Breaking the Chains

Phraseology

The entrance to Snape's Rooms turned out to be a concealed door in his office. A cursory flick of his wand accompanied by 'dehisco' opened a wide gothic arch in a previously bare patch of wall, beneath which a set of black double doors were secured with a locking charm.

Before opening the door, Snape paused, to ask; "Is this okay? We can stay in my office, if you'd like, but my rooms at least have two comfortable chairs."

*Don't push her too far - she can still run, remember.*

*If you can keep your head when all about you are loosing theirs . . .*

However as Snape's internal monologue started up on a poetic and cultured riff that might normally have appealed to Hermione, her answers became more curt and to the point.

"It's fine." (I was raped in a corridor not on a bed) "I trust you."

*If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you . . .*

"Okay then, come in."

*But make allowance for their doubting too . . .*

"Hermione, if at any point you feel uncomfortable, or want to leave, you must tell me. Contrary to popular belief I'm not a mind reader. And we are going to be talking about some unpleasant issues tonight."

(Unpleasant! Is that your considered and final appreciation of this situation! Insensitive bastard. I'm not telling you anything.) "You can't read minds? Really?"

A deft change of subject, considering. But he felt the anger surge through her regardless of the level nature of her reply.

*If you can wait and not be tired by waiting*

"No, I'm empathic, not a telepath. I feel thoughts rather than hear them verbatim."

"Everyone thinks that you read minds - that's how you always catch us out" (and know exactly what to say to hurt the most)

*Or being lied about, don't deal in lies. Not anymore anyway*

"Eighteen years of teaching hones the senses to guilt and dishonesty fairly acutely. I can sense someone lying about their homework in the North Tower on a clear day."

"Makes sense, I suppose" (that's how you can skulk in your dungeon - the world comes to you whether you like it or not.)

*Being hated, don't give way to hating*

"But we're not here to talk about me, are we, Miss Granger?"

"No." (I'm here to let you help me. And make up your mind - am I Miss Granger or Hermione.)

"Which would you prefer?"

The incredulity on her face, even after all he had told her, was vaguely amusing. It would take her a good while before she gauged the true depths of his power . . . the longer the better.

*Don't look to good, nor talk too wise. First part's easy enough*

"Hermione." (That way, I can pretend you care, and you're not just using me)

"You know, you can back out on the deal any time you like -"

*If you can dream and not make dreams your master*

"- you must have realised that even if Voldemort didn't oblige in ending my existence, that I have enough enemies, to find myself in a situation involving certain death -"

*If you can think and not make thoughts your master*

"Then why not -"

" - but somehow allowing myself to be killed by adversary inferior to myself, who would have had all the chance of a snowball in hell if I fought back, grates on my pride. I am a Slytherin after all."

"I see." (I really do. I hope you believe me)

"So we've talked out my problems - however I think yours are more pressing."

"Yes."

"Perhaps you should begin with where you have spent all of today."

"In the astronomy tower."

"Indeed. Planning another short walk?"

"No. That's where - um, I mean - well that's . . ."

"Try and speak in coherent sentences. Your voluminous essays suggest you are more than capable of it."

*Yes, she's bristling again. My sarcasm seems to give her the strength to fight. Say the words, but keep them clean of contempt. She doesn't deserve that from you. She's doing better than any of the others Voldemort had you crush the spirits of.*

"That's where I was attacked, Professor (the honorific spat in order to devalue it). I just stayed put."

"I see. Is there an explanation as to why you show no signs of injury?"

"They've been healed."

"You healed yourself - your powers are seemingly growing." Hold the sarcasm down, there's such a thing as too much of a good thing.

"I asked . . . Harry . . . to do it for me."

"Right. I presume he knows the details, then?"

Hermione forced herself to swallow. Snape noticed.

"Yes."

A pause. Pieces clicking into place - Potter out all night under his invisibility cloak - returning to Gryffindor tower looking troubled early in the morning -

"Did you ask Mr Potter for his help, or did he come to offer it?"

"He came and found me." (If you know just come out and say it)

"When was this? Just before you ran into me?"

"Er . . . yeah." (Stop playing games with me)

The final pieces of the puzzle slotted in place to form a gruesome whole. Potter had raped Hermione and even now she was protecting him.

"So from whom were you running?"

"Er . . . no-one." (Christ, I should have got more practice at lying. How am I supposed to outsmart a Slytherin?)

"Indeed. I have always maintained that the vaunted Gryffindor loyalty was nothing but fool-hardiness, you know. However, you are too mature an individual for me to disregard you choices summarily. If you wish to protect him, that is your choice."

And in the absence of other noise, silence reigns.

* * *

Despite his injunctions to himself to wait and let the situation unfold, Voldemort was itching to interfere.

The part of himself, his essence, that had been transferred to Potter as a child that ill-fated night, that gave him the gift of Parselmouth, was tingling right now.

He always became more aware of it when Potter was uncertain and insecure, wondering what to do - that was the time at which the spark that was Tom Riddle and not Harry Potter flared up, temporarily blinding the senses and awareness of The Boy Who Lived.

And Potter was certainly unsure about what had transpired between Snape and Granger on that ledge.

There had always been that vague sense of connection between the two during Voldemort's long purgatory, but Potter had invariably benefited more from the warnings it provided, rather than suffering. Now the tables were turned, the protection of the ancient magic from his mother removed, and Voldemort was returned to his former strength.

He intended to take full advantage.

However, aside from waiting for the inevitable fallout in the Gryffindor enclave, and taking care to prevent Potter confessing and repenting - repercussions would be greater should he be uncovered in his crime - there was little more to be done.

Voldemort did not like waiting. He had waited sixteen years too long, to avoid playing games with his hapless victim.

He was not happy.

His eyes fell on Pettigrew huddling in the corner. A little mindless violence would prove a pleasant diversion.

Raising his wand he aimed it, drinking in the grovelling cries for mercy from his insipid servant.

"Crucio."

Screams sliced through the calm of the night air.

* * *

Back in Snape's rooms, Hermione seemed lost for words.

The last question he asked had brought home the enormity of the situation to her. Its implications for the rest of her life.

Yes, she had been a virgin this time yesterday.

And he had taken that from her - defiled her - taken the precious gift she had intended for another from her, when all she had given permission for was a chaste kiss.

Whoever she chose to be with in the future, she would come into the relationship without a vital part of herself, through no fault of her own.

And it was all Harry's fault.

That was if she could bear for anyone to touch her again. She still remembered her wild flight out of the tower at the slightest touch.

Will you ever be able to trust anyone again?

But you're trusting Snape, aren't you? First wishing you were in his lesson, and then wanting to be rescued by him. So he saves you from yourself and you trust him?

That was the truth though. His calm confidence in himself and his opinions was a comforting presence. And when he kept the malice and derision out of his tone, his sarcasm reminded her to fight. That she was still alive, and would live how she pleased.

Right now, he was the only person she trusted, including herself.

And he wants you to kill him.

No, that was not what he said - he wanted an angel of mercy.

Fine, he'd get one. But she needn't kill him to relive him of his suffering. That would be her purpose in life until she could start to see the bigger picture again, and move on.

Eventually, she found her voice, along with her reason to live;

"Yes, I was a virgin."

"Then, why don't you want him punished?"

"I have my reasons."

"Care to share them?"

"No."

"You have to make me understand or I can't guarantee that I'll be able to continue to view you as a mature adult."

I can't believe he's doing this - two hours discovering a sensitive and insightful man under the deceptive exterior, and now he threatens me. I won't stand for it.

That's a good response. I'm fighting again.

"Don't presume to threaten me. You'll have a hard time proving anything without my testimony."

"Very clever of you, Hermione."

"And don't patronise me!" The pitch of her voice was rising.

"I just want to help you."

"No, you want to talk me into killing you." I don't care how hurt he looks, he deserved that. Time to stand up.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my room before you insult me any further. You said I could leave any time I liked. Now I'm going."

"Okay, let me walk you back to the Portrait Hole."

"No thanks. It's not like there's much worse that can happen to me now."

And with that she turned and walked out, grateful he removed the locking charm on the main doors before he got there. Her wand, she realised with a jolt was still in her room. She'd just spent nearly three hours in the company of Snape . . . a man . . . without a wand.

At that thought, most of her remaining anger faded to wonder. If she hadn't possessed pride in equal measure to Snape, she would have sat back down, and continued what had been an enthralling conversation.

Instead she walked away with the grim knowledge that saving Severus Snape might not be an easy task, but it was certainly a necessary one. He had too much going for him to die now.

What!?

Where did that last thought come from?

But it made her smile anyway, as she heard the faint padding of footsteps behind her, as an invisible Snape tailed her back to the Portrait of the Fat Lady anyhow.

And with the smile came the realisation that everything was going to turn out all right in the end.

* * *

By the time, Hermione entered the Gryffindor common room, it was virtually empty, and she crossed to the girls' staircase without having to answer any awkward questions.

Ron, it seemed, had given up his vigil and gone to bed with the rest of the boys in his dormitory when Harry had returned from his detention. She had been right in her assessment of where his loyalties would lie if he were pushed to choose.

Ron was behaving as predictably as usual.

Harry, however was not, and therein lay the problem.

Upon reaching her own room, Hermione retired to the solitude it afforded and allowed her analytical mind to take over, once she was sure she had double locked the door behind her.

Despite what Trelawny had said about her in their third year, Hermione had developed a strong sense of perception where other people were concerned. Had she not been a witch it would have probably been called intuition, but recently it had taken a more visual form. Perhaps it had come from a life of standing outside the group looking in, trying to discern what was going on, and developed by an understanding gleaned from the Restricted Section.

But wherever it had come from, the fact remained that Hermione was able to see the energy flowing through every person she came into contact with, the normally soft glow that formed their chi as it was known in martial arts, their inner strength in pop-psychology.

It was generally stronger in magical people, but still visible in Muggles, and the likes of Dumbledore were virtually blinding. Snape was fairly bright too, come to mention it.

It provided her a useful insight into other people's motivations - it flowed freely when they acted voluntarily and with confidence. It uncovered lies and deceptions for her unerringly. Hermione rarely got caught out in a faux pas of wizarding society, despite her Muggle parentage, these days.

Tonight, though, it was Harry's chi that was bothering her. It was wildly fluctuating for the most part, showing only tiny flickers here and there that marked out that anything suspicious was going on. Up to now she'd ignored them as meaningless.

Fool, look where that got you. Never assume.

But both times in the tower, the tiny flickers had become raging infernos that had fractured Harry's chi into disjointed pieces.

And Hermione had a good idea what - or more precisely - who was causing the fissures.

She just needed to prove it, understand it. And then figure out a way to use it to her advantage.

Lucky she was in a position to cross-examine the resident authority on Voldemort and emotional turmoil. And what was his phrase? The darker side of the character.

She just needed to kick of with an apology. And an opening gambit.

Her mind began to click through infinite combinations of the variables, trying to assess the practicality and likelihood of success of each one before moving on.

This was what she did best - self pity wasn't really an indulgence she allowed herself.

After an indefinite passage of time she drifted into a deep and exhausted sleep. There was the glimmering of a plan forming, just outside the range of her vision. Like all the best plans, she just let it develop unhindered and unobserved.

Once she was sure it was a plan that involved Snape wanting to see her again, that was.

* * *

Breakfast had been an unremarkable affair. Harry was not there. Ron avoided her eyes. She wondered what had been said.

What Harry had made up.

Neither was professor Snape there to receive the letter she had spent a good deal of the early morning, when woken by disturbing dreams, composing. She even found writing to him therapeutic.

So after a hurried but by no means meagre breakfast - she had a raison d'être, now and starving herself or pinning over her plate, playing with food was unproductive - she headed back up to the common room. Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled - courtesy she presumed to Harry's detention.

This assumption was confirmed as the boy himself walked through the portrait hole to the applause of his fellow seventh years who had a free lesson due to him. Apparently the story had been paraded out last night on his return.

The Quiffers - Hagrid's new acquisitions - were apparently cute and cuddly until faced with bushy hair and fluff - upon which provocation they attacked and attempted to drag the offending article back for nest building.

Hagrid had been keeping his own hair slicked back with axel greased and encased under a headscarf that could double as a tent, and making sure that fang stayed inside when the Quiffers came out. However he neglected to consider just how offensive the Quiffers would find Harry's untidy locks, and Harry had been luck not to loose an eye.

In the ensuing confusion, several of the Quiffers had made a bid for freedom, and although one had been located (unfortunately) before decimating Mrs Norris, quite a few needed to be found, before they found Dumbledore's beard.

Hence Hagrid being otherwise occupied. And the applause.

For the first time, the simple ease with which Harry found himself at the centre of the drama, and looking good in it, really bothered Hermione.

This, she decided was a suitably large audience. With Lavender and Pavarati in attendance, the news would have reached Outer Mongolia by lunchtime. Catching Harry's eye she moved pointedly to a seat with another free chair beside it, and sat down.

On cue, Harry sidled over.

Let him start, she thought, I've made the opening move.

And he did, his voice lowered to a level that would be inaudible even a few paces away.

"Hermione I wanted to say I was sorry again. I know it seems like I'm always apologising, but I don't know what came over me in the tower, the second time. Or the first time, come to think of it."

*No you don't, but I do.*

"And I wanted to say that I realise you don't want to be anywhere near me - now or ever - but - "

"But what are we going to do about a friendship that has suddenly ceased to exist at the same time as I go missing for a day?"

"Yeah."

"Well, first up, your going to laugh like you've just made a joke on how endangered by Quiffers my hair is, and then you're going to follow my lead and play along."

She stares at him, daring him to disagree. He nods his head meekly. And begins to chuckle softly.

"I don't think that's funny." Hermione's voice was clear and firm.

"Oh, have a sense of humour for once. Of course it's funny."

"No, it's not. In fact it's the kind of comment I would expect from Malfoy, not you." Pitch rising slightly.

A shrug of Harry's shoulders.

"I suppose even Malfoy can speak the truth on occasions."

"That wasn't the truth - it was an INSULT!"

Another shrug, and that boyish grin that was really ignoring her.

"So that's it." Witness Hermione's attempt to reign in her temper.

Silence.

"You're taking this too seriously. Try and be reasonable."

"Since when did you value reason? You're the one that sneaks everywhere under your invisibility cloak and has to be the centre of every adventure and everyone else's attention." Witness her failure at temper management, as she begins to shout.

"I valued reason since it got me out of pointless arguments."

Ow. That hurt. That really hurt - I don't care if we're playing. And he's too calm. And the seams of those fractures are showing in his chi. Time to wrap it up.

"So my opinions are pointless now?"

"That was what I said. Go figure."

"FINE. SEE IF I CARE!" with which she flounced off towards the dormitory.

A little childish, but then so was not talking to him over a petty row. Childish was good. Childish was necessary.

She slammed the door to her room.

Sinking down onto his bed, she sat a moment in silence. Then and only then, she allowed herself to cry.

* * *

Meanwhile Snape was in his rooms, reading and rereading her letter, trying to draft an appropriate reply.

The words of need, desperation, self-hatred he wanted to write kept loosing their bite to irrelevant expressions of affection for his Angel of Mercy.

Best they stayed where they were. He had no claim on her. She may be an angel, but he had no right to call her his angel.

Instead, he read the letter again, as students moved around him, copying notes and whispering. He had given them something even Longbottom would be able to do unsupervised, to allow him to divert his attention elsewhere.

Dear Professor Snape (said the letter, in elegant script)

I suppose first and foremost I ought to apologise for my anger and reticence last night - and all the other emotions you undoubtedly picked up off me. I was on something of a roller-coaster. I know that you really were, and are, trying to help me, regardless of what you might stand to gain from the situation.

I had no right to judge you so harshly, and I have a confession to make. Last night on the ledge, when I first stepped up I had every intention of jumping. Then I waited for you to follow me, so that you could either witness my final moments or save me from them. I wanted to know that someone cared. It had taken nearly twenty-four hours for a search to be mounted, despite the supposedly dangerous times. I suppose you are used to burying your (and I mean that collectively) pupils by now.

I could have been dead before anyone noticed that I was gone. That realisation hurt. I needed an ego-boost. Thank you for providing it.

However, intentionally I suspect, you provided me with more than that, you gave me a diversion, and a puzzle, which I could not resist. I don't think you meant to give me a purpose, but you did.

I wish I could have explained this to you last night, but I was so entangled in not saying anything I'd come to regret, words didn't seem to come out right. You seemed to have a high opinion of my essays - so I decided on this route instead. I don't think I'd have the strength to say all this to your face - one insightful question and I'd crumble. Writing is easier.

Committing words to paper, for someone in my position, who has a secret to keep, might not seem the best of ideas. But I trust you. When you said you respected me and my decisions, I believed you.

I don't think I could endure another betrayal. If there is a chance of you using this letter against me, burn it when a mood of conscientiousness or remorse takes you. I leave the decision to your discretion.

And after that somewhat unwieldy introduction, I'll get to the point. I think I have an explanation as to events that relies less heavily on a sudden degeneration of Harry's morals and character than you seem to favour. I'd like to run it past you so you can tell be if I'm making up a fairy story, just because I want to believe it.

It is perhaps more than even Gryffindor naivety can allow to put the details in this letter. Is there a chance we can meet again? To discuss the idea I mentioned, of course.

Regards,

Hermione Granger.

* * *

Take you courage in both hands, Severus. Say she can see you any time she likes, regardless of what's going on in her mind.

No. Resort to the acerbic and distant style that has kept you safe thus far.

Miss Granger

You are required to serve detention for your absence in my class yesterday afternoon. There is a eyesight-improving potion to concoct. Should any time remain I would be amenable to hear any thoughts you have on other matters.

Your attendance will be required at 8pm, this evening in the potions classroom.

Professor S. Snape