died immediately. I'm so sorry."

Hermione looked at him blankly for so long he began to worry that she may have gone into deep shock. Finally she blinked and drew a deep breath. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. She sat down abruptly on a stone bench nearby. After a long time she whispered, "when?"

"Only an hour ago, Hermione. There was nothing the medics could do," he replied and sat down next to her.

Hermione was never sure later how long she simply sat, zoned out and unable to think. Dumbledore stayed with her the whole time, as still as she. It was almost like a death watch but the death had already happened. Finally, Hermione looked up to see that night had just fallen.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I've kept you out here all this while," Hermione said, her voice sounding strange to herself as though it came from a distance or it was really someone else talking.

"That's quite alright, child. There's so little I can do to help you other than this," he gently patted her hand which she found strangely comforting. "I'll put you in a private room in my tower for the remainder of your last week here. You can get some peace there. You will also be relieved of your Head Girl duties."

"Thank goodness my exams are over," she muttered rather characteristically.

"Quite," Dumbledore replied. "That is one small blessing in all of this."

"Professor?" Hermione said shakily.

"Yes, child," Dumbledore replied benignly.

"Can I still lead the procession on graduation day with Justin?" Justin Finch-Fletchly was the Head Boy that year. "M-mum and D-dad would have... been... so proud... to see me." Then the tears came. Dumbledore gathered her against him with one arm and held her tight.

"Of course, you can. If you want to," Dumbledore murmured comfortingly and stared over her bent head with a sad and troubled expression as she cried.

To Dumbledore's surprise, she didn't cry very long or very hard. She pulled herself together with unnatural speed and wiped her face with the hanky Dumbledore handed her.

"I'd really like to go to bed now, Professor," she said finally, standing up. "I need to think through some of my plans for the future."

"Of course, child but don't worry too much. We'll make sure your plans are interrupted as little as possible. You have a brilliant future and everyone at Hogwarts wants to see you fulfill it," he said gravely.

She nodded and took Dumbledore's hand like a child when he stood up. They walked slowly to Dumbledore's office entry. "Chocolate cobblers," he said to the gargoyle that instantly leapt aside. Hermione managed a smile as she remembered the hard, chewy caramel sweet covered in chocolate that she'd eaten in the Muggle world as a child.

A second later they were outside Dumbledore's office but rather than go in, Dumbledore tapped a simple tattoo on the stone wall to their right with his wand and it disappeared. Behind it was a corridor with many doors along both sides. Dumbledore led her past the first few doors to a redwood door inlaid with pale pink and white marble. He opened it and gestured inside. "This is your room for the next week. To get back here just use the same password at the wall as for my office door and it will open for you. I will ask the house elves to bring you some dinner and send a message to your friends to let them know what has happened." Dumbledore said quietly. "Tomorrow we can begin to sort out arrangements for your future and education." He patted her shoulder gently.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said gratefully as she walked into her new temporary room. She wanted to say more but realized that Dumbledore would probably understand anything she didn't know how to say anyway.

When he smiled reassuringly at her and said, "good night, my dear" she knew he had. He handed her a small vial of sleeping potion and quietly closed the door as he left. He stood there for a moment staring sadly at the floor, contemplating one of the hardest things he had ever done as a Head Master and then slowly walked back to his office.

* * *

Dumbledore paced slowly in his office after sending off messages to the house elves, and to Ron and Harry - Hermione's best friends. He had alerted Padma Patil of the fact that she would be acting Head Girl except at the Graduation Ceremony for the next week. She had proved an excellent Vice Head Girl during the year and could easily fill the role for a week.

What to do about Hermione's future? Dumbledore would assign McGonagall to organizing her parent's funeral. Hermione's closest relatives were in Australia and could not get here in time to make arrangements if they were prepared to come at all. There was no hostility between Hermione's family members but her Uncle had emigrated and married an Australian nearly 20 years ago. They had kept in touch but were not close and 20 years was a long time.

He sent for MacGonagall and explained the situation. She was stunned to hear the news and genuinely distressed for Hermione. Hermione's academic confidence annoyed her at times but she cared about all the Gryffindors in her charge and she had known Hermione for nearly 7 years. "Oh Professor! How horrible! Poor Hermione. Will she be alright, do you think?" she fussed anxiously.

"Yes, yes Minerva. We will give her all the help we can. I need more details before I can start helping Hermione make plans but one way or another, I'll ensure she continues her education and reaches her goals," Dumbledore reassured her.

"Oh good," McGonagall said, obviously relieved. McGonagall went to make the necessary arrangements and Dumbledore began sending owls to gather the information he needed. One problem still plagued him. Who would act as her guardian until she turned 18? If she went to Australia to live with her Uncle until then, she would have to put University off for a full year. He was sure Hermione would not want to do that. In fact, he was sure she'd fight it tooth and nail. He was also sure her Uncle would not want to come back to Britain for the next three and a half months until she came of age either. It was not likely to be a practical option for him or his family. Dumbledore would have to appoint someone else.

He remembered something about a much older, married, Muggle sister living in Germany but the same problem arose there as with the Australian branch of her family. Hermione would have to give up University for a year or her sister would have to come to Britain. As her sister was married, Dumbledore doubted she'd be keen to leave her husband for that long to look after a sister she barely saw.

Dumbledore's mind drifted over the teaching staff. McGonagall, who was the logical choice, was currently taking care of an ill sister and her family during each school holiday. Hooch had commitments to coach Quidditch camps during her time off. Flitwick would stand out dramatically in the Muggle world and was thus unsuitable. He wouldn't inflict Trelawny on Hermione for Hermione's own sake and Sprout couldn't afford to leave her exotic plants even for a week. Hagrid would be a good choice but Dumbledore had plans for him involving Remus and Sirius over the summer months. Professor Vector would be traveling to America over the summer to lecture at Arithmancy summer schools there. That only left Professor Snape. Dumbledore frowned. Snape could do it but he wasn't sure it would be easy on either Hermione or Snape. They did not like each other at all and the situation would probably be unbearably awkward.

Then again, if Hermione was good with difficult plants then maybe she could become good at managing a difficult person like Snape. The analogy pleased Dumbledore and he smiled to himself. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and gently pressed his fingertips together as he considered. They were both brilliant beyond the scope of the normal intellect. Unlike Snape, Hermione had the gift of friendship but they both could be anti-social and cranky. Both had strong wills and both had had difficult family backgrounds - a fact that Hermione had not revealed to anyone and Snape never discussed.

Dumbledore's mind drifted to his discussion with Hermione in her rose garden. She could only succeed with difficult plants - ordinary plants' needs eluded her. She would probably be the same with people. She certainly didn't understand her uncomplicated friends, much as she loved them nor did she understand their needs as they were so different from her own. Maybe she could understand a difficult person like Snape in which case, Snape could benefit from his time with her. Snape also needed a break from being at the mercy of the Death Eaters' beck and call. In the Muggle world, he'd have a perfect excuse to not answer any summons he received. Hermione would have a dutiful and careful guardian until she came of age who would interfere as little as he could in her life.

Dumbledore's mind was made up. Snape would be Hermione's guardian; now to break the bad news to Snape. Dumbledore smiled.

* * *

Hermione looked around the room that Dumbledore had given her with un-seeing eyes. It was a beautiful room. Even in her current state of numbness she could see that. She didn't care where she was as long as it was private.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the four poster bed. She knew she should bath and go to bed. Sleep was the best thing for her, she supposed but her head was still spinning. Not that there was one coherent thought amongst the ones that tumbled in her head; at least, not one that she could pin down. She felt dizzy.

Activity was what she needed, she finally decided. She got up and looked in the drawers of a beautifully ornate dresser nearby. Sure enough it was full of basic items like sleepwear and underwear in different sizes. As she suspected, this was a room that had been used for students in distress many times.

She pulled out a white cotton nightie and went in search of a bathroom. She found one just next door. It was even more magnificent than the Prefect's bathroom. It was done in white and grey marble with full sized statues of Greek gods around its perimeter and graceful columns surrounding a bath nearly as big as a swimming pool. Hermione pulled a face as she took all this in. She found it a bit pretentious but maybe it was just all in good fun. She shrugged and put a locking charm on the door, she had no idea who else might want to use this bathroom but she wanted it to herself for now.

She tried various taps and settled for a flow of pale pink water with a feint glitter through it. She expected the smell to be nauseatingly sweet but it was rather fresh with an understated pretty scent that was not at all sugary. She stripped off quickly and got in. The temperature was perfect. She could have lolled on the steps but decided to strike out and swim a few laps. It felt good to have her muscles stretched and her heart pick up speed. She kept going until she had to stop to get her breath and then began lapping again. As Hermione was pretty fit and had a good swimming technique albeit not a fast one, she managed to do laps for well over an hour before her body began to really protest.

She stayed in the water and washed her hair, adding more hot water. Then she soaped herself from head to toe with Raspberry bath gel.

For the second time that day, Hermione lost track of the time gently floating in the bath like a cork. It was therapeutic though. It was such a new environment that there were no triggers to set off her currently well buried emotions. No over concerned friends, no personal belongings and no reminders of home.

Finally, close to midnight she got out and dried herself off with a drying spell. She crept back to her room and used a hair straightening and drying spell - so much quicker than a blasted hair drier!

Once more, she found herself sitting on that huge bed. She found a meal that had been left for her by the House Elves. She lifted the silver cover and had a look. Steak, mashed potatoes, mushrooms and greenbeans cooked with bacon - her favourite meal. How did they know? She smiled but put the cover back. It felt disrespectful to even be thinking of her stomach so soon after her parent's death even if she had an appetite which she didn't, the exercise having taken care of that.

She glanced over to the sleeping potion. Slowly she got off the bed and picked it up. With a shrug she drank it quickly then climbed into the bed. She didn't remember anything after that.