Breaking the Chains

Noms de Guerre

Snape for his part had returned to his rooms to read the message that Hermione had left for him. He had discovered it almost as soon as he had checked the bookshelves where he found her standing, guided by the removal of dust in certain areas.

'Let us now praise famous men. . .' the passage she had marked began. He suspected it meant that he needed to stand up and be counted, that his contribution to life could be to big for him to just fade away unremarked. Her confidence in him was touching, if a little naïve, he thought. He just hoped that she didn't expect him to have a little faith.

And as if thinking about Hermione had summoned her to him (though it was more likely to be the letter requesting she come see him) the lady herself walked through his classroom door.

He immediately stood, and then wondered why.

To disguise the gesture he moved to his office door;

"This is probably a conversation better started behind the silencing wards in my office. Considering the allegiances of a good few of the ears that live in this dungeon." He couldn't help smiling at the shocked look on her face.

"Believe me; I'm well aware of the failings of my own house. That's part of the *joy* of looking after them."

Now she seemed to be suppressing the urge to laugh as she followed him into his office, then hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

Snape carefully seated himself behind his desk so that he could still see through the patch of wall enchanted to give him a clear view of what was going on in the classroom. That came in useful for supervising detentions where the potions brewed gave of foul-smelling fumes. The kind he usually reserved for arrogant Gryffindors.

However, at the moment he was more interested in observing Hermione. She was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable, and was standing in the doorway. He doubted she was up to him closing and locking the door with his wand.

"Come in. (mock impatience in his tone) You should probably shut the door as well, that activates the silencing wards."

She appeared to pause and consider a moment. Then she turned and closed the door resolutely, and pulled out her own wand to place a one-way looking charm on the door. Either of them could simply open the door to leave, but someone outside would find the door as impenetrable as a wall of stone, judging by the strength of the charm used. No simple 'alohomora' would suffice here.

It looked set to be an interesting conversation, but right now he was just proud of her for getting a sufficient grip on herself to do what was necessary despite her fears. Now all he was sensing from her was determination.

Which musings distracted him enough that he almost jumped when she brought a heavy book out of her bag and deposited on his desk with a thud. Almost, but not quite.

"Have you read this?" Straight to the point.

"Yes. I presume this is the library copy? (a nod) Then I should probably confess the removal of the pages making up chapter 6-10 was my work, as well as the contents page."

Her face was frowning. She felt confused, and mildly outraged, though whether with the distraction or with his sacrilege he did not know.

"Were they on empathy?" she ventured after a moment.

She smiled when his nod confirmed what she had suspected on reading the first five chapters of the book - that her talent was closely related to empathy, and that the two could be used in synchrony.

"Don't suppose you remember what it said?"

He sighed. She was unsure whether it was an admission of defeat or dismay at having to reveal more details on his secret. It turned out to be defeat, but not the defeat of ignorance.

He rose once again, "Whatever I do, it seems we always end up back here," he told her as he flicked his wand to reveal the archway to his rooms. She noticed he had still not changed his passwords. "I have an unabridged copy on my bookshelf. And just as you had made yourself comfortable as well." He finished with a touch of irony in his voice.

Hermione, it seemed, shared no such reluctance at entering his private rooms as she did at entering his office, and was having to take care not to step on his heels in her eagerness to follow. He hoped it was just his collection of books that she found so enticing. He couldn't deal with further complications to the relationship right now.

Locating the book on one of the higher shelves, Snape brought it down, and handed it to her, feeling very much like he was giving candy to a child. She flicked immediately to the pages that had been previously missing and began to study the chapter summaries she found there.

Snape for his part let her proceed in silence a while, before realising that she was lost in this new fount of knowledge and would need a little assistance back to the reality her body currently inhabited.

"So," he virtually growled, when shifting noisily around her had failed to capture her attention. Hermione looked up, startled. She had forgotten he was there.

"At some point are you going to sit down and tell me precisely what empathy and *mens fortis* have to do with Voldemort?"

To her credit she didn't flinch at the name, although it was the first time he had spoken it aloud in her presence. And she did sit down in the chair by the fire without him having to indicate where she should sit.

"Don't you know?" she paused, evidently doing a mental edit. "I mean, well, I didn't mean that to sound as condescending as it came out, but, well, your letter suggested that you already knew what I did, had figured out what I was going to tell you somehow."

She paused again, this time mainly to breathe, while her internal monologue adopted 'please don't be offended' as its new chant.

"No, I don't know. Voldemort intimated to me that he was behind Potter's out-of-character behaviour, so I surmised you had drawn the same conclusion from *your* letter. As to the details you find me totally ignorant. Bear in mind that this is a once-in-a-lifetime-offer, but would you care to enlighten me?"

She laughed, mutely, before pressing her lips together to stop herself, then ventured, "there was a joke in there somewhere, right?"

"If you say so."

"I do. Anyway, my explanation. The *mens fortis* mentioned in the book, I call it chi, in the Eastern style, but no matter. I can see it in people. Around people. It tells me something about the motivations of their actions. And Harry's is very strange, like there were two people there. If I didn't know better I'd say he was pregnant. (at this Snape almost grinned)

"But if he were pregnant, the second 'person' wouldn't change so much. How much is there of the chi-that-isn't-Harry varies, and increases when he's acting really . . . strange. So I started running through possibilities of how someone else could be inhabiting him, controlling him, and who would want to, and I could only come up with one answer. Voldemort.

"As best as I can figure, it must be something to do with the scar, and the link that creates. I know that it's at least a little telepathic, because Harry gets premonitions, or can sense Voldemort through it. So maybe there's a way that the connection has been reversed and that's what's happening here.

"At least that's what I hope. The other thing I hope is that if we can figure out exactly what the connection is we can use it against Voldemort, and stop him. Maybe for good."

Snape had listened to this outpouring mainly because it had seemed as useless to try and interrupt as Canute commanding the incoming tides to recede. Hermione was a born lecturer. Now a response was required. He tried to be suitably Slytherin about it.

"We also need to try and discover what Voldemort is up to with regards to Potter."

Seeing Hermione frown trying to follow his link, he clarified. "When Voldemort summoned me he knew about the situation as it is now - you, the rape, Potter, and me. He pumped me for the details, but he had a good idea already. He seemed concerned with keeping the two of you separated."

Her eyes were definitely questioning, so he decided to tell her everything, and see what her hungry young intellect could make of it.

"Normally he holds a Revel when I am summoned, and I am forced to take part in the . . . activities for the entertainment of the other Death Eaters. Believe me when I say I took no pleasure in the process - it was about proving my loyalty to him. I think it was also his way of trying to break me down, as I had never really taken too much pleasure in Revels when I was free to attend or not as I pleased, I preferred the payback raids.

"But last night was different. No-one else was there but Malfoy senior, and Voldemort began feeding me yard after yard of disinformation. The gist of it was he wants me to take Potter under my wing and teach him some of the Dark Arts, but teach him with holes in his knowledge, so that he would be vulnerable both to attack and the strains of incorrect spell-casting. One or both could easily lead to his death, which is what Voldemort wants.

"I'm sure it was disinformation because it relies as a plan to heavily on me being fanatically loyal to Voldemort, but it does tell me three things:

"Firstly Voldemort wants me to be alone with Potter on some occasions. That would be only natural, for as a double-agent I would inform Dumbledore of the order, and together we would set up mock-meetings, away from prying eyes, to keep up the pretence of my loyalty. There must be a reason.

"Secondly, it tells me that the connection between Potter and Voldemort is corporeal not just astral. He said that Potter had to die for him to regain his former strength. Even though he was revived with Potter's blood, some of the ancient magic must still be acting against Voldemort, preventing him regaining his immortal status.

"And finally it shows that Voldemort is more aware of Hogwarts events than we care to believe. Tell me, did Potter have his invisibility cloak the second time in the tower? (a silent nod) So there's a chance he heard all of our conversation on the ledge. No it's alright (response to seeing Hermione blanche), really. But it seems coincidental that Voldemort stops trying to get me to self destruct the day after my telling you that I am incapable of doing so - "

"You don't think that I told anyone!" Hermione interrupted, sounding strangely hoarse.

"No, of course not. So that leaves Potter under an invisibility cloak listening to the details, with Voldemort listening to us through his ears. We have to assume that Voldemort can take control at any time he likes, and experiences everything that Potter does. The only reason he is not in total control all the time is that Potter can't be seen to act too strange.

"Anyway, so Voldemort now wants me to put myself under suspicion. Maybe the plan is to make my own side turn on me - I don't know."

He finished, feeling a wave of cold horror sweep over Hermione. What had he said?

"You think Harry was up there? But that means - he couldn't have known you were following - he was going to let me jump."

They both sat in silence a moment, because there really was nothing to say to that.

"You're not going to like this, but we need to know what's going on with Potter. What Voldemort's real plan for him is. We need to keep up with his actions to be able to use the link against Voldemort. I know about your argument, and it was cleverly staged, but it's not the way six-year friendships end. It's plausible - and very necessary - for you to make up."

"Six-year friendships end when your best friend doesn't bother to save your life any more." A strange fire was glowing behind her eyes.

"So you'll do it then? You'll watch him like a hawk? He thinks he's got away with it - Voldemort thinks he's got away with it - are you going to make use of this opportunity?"

"Opportunity" she spat. "What opportunity? Why should anything Potter does bother me any more?"

"Because you say you want your life back. Well take a look at things in that harsh light of day. You're Muggle-born. If Voldemort wins you'll be one of the first to die. If you want life, you ought to fight for it, because relying on yourself is all you have left. Because working every spare hour, expending every resource you have to figure out a way to turn Voldemort's new scheme against him is what it takes to win a war. Because, if you don't watch Potter, or keep this secret, the game will be up, and you'll have squandered this chance on wounded pride, and wasted a lot of effort besides."

He knew he was being harsh on her, but he hoped it was enough.

Slowly she nodded.

"We need to start by examining the ancient magic that binds the two of them together, and the ritual Voldemort performed at the end of the fourth year."

He nodded his assent and rose to retrieve yet more books from his shelves. When he had formed two reasonable-sized piles he handed one to Hermione.

"You start with the reflected curse - I'll do the restoration - I don't know details, just make a note of anything that seems likely."

With that he led her through a door into what was unmistakably a study, with a desk large enough for the two of them and her books. He conjured her up a chair, and the two began to work in virtual silence.

* * *

In his office, Dumbledore smiled, his characteristic twinkle restored a little more than it had been earlier. Staring into the fire, he reflected that Severus Snape and Hermione Granger were a strange combination, but it appeared that they worked well together.

Since Snape had come to his office in the small hours of Friday morning, Dumbledore had been wondering what to do about the situation. He had faith in Hermione's ability to cope, but he felt that taking a more active role might become necessary, even though he had instructed Snape to stay at her side until she chose to leave.

After witnessing the wordless exchange in the great hall this morning, followed by Snape's sulking exit, fearing rejection, and Hermione's gleeful one, anticipating great things, he had decided to listen in. This was something he usually tried to avoid - he found it hard to square with his ethics, but was glad he had.

They were an interesting couple to observe. And Snape certainly knew how to handle her.

She seemed to have the unique ability to respond positively to Snape's sarcastic nature, in that it made her stronger, reminded her to fight, or on occasion made her laugh. Or perhaps she simply mistook it for a joke. And because she did not respond with uniform weakness (the thing Dumbledore knew Snape despised the most) he did not do his utmost to hurt her. They seemed to bring out the best in each other.

And now they were giving their best to solving the riddle of Riddle. Dumbledore reflected, once again, that if he was thinking up terrible puns, that things must indeed be looking up.

There was very little he could do directly to help - both resented him to different degrees. Hermione, for her failure to make Head Girl, although had she but known it, which had been done to protect her. She had already become too large a target. And Snape, Snape because Dumbledore forced him day after day to live, until he realised that that was what he actually wanted to do. If that day ever came.

But he could make sure that the texts they would need could be found in the library - what they would do with them, though, was up to them. No doubt it would be something ingenious. And he could make sure the other teachers knew that Hermione Granger was to have freedom of movement - she would need it to conduct her research. He needed give no reasons, and others could draw what conclusions they may.

For now, the future was looking just a little brighter all round.

* * *

The house-elves had delivered lunch a little after 2pm, when the pair had been working for over five hours. Apparently it was normal practise for the elves to bring food to the teachers who missed meals, once the great hall closed up and the food returned to the kitchen. The house-elves had been happy to add another plate, and Hermione found herself too hungry to protest over their enslavement.

She had a new banner to carry anyhow.

She began to munch on a sandwich as she continued to read, but was surprised when Snape marked her page and closed the book.

"I was always taught that it's rude to read at the table."

She gave him an exasperated look, then shrugged. "So was I. But it's a welcome alternative to Quidditch at the dinner table."

He nodded as if she had just made a deep and meaningful comment.

"Very well."

"Very well, I can read, or very well, you won't talk about Quidditch?"

"Neither. It was very well; you can ask one of the questions that I can see burning your tongue. Just one."

"Can I look round properly?"

"I was under the impression you already had, but yes. There's not much to see though, I never finished unpacking. These are the only furnished rooms - and the bathroom of course, but that's standard, undecorated."

"I made it to the bookshelves and got distracted."

He raised and eyebrow at her as she moved. "Most impressive. Ten paces at most. Your concentration span is somewhat lacking."

However she was already opening the door to what would have been a bedroom. True to his word, it was white, bare and full of cardboard boxes.

"Don't you sleep?"

"No comment - that counts as a separate question."

She sighed, and continued, "Well, I never had you down as one for living out of boxes, for what, eighteen years?"

"I never had you down as one to trail breadcrumbs across the floor." He countered.

She looked at him a moment, head stuck out round the door, then decided he was joking and laughed.

Trouble was, he was perfectly serious. Something about her had always screamed 'obsessive tidier'.

Giving up on rational thought, and deciding her laugh made him feel more alive than he had for years, and said;

"So how do you rate Gryffindor's chances in the Quidditch cup?"

She laughed again.

* * *

You can do this, Hermione she said to herself, as she walked towards the Gryffindor tower. She reminded herself of Snape's lecture on commitment and the very Slytherin value of doing what ever necessary to succeed.

'Life,' he had said in the manner of one quoting a profound truth, 'is only fair by accident; it is designed for pragmatism, not equality. Isn't that the basic premise of Darwin's ideas of Survival of the Fittest? The most practical among the species survive to live on, and the rest get left with their ideals by the wayside. You're a part of the war for survival now in much more than a reproductive sense. You have to be unemotional and logical, remind yourself why you're doing this, because in this war, no-one's bothering to take prisoners.'

Hermione quickened her pace so as to reach the tower a little quicker, before her resolve ran out. To give her strength, she ran through a bit more of Snape's monologue.

'I know that Gryffindors don't understand Slytherins - you think we're conniving - maybe you're right - but turning every situation to your own advantage is a skill once acquired, never lost. That's what we learn to do about the time we learn to talk, and it's what you have to do here. Forgiving Harry inwardly so that you can give an appearance to the outside world of their being nothing too badly wrong is something you need to do anyway. The drain on your emotions of hating him, and the waste of your energy, is something ultimately as damaging for you as for him.

'I know Muggles place a lot of value in a system of criminal justice and civil litigation - crime and punishment - and in compensation and vindication and liable actions. I know that that is the culture you come from. But no-one can compensate you for the loss time you spend trapped in negative thoughts. No-one can give you back those wasted hours, days, years, at the end of your life. No amount of money, or suffering of the guilty, can take the stain on your soul away when you've brooded and shut yourself out of the light for so long. You're angry and hurt and vengeful, I understand, I was nearly fed to a werewolf, so I do know.'

It was at that point he thrust his arm under her nose, his left arm, forcing her to look at the hateful mark there.

'I brooded you know' he had continued, 'for so long on the injustice of being forbidden to speak of it, of the golden pair of Gryffindors receiving no punishment, no reprimand even for what they would have done to their so-called friend. They would have made Remus Lupin a murderer, and were never even asked to apologise, to either of us. I hated, I honed my contempt, my disgust, my anger to a fine knife edge, and then when it was so sharp I just had to use it or die, I used it against myself.

'I used it to cut away all the voices inside and out telling me what I was doing to earn this mark was wrong, and it was not until long after I had finally received it that the futility of my gesture came back to me. Sirius Black tried to take my life that night, and though he thinks he's failed, he didn't. I gave him my life because I couldn't move on, couldn't forgive, couldn't forget; so here I am stuck in a dungeon trapped between the two sides, hated by all. And I put myself here with righteous indignation, because I couldn't see my mistake until too late. I don't want the same thing to happen to you.'

At which point he had stopped, looking bewildered that he had talked so much, revealed so much of himself.

Which meant that her next comment was made in all seriousness, as flippancy would have been to disrespect the confidence he had just given to her:

"I never thought I'd hear a Slytherin telling me to forgive and forget."

He had paused so long that she thought he'd been offended. The whole time he had been speaking, his chi had glowed so strongly she knew every word had been taken straight from his heart. Then when he answered her, it glowed just as strongly, showing that this was his fervent belief too.

'Sure, Forgive and Forget. Just remember to keep a list of names. Trust me when I say that revenge is much more satisfying when you take it because you can, not because you have to, as a part of an obsession.

'Anyway,' he had added, 'there are always those "Dark-Arts" lessons to fill; needless to say I won't be teaching, anything . . . valid. Although as you know certain failures can be painful and humiliating. I trust you can think of - oh I see from your face you can. Excellent. Run along now and make your faux-peace.'

By which point in the memory he had ushered out of the door to his rooms, and in reality her feet had carried her to the Portrait Hole.

It was now or never.

She took a deep breath and entered. Harry was sitting in the chair by the fire, as usual, holding court. Hermione caught his eye as she moved fully into the room, and immediately looked away.

Her resolve had suddenly just crumbled away. She couldn't even feel its dust in her, so she fled, and prayed that he wouldn't follow. It was a terrible end to a day that had shaped up well.

Locking the door, she listened anxiously for footsteps indicating that someone had followed her. After a while she heard Ginny's voice calling to her over knocking on the door. She stayed seated on the bed and ignored her, letting her mind drift to the day of discovery she had had today. The books had been most informative, and of course, she loved researching, but Severus' boxes had been much more exciting.

Severus, for that was what she had begun to call him in her head, had explained that he had never unpacked because what was in the boxes were the things he didn't use, but owned anyway. He seemed to have adopted a Spartan lifestyle because he needed nothing more, but had the wealth to live much more comfortably had he wished to do so.

Not that he had used as many words, but Hermione got the strong impression that the contents of the boxes were in fact everything he owned, as packed when his parents had told him he couldn't be a Death Eater and a Snape at the same time, and to get out of the family house.

This was something she'd got no idea how she would cope with. To be totally on her own in the world, with nowhere to go. There had only been one place left for him to go to, he had said with a grimace, and that turned out to be into further darkness.

The boxes themselves had been covered in dust, and the contents carefully packed and wrapped, by magic she presumed. Some of the boxes themselves were still reduced and sealed, whereas others had been returned to normal size, opened and were missing contents by the spaces left in them. She assumed he had only opened a box when he needed something, and didn't come in here very often.

He told her that most of the books lining the wall of his living room had been bought during his years teaching, either at need or as a distraction from the endless cycle of lecturing, brewing, marking, grading and testing that ultimately left some of his students still capable of burning water. He had said he would read anything so long as the author was talented, magically or not. This was the point where the daredevil had caught her tongue, making her ask 'Have you ever read Wuthering Heights, then?'

He had frowned, getting the feeling that there was some point to this innocent question beyond what it appeared to be, and not liking to be ignorant.

"No, but I suppose you have."

"Yes, I have. I even brought a copy with me to Hogwarts. It has prize place next to Hogwarts: A History."

"Oh."

"Oh, what?" she had said sweetly.

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"But you said that enlightening you would be a once in a lifetime event. So I'm refraining."

He snorted slightly, then said, "You can bring your copy down tomorrow, then."

"Okay." She said cheerfully.

"Know-it-all."

"And I thought name-calling was below your intellectual standards."

Which had been the point at when he had begun to tell he exactly why and how she had to make up with Potter, at least enough for the outside world to be convinced.

That was what she was supposed to be doing right now, but had given up on at the thought of proximity to him.

Wrenching her mind back to Severus' casual invite to come back tomorrow, she smiled as a warm tingling filled her body, and let herself drift to sleep fully clothed, lying on her bed with her feet dangling of the end.

* * *

Which was how she woke up several hours later, in the small hours of the morning, feeling stiff and aching. Considering just how cold she felt, Hermione decided to go a warm up by the common room fire, the only one the house elves kept burning through the night. Stretching out, she checked that her wand was securely tucked in her waist band - she had learnt her lesson about keeping her wand with her at all times - and headed out. She entered the common room looking around for anyone else, and seeing no-one headed straight for the plush, velvet covered chair positioned by the fire, and sat down.

Trouble was someone was already sitting there.

In fact Harry had started to get up when he realised that this sequence of events was going to lead to Hermione sitting on his lap. So as it was, he was standing as she began to sit, and the bumped into each other awkwardly. Hermione immediately sprang away from him with a startled cry, which action dislodged the invisibility cloak from half of his body. Sighing he quickly removed the rest.

Hermione backed away from him looking like a cornered animal, and fumbled to draw her wand. For his part Harry made no move other than to fold the invisibility cloak and sit back down - there was nothing he could do to make anything better, so he did nothing to make things worse.

"Why are you sitting down here under that thing?" she snapped.

He shrugged. "I got tired of answering questions about my invisibility cloak. It was almost as big news as our argument. And McGonagall knows about it too, so has instructed the fat lady to stay closed at night after curfew to anyone but prefects. And none of the prefects seem inclined to go out tonight."

Hermione didn't even consider apologising for letting that detail slip. It had been a calculated move at the time.

"So why are you sitting here?" Still standing, pointing her wand at him, suspicious.

"Keeping warm, not waking up my dorm with my dreams, thinking . . ." he trailed of looking suddenly lost and afraid.

Hermione was vaguely surprised that she did not care. She did not want to help him as she would have done on Wednesday, before all this began, and she did not delight in his anguish, as she would have done earlier today. She simply felt nothing inside, and took it as a sign that she would be able to do what was necessary after all.

"Are you still having the dreams?" she asked careful to sound indifferent about his answer.

"Yes."

"Have they changed since . . . Thursday?"

"Yes."

She was careful to conceal her growing interest, and Harry took her insistence as a sign she was trying to assess what danger he still posed to her.

"How so?"

"There more about me doing things . . . magic . . . than about people, which is what they used to be . . . and they seem if anything less disturbing."

He looked at her, searching for anything, and got a response he never expected: "Or maybe you're less disturbed by them."

Apparently, he couldn't think of an answer to that one.

"I've spent the last few days expecting to be dragged of to Dumbledore at any moment, despite what you said. I figured once you could get round to repeating what I'd done that'd be it."

"No - I said I'm not going to report you, and I haven't, though my reasons for that are not to let you get away with it and not based on any affection for you. I believe Dumbledore actually knows the details, however, he cannot do anything without me speaking with him directly, which I have not done."

It was amazing how calm she felt. How convincing herself to be in control of her emotions had put her in control of the situation itself. And how the wand in her hand meant it was going to stay that way.

"The argument on in the common room is not going to account for us spending the rest of the year avoiding each other like the plague. We need to patch it up, but spend time apart without seeming unfriendly. I have just started a new research project with a member of the teaching staff's guidance, so will be spending all my time studying, or working outside the tower."

She knew that she sounded like an anal-retentive tour guide, on a power trip, but it was the easiest way, and he wasn't going to repeat this conversation, so she continued, borrowing more than a little from McGonagall's oratory style.

"You will be doing lots of Quidditch practise, and be too busy to bother with rousing me from my heavy workload. You will not visit the library for any longer than to check out books, and you will not come looking for me when I am out of the tower. I will eat lunch at the Gryffindor table, where I will read and you will not interrupt me, and I will eat other meals at the prefect's table.

"We will continue to walk to classes together, and sit together; where we will just both have to try our best to act normal. If anyone comments, explain my behaviour as across between stress, over-work and a reaction to not being head girl. Is there anything else that I haven't covered?"

"You haven't said why."

"It's a pattern of behaviour close enough to normality to appear so at a causal glance, but designed to keep you away from me."

"No, why are you so concerned with no-one suspecting?"

"Potter, you lost any claim you ever had to know my thoughts and feelings when you betrayed me, raped me and then were prepared to let me jump to save yourself, even after I told you that I would not report you." Seeing the shocked look on her face, she added, "Yes, I found out you were there. It made you sink even lower in my opinion, though I didn't think it was possible."

"What did you call me?" Softly, sadly, not antagonistic.

"Potter. Not the most apt of epithets for you, not the one I would like to use, but nonetheless accurate."

With which comment she turned on her heel and walked out, back to bed, warmed by the heat of adrenaline in her blood.

* * *

Severus Snape sat in his dungeon rooms letting his mind wander for Hermione's feelings and emotions. They were like precious jewels to him, because she offered them freely when she was with him, a so he didn't feel that he was stealing them when he lived through her vicariously.

So it was that he felt her run from Potter the first time, and the burning shame that followed at her lack of Gryffindor courage, then her sadness at having her day ruined. When her mind recalled that she was seeing him the next day, he felt her anticipation and excitement, and despite himself he projected his emotions, his affection and admiration for her out, and relished the warm tingle that she felt as a result.

Even sleeping, he listened for echoes of her dreams, so intently that he blanked out everything around him, everything but her. He was slowly letting Hermione Granger become the centre of his universe, and he knew that it was wrong.

She was the first person that had shown him any kindness in nearly twenty years, and he was falling head over heals in love out of . . . what was it, gratitude? Relief? Desperation?

And it was wrong - it was making him weak. He knew that unless he got his act together pretty soon he wouldn't have the strength to keep his distance when she decided that she loved him. For he didn't doubt that that was the fact she was convincing herself of - she had set him up as some kind of saviour, and forgotten his entirely selfish motivations for everything he was doing.

It wouldn't be long before she had romanticised his character enough to fall in love with him. And conveniently forget that she had agreed to kill him. To be exact she had agreed to deliver him from his suffering - and now it seemed that she thought she could do that by loving him.

He couldn't let her waste her life like that. Certainly she had gathered emotional scars in the past few days that would never fade entirely, but he would only serve to drag her down, for he could never heal.

She was still naïve enough to think differently, but he knew that he was too young, too inexperienced to know her own feelings, let alone true love.

And if true love it indeed was - well, then, if she too chose to force him to live, she could come back at any time. He didn't need to be a seer to know he'd still be somewhere, waiting.

But he preferred to die and be done with it. And if she loved him, she couldn't kill him.

So many reasons not to let her get close, and one reason to let her do as she pleased - he was beginning to need her in perpetual contact to stay breathing.

And with a voice in his head telling him this was the deepest point of frustration, desperation and despair, he began to cry, silent tears rolling down his cheeks in the silence of the half-darkness.

* * *

Voldemort, however was not crying or daydreaming. He was laughing.

He generally laughed when he overcame a problem. It was a suitable response for an evil tyrant, he felt.

In this case the problem he had overcome was that of the limitations of his control of Potter.

Up to now, he had only been able to control Potter when the boy had been unsure, it was really akin to making suggestions in his head when he was pondering options. Forceful suggestions.

However Voldemort had some experience in the intricacies of the typical Gryffindor character, in that they tended to act without thinking when they were in danger. 'Sorry, I just didn't think,' could have been made the Gryffindor motto, it was said so often.

But now Potter's tendency for impulsive and instinctive reactions was a disadvantage to Voldemort. He had virtually unlimited control of any and all plans running through Potter's head. Yet when Potter felt most threatened, as he did when he faced Voldemort, that was the time he was most likely jump without looking or considering where he was going to land.

Which was unfortunate because it meant that Voldemort was liable to be out of the loop at what could be a crucial moment, and Potter's luck would usually guaranteed that the boy would live to fight another day. Unfortunately.

However Voldemort had just established that he could take control of Potter's actions and thoughts at will. Admittedly it required him to put his corporeal body into a trance and the whole of his self into Potter's mind, but it was doable. And he only needed do it once more to ensure that The Boy Who Lived suffered an unfortunate demise.

Things were definitely looking up.