The Final Cut

Chapter two - Fugitive

Hermione paced around her room, trying as hard as she possibly could to block out what she was feeling. She was an eighteen-year old witch and she could be sent to Azkaban. Nothing particularly spectacular had happened. There were no Aurors crashing through the door and damaging the brick work. There were no spells zooming towards her, and no Dementors trying to get at her with their translucent fingers and the intimacy of that final kiss. But terribly, hopelessly, she had done something worthy of all of it.

Hermione held her wand with such ferocity that she could feel the wood start to meld to the creases in her fingers. This was no time to panic, but unfortunately, panicking was the only thing that she seemed able to do.

What had happened to the brightest witch of her age? What happened to 'problem solving Hermione?' Hermione drew her nails down the sides of her arms. Just to be able to think would be nice, just to be able to apply logic and find the answer as usual. Looking towards the window she felt glad that Harry and Ron hadn't written to her this summer. In all honesty, Hermione had resolved not to reply if they had. She didn't want anyone else dragged into the mess that she had created.

It had only been three days since her world as she knew it fell apart and that feeling of failure hadn't yet fallen from her like a discarded old teddy bear. If anything it was smothering her. She was the Golden girl. Her parents idolised her, her teachers thought that she could do no wrong, and she had thrown it all away for what? Hermione put her head in her hands and tried once again to believe that this was all a bad dream.

The creaking at the windowsill bought her back to reality and her eyes opened wide in pure fear. She couldn't win. It was either the Aurors coming to take her away, or the result of the mess she had created. Neither option really made her feel any better. The creaking continued, and a man's hand gripped the side roughly. Hermione stiffened and backed against the other side of the wall. As much as she knew him, had trusted him, she still felt an engulfing pit of fear in her stomach, which acted like a black inky volcano whenever he was around her.

Another hand made its way around the window pane and pulled up a head full of black hair to rest beneath the top side of the window. Snape pulled himself gracefully through the small opening and brushed down the sleeves of his robe as though he didn't have a care in the world. When he declared himself dirt free, he turned to Hermione, his eyes glittering dangerously, and stared into her own reluctant eyes. The burning in her head, she equated to the strong feelings of dislike she still held for the man. But in hindsight, she would realise that there was something more obvious going on as Snape held her eye contact.

He raised an eyebrow as Hermione looked away and mumbled in a voice so low that she could barely hear it. 'You did the right thing Miss Granger.'

Hermione clawed her bitten nails down the wallpaper, leaving behind a slightly chalky trail. Snape watched her from the sides of his eyes but didn't appear to approve or disapprove of her behaviour. As Hermione turned to him, a symphony of emotions splashed over her face like a car crash.

Snape stared at her emotionlessly before perching rather cautiously on the edge of Hermione's bed. The bright art deco pinks and purples of her duvet contrasted entirely with his now tattered, black robes. The picture would have been humorous had Hermione not been in so much turmoil. Flicking an unidentifiable yellow object from where he was sitting, Snape attempted something that he wasn't well versed in, a compassionate speech.

'You know I'm very grateful Miss Granger,' he said swiftly, with the air that perhaps she was the one who should be grateful of his gratitude.

Hermione didn't reply and simply stared wide-eyed at him, lost for words.

'But, I still don't see why this has affected you so much,' Snape started to lose the compassion in his voice. 'You must know that there is a good chance the Aurors will never find out.'

'A good chance?' Hermione questioned bitterly. 'At one point, my life didn't just depend on 'a good chance'.'

'Are you regretting your rather foolhardy decision?' Snape asked.

'How can you call it foolhardy? A minute ago you said I did the right thing!' Hermione was starting to get riled. As much as she was still afraid of Snape and his moods, she felt like she was been spoken to unfairly considering the circumstances.

'It doesn't erase the fact that your self-preservation instincts took a distinct stroll from the vicinity,' Snape said darkly.

Hermione felt like throwing a book at him, preferably something hardback with a few million pages.

'Bravery and stupidity are often one and the same,' Snape mused.

'Look... do you want somewhere to sleep at night or not?' Hermione asked outraged.

'Is that a threat?' Snape asked, his eyes glimmering.

'Yes. You should be thanking me, not trying to antagonise me,' she told him firmly.

'Then perhaps I should curb my speech,' Snape said, somewhat reluctantly.

'Didn't you want me to help you?' Hermione asked in a small voice.

Snape turned away from the younger witch that looked up at him with wide eyes trying to penetrate his steely glances. He had no reason to be cruel, but, for whatever reason, he knew that he wanted to be. He took the time to compose himself before trying to assume a tone that would not be perceived as threatening.

'I will answer that question when it becomes clear whether you have set other events in motion or simply delayed the inevitable,' Snape said cryptically.

'I know that a trial is out of the question now...' she started.

'For either of us,' Snape told her pessimistically.

Hermione paled and felt a rock type substance filling up her chest cavity. She swallowed to try and drown it, but it stayed there, reminding her of the trouble she was in.

'No.' Snape shook his head thoughtfully. 'We'll be lucky if they even give us a chance to beg for mercy, never mind a trial.'

They fell silent. The room seemed to heave a dramatic sigh as Hermione finally realised just how close she was to death if anyone ever found out what she had done.

'Then you should help me!' Hermione told him.

'I don't see how...'

'Teach me Occlumency!' She shouted excitedly.

'If Occlumency could cure all ills do you think I'd be in this position? You stupid girl!' Snape said angrily.

'Yes!' Hermione shouted exasperated. 'You did kill Dumbledore in front of Harry and then flee in front of the entire school, not to mention the fact that you're a known Dea...'

'Stop!' Snape growled angrily. 'Just stop it.'

Hermione recoiled at his harsh tones and hugged a pillow close to her. Snape sighed and ran his fingers unconsciously through his raven-coloured hair.

'You won't need Occlumency if you simply dispose of the evidence of your... actions.'

Hermione didn't answer.

'A walk, Miss Granger?' Snape asked stiffly.

She nodded, following him down the stairs of her house. She handed Snape a Muggle item of clothing, a hoody, and watched as he distastefully pulled it over his head. He pulled up the hood so that his face remained in shadow as a precaution. Hermione had explained that her 'boyfriend' was staying over for a couple of weeks and her parents had tried not to press her, but their ample curiosity occasionally got the better of them. It was the only way, she thought, that she could explain the extra person hanging around the house. A simple friend wouldn't have cut it. It would have been only a week before her mother was asking whether he had a home to go to. Hermione didn't blame Snape using the bedroom window to enter the house when the constant questions started to grate at him. Hermione just worried that at some point her eagle-eyed mother was going to realise that they had never really seen his face. The last thing she needed was a torrential argument, when her parents realised the obvious age gap between them.

They tried to negotiate the stairs with as little noise as possible, but realised that they were in a set-up just a little too late. As they hurried down the stairs, Mr and Mrs Granger turned to them with scones and biscuits on a plate and declarations about 'just putting the kettle on.'

Hermione panicked and turned to Snape, whom she had never seen look more disgusted in his life. Suddenly, she felt a surprisingly warm hand in hers as he strode purposefully towards the seats opposite the Grangers. She allowed herself to be steered into position and realised that he had not let go of her hand, but instead had allowed their joined hands to rest on his knee. The hoody still made his age less obvious, and for the first time, Hermione wondered whether it would be possible that they would get over this ambush. In fact, she was surprised by how well Snape had thrown himself into character.

Mrs Granger smiled a pearly white smile at Snape and he returned one, but in the manner that he felt his face would crack if he exerted it too much. Hermione noticed this and gave him a slight kick to the ankle. He turned to her with a disapproving glance, but she returned an equally powerful, dark look. After a few seconds of this, the 'couple' turned back to Mrs Granger, who seemed to be looking slightly unhinged by their performance. She addressed her husband in a voice that wobbled.

'Dear... I was just saying how nice it would be to be introduced to Hermione's new friend, wasn't I?'

'Yes love,' he said, stirring the tea.

Hermione took the cue that was presented to her, and swiftly introduced everyone, 'Mum, dad, this is... Steven.' Snape gave her a look that could kill. 'Steven... Connie and Adam.'

'Pleased to meet you,' Snape said as pleasantly as he could manage through gritted teeth.

'So... since we've heard so little about you, maybe you could tell us a bit about yourself?' Hermione's mother leaned forward in the chair so far she seemed almost off balance.

Snape bristled next to her, clearly hating being put on the spot, but sighed gently and fixed Connie Granger with an affectionate glance. 'What would you like to know?'

'How did you two meet? What do you do? How long are you staying here?' It was like a gun blowing Hermione's head off every time. She just hoped that Snape was a good enough liar.

'Obliviate!' Snape shouted, producing his wand.

Mrs Granger snuggled up to the cushions on the sofa and Mr Granger eyed the cups suspiciously as though he had two more than he expected.

'Severus!' Hermione shouted angrily and dragged him out of the room, slamming the front door behind them.

Snape had the misfortune to look amused.

'I thought you were going to play along! Why did I bother preparing everything? Why did you bother?' Hermione was not happy.

'I knew that my way was quicker,' Snape responded simply.

'You can't just walk into peoples homes and erase their memories!' Hermione shouted bitterly.

'You cannot disagree with the fact that it proved quite effective at removing ourselves from that... predicament,' Snape said reasonably.

'Why have I sacrificed my future for you?' Hermione snapped.

'I honestly have no idea Miss Granger.'

She looked at him for a moment, then continued to walk towards the forest near her house, head down. 'Just... please don't do that to my parents again.'

Snape swallowed a snappy retort and simply murmured, 'As you wish.'