A Capacity for Love

CHAPTER 4

Love and Loyalty

Snape deliberately screwed the lid back on the tub of unguent, being careful to line up the markings just so. Too tight and it would stick the next time. Too loose and it would get dried out. He had created the salve and he took pride in treating it with the proper care and respect. He replaced the container exactly where it had been on the shelf, adjusting it so that the label was facing out and was precisely centred. He twiddled a couple of other jars and bottles into more perfect position as well. Somehow not satisfied with the results, but unable to make any further improvements on the order, he extinguished the light in the bathroom and walked slowly into his sitting room.

The unguent was already penetrating his skin, sinking into the muscles and stopping the aftercramps. He needed to remain seated for the next hour at least, however, in order to be certain his legs wouldn't seize up in mid-stride.

The Dark Lord had ordered the other Death Eaters to each take a turn bestowing upon Snape all the curses and hexes which they felt he should have used on Hermione. Unimaginative as that lot was, it had mainly been a lot of Cruciatus, administered with varying degrees of vehemence. Snape had found Nott, in particular, to be extremely zealous in his application. Probably put out that Snape hadn't put the 'favors' which he, Nott, had procured, to better use.

He sat down heavily on the one chair that was free of the piles of books, rolls of parchment, and reams of paper which filled the room, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep; he couldn't, even if he had had time to; every nerve in his body was buzzing. He didn't want to think about what had happened. But he would have to, at least once more, when he reported to Dumbledore. There was no way to avoid it. The girls would tell the Headmaster what had happened; he was sure of it. Even if they had meant to keep it secret before (these things were possible), he had ensured by reporting the kidnapping to Minerva that Dumbledore would question them. And he knew at least one of them would crack, would divulge the depth of sickness and perversity to which Voldemort's Death Eaters had sunk. To which he had sunk.

+++000+++000+++

"And just where do you think you're going?" Parvati stopped Ron on the stairs up to the sixth-year girls' dormitory.

"I was just...going down to breakfast," Ron answered, feeling a little indignant at having to explain himself to Parvati. What business was it of hers where he was going?

Parvati snickered. "Erm...then you're heading the wrong way."

Ron curled his lip at her. "I'm going to see if Hermione's ready, duh. Who died and made you guardian of the dorms anyway?"

"She's not there." Parvati flounced past him, tossing her braid over her shoulder and hitting him 'accidentally' in the face with it.

"Oy! Watch it! You could take someone's eye out with that thing!" He galumphed down the stairs after her. "You could've said she'd already gone down, you know."

"She hasn't. Well, she has. But not to breakfast. She's in the hospital wing." Parvati said this matter-of-factly.

"What?" Ron screeched, visions of basilisks, cerberi, giant spiders, and dementors rising before his inner eye. He grabbed Parvati by the braid and pulled her to a halt. "What happened?"

"Ow!" Parvati slapped Ron's hand and smoothed her hair. "She took sick during the night, I don't know, I didn't even notice. Apparently she went down to see Madam Pomfrey sometime during the night. Professor McGonagall came up to collect some fresh clothes for her this morning. Merlin knows what got on the other ones. Sounds like the 'flu to me. She did say something about her stomach feeling off last night, come to think of it. Now if you'll excuse me."

+++000+++000+++

"She'll be fine, Ron." Harry sounded tired. He poured treacle onto his porridge and stirred it around dully.

"Don't you think it's odd we can't even go in and see her?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really, not if she does have the 'flu. She's probably puking all over."

Ron looked down at the greyish, lumpy half-liquid in his bowl. "Thanks for that, mate." He pushed his breakfast away.

"Cheers," Harry said glumly, spooning up his own meal with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Ron frowned at his friend. "What's up with you, eh? Don't tell me you're still on about that Malfoy thing?"

"What?" Harry looked up at Ron in momentary confusion. "Oh, no, I was thinking about the team, actually." He looked down again.

"Oh." Ron swallowed nervously.

"I'm going to have to find a replacement." Harry was watching a drip of treacle slowly making its way down the side of the pitcher.

Ron was stunned. "You're going to replace me? I mean, I know I'm no Wood, but cripes, Harry, we haven't even had our first game yet and--"

Harry gave Ron a mixed look of confusion and disbelief. "What are you talking about? I mean Katie! I can't count on her being well in time for the game, and if I have to bring on a substitute, I need them to at least get in a couple of practices with us before."

"Oh, right, I knew that," Ron bluffed.

"Ron, you've got to get more confidence in yourself," Harry admonished him, suddenly shoveling up a huge spoonful of porridge and downing it with gusto.

+++000+++000+++

"What defensive strategies do you have at your disposal if you are caught without a wand in the presence of a Dark wizard?" Snape glared at the class from where he was standing at the front of the room, stiff-backed and with arms folded across his chest.

No one ventured a guess. They were all so used to Hermione's hand shooting into the air at the first whiff of a question that they were a little at a loss as to what they were supposed to do in her absence.

"No one?" Snape's contemptuous gaze grazed over the Gryffindors, mentally skipping over the reason for the empty seat between Potter and Weasley, and came to a rest on Draco, where it turned challenging.

"Wandless magic, sir?" Draco raised his eyebrows in a haughty gesture. He had also been allowed to have a go at Snape the previous night (he had chosen to cast the Contortius, which, although uncomfortable and humiliating, was not directly painful; Snape considered that Draco had probably not had the nerve to use the Cruciatus on him). However, Snape meant to make it clear that what passed among Death Eaters did not translate into the classroom.

"Can you do wandless magic, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked with feigned surprise.

"No, sir," Draco replied, grinding his teeth and shooting Harry and Ron a deathly look.

"Then that would hardly be a great help to you, now would it?" Snape's tone was mocking.

Draco glared at Snape. "No, sir."

"Any other brilliant guesses? No?" A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he slowly turned his head toward Potter. The pain-killers had blocked the overstimulated nerves, but there was little he could do about the stiffness. He looked directly at Harry, who was holding his hand aloft, and said, coldly, "Well, since I see that absolutely no one in this room has any clue as to what to do in such a situation--"

"Call on your friends!" Harry said loudly.

A nasty smirk found its way onto Snape's face. "Your friends, yes," he teased. "We all travel with a couple of them in our pockets, for just such an eventuality. Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn."

Malfoy sniggered along with his seat-mate, Pansy Parkinson.

"Just because not all of us have friends to help us--" Harry began, clearly trying to control his temper.

"Harry," Ron tugged at Harry's sleeve, pleading, "Harry, stop."

"You do enjoy putting your friends in harm's way for you, don't you, Mr. Potter," Snape said harshly. "Five more points from Gryffindor."

"It's others who put myself and my friends in harm's way," Harry said steadily, glancing at Malfoy.

Snape narrowed his eyes and taunted, "Like last year? Whose idea was it to undertake the trip to the Ministry?"

"Voldemort's," Harry answered boldly. Many of the students flinched at Harry's unabashed use of the name, and Draco nearly jumped out of his seat, his features becoming dark and ugly.

Snape's voice became dangerously quiet. "You should have more respect, Mr. Potter."

Harry snorted. "Respect for Voldemort? I've faced him five times, four of them without a wand. And every time, it was with the aid of others that I was able to get out alive. So yes, I do seem to travel with a couple in my pocket."

"How...touching," Snape sneered. "Deduct another five points from Gryffindor for cheek. I have the feeling, however, that you are getting a bit cocky. When you have faced him, in the past, he was in a weakened state, barely a shadow. The Dark Lord is now growing stronger by the day. You have been lucky. Now, you need to be prepared."

Harry leaned back and crossed his arms. "All right, tell me then, what would you suggest?"

"Subterfuge and treachery, two traits which I am sure a Gryffindor such as yourself would rather die than employ, can serve one well in such a situation. Although I will grant, one might find one has allies even in the most unlikely places."

Before anyone could think more deeply about what the professor might mean by that cryptic remark, a knock on the door redirected everyone's attention.

Professor McGonagall entered. "Severus, I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Headmaster is back." She spoke in a low, calm voice, but she looked tense, and her gaze flickered over the students.

Snape looked perturbed and, perhaps, slightly indecisive. He turned to his desk and shuffled some parchments around, as if looking for something, then turned back to the Deputy Headmistress. "Will you take the rest of the lesson, Minerva?" he said. It sounded more like a statement than a request.

"Of course." She walked to the front of the room, her skirts rustling and leaving a faint scent of musty violets in their wake.

Snape nodded curtly, squared his shoulders, and marched out in a stately manner.

+++000+++000+++

"Ah, Severus. Very good." The Headmaster looked up from his desk and smiled. "I was hoping you might find the time to pop in. Have a seat." He gestured to one of the comfortable polished wood armchairs ranged before the desk. "Can I offer you some tea?"

"No, thank you, Headmaster," Snape said neutrally as he sat. He let his hands rest in his lap.

"You won't mind if I have a cup, however?" He raised his eyebrows, waited for the barely perceptible inclination of Snape's head which signalled his acquiescence, and then poured himself a cup of tea from the blue and white pot standing ready on the desk.

"Now then," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his long white beard. "How are you, Severus?"

Snape never quite knew how to respond to this, Dumbledore's standard opening. It seemed rude to respond untruthfully, yet somehow "shitty" didn't appear to him to be a much better option.

"I am unaffected by disease," he finally said, giving Dumbledore to know that was about the best he could do at the moment.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I am quite glad to hear that. One's health is so very important." He leaned forward and stirred his tea with a dainty silver spoon, then tapped off the drops of liquid against the rim of the china cup, making a pleasant clinking sound.

By unspoken agreement, Snape waited until Dumbledore had worked his way through the pleasantries. It was not merely the form which the elder wizard was standing on; the pause gave them both time to collect their thoughts, estimate the other's mood, plan how to extract and present their information.

Dumbledore lifted the teacup to his lips, holding the saucer beneath to catch any drops. He slurped a mouthful of the hot liquid off the top. Snape suppressed the urge to cringe.

"Minerva reported to me that there was an incident in my absence," Dumbledore began, now keeping his piercing blue eyes trained on Snape.

"Yes, Headmaster." Snape exhaled the breath he had unconsciously been holding and launched into his briefing. He kept his face and voice neutral and impassive. "Death Eaters. One, possibly two, entered the castle at approximately one a.m. Point and method of entry as yet undetermined. Entry to four dormitories in three Houses was secured, from each of which one student was overpowered and rendered unconscious. The students were transported, probably by means of a Portkey which the intruder or intruders had prepared beforehand, to a site near the English border. There, they were brutally assaulted. They were returned, again most likely by Portkey, to the lane outside the Hogwarts grounds this morning shortly before six a.m." He stopped speaking abruptly. Minerva would have informed Dumbledore of what happened from that point.

Dumbledore held Snape's eye for several seconds. It became unnecessary for him to say he had been present during the assault.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I will of course need you to find out how the Death Eater or Eaters were able to bypass or override the security measures."

"Yes, Headmaster." His mouth twisted downward. To an observer, it might have appeared he found the assignment distasteful. In actuality, his reaction betrayed the physical revulsion which he felt at having, albeit at a distance, mentally revisited a portion of the previous evening.

"Was there any attempt to extract information from the abducted students? Any point at all to the action?" Dumbledore sounded weary; sadly hopeful that, perhaps, Severus might show him some rhyme from amidst the immensity of the unreasonableness.

"No. None," Snape answered curtly.

Dumbledore nodded; he had obviously expected no more. He seemed pained as he posed his next question. "And young Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "It was counted toward his initiation."

Dumbledore nodded again, his lids falling closed and his forehead contracting in a mass of furrows. "So young..." he murmured. "But perhaps..." He paused, looking for all the world as if he had fallen asleep, his chin hovering just above his chest.

Then, suddenly, he became alert again and pushed his chair back from his desk. "Well. I suppose I had best get down to the Hospital Wing. I hear Miss Turpin in particular is in a very bad way."

Snape stood; no comment was necessary on his part. He knew quite well what Venalle had done to the Turpin girl, at least during the last quarter of an hour of her torture. He wondered, in a detached and clinical way, whether her mental state would allow her to continue her studies in any form. He waited as Dumbledore came around his desk, holding his arm out in a curve, as if he were embracing an invisible companion.

The Headmaster stopped next to Snape and placed his good hand lightly on the Potions master's forearm. It might have been pure coincidence that he was touching the spot where the Dark Mark was hidden under the Death Eater's black sleeve.

Had it been anyone else, Snape would have recoiled at the touch. But instead, he raised his own hand and laid it firmly over the elderly one.

"Severus..." Dumbledore said, looking steadily into the other man's eyes. "Is there still love?"

As always, the question discomfited Snape, but he recognized its importance, both to Dumbledore personally, and as a re-affirmation of Snape's allegience. "There is, sir," he replied, returning the look without flinching.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly. "And when I am gone...?" he asked softly.

"Then I will be gone as well," Snape said flatly.

+++000+++000+++

"Miss Granger." Dumbledore pulled up a chair next to Hermione's bed and smiled at her kindly. "I am certainly glad to see you, although I regret very much that it must be here."

Hermione felt at her throat to make sure her robe was buttoned up properly. "Thank you, Headmaster," she said, trying not to be nervous. A few hours ago, she had been impatient to talk to him, tell him what Voldemort had done, but now, oddly, as she gained more temporal distance from the events, they were becoming more real to her, more set in her memory as part of her life, and thus more intimate and personal; and at the same time, the actual details were becoming more foggy.

She knew she had been taken from her dormitory late at night, but she couldn't begin to guess what time it had been; this bothered her. Surely she should have been able to tell from the amount of moonlight in the room what time it was. She knew that when she had regained consciousness, she had been lying on her back on a table or stretcher, but she couldn't remember, for example, what the ceiling had looked like; had there been tiles? Plaster? It had been brownish, perhaps; or maybe that had just been a result of the poor light. What had been the light source? She couldn't remember! She fretted that she would turn out to be a very poor witness indeed.

"I do not wish to burden you any further than necessary," Dumbledore was saying. "I am afraid any condolences I can offer at this point will sound woefully inadequate. Nevertheless, let me assure you that I feel quite responsible for what happened. I will do my utmost to assure that such a grievous attack never occurs again."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't sure that she felt very comforted by Dumbledore's words, even though she knew he meant them sincerely.

"Madam Pomfrey assures me you are physically quite well," he continued, "in no small part due to an extraordinary display of innate magical defense on your part."

"I--" Hermione faltered, unsure what the truth of the matter was. "I don't think I did anything special, Professor."

"No?" he prompted her.

"I don't know... Madam Pomfrey said I must have protected myself somehow, and that's why I didn't get hurt any worse. But, sir...?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's brow furrowed and she looked into the Headmaster's face. "Sir, I don't think he tried anything."

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up slightly. "Who? Lord Voldemort?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, sir. The Death Eater." She couldn't actually bring herself to say, '--who raped me,' so she hoped Dumbledore understood. "I mean, he did use the Imperius once, so that he--" She felt an icky, nauseous roiling in her stomach, and she looked down at her hands. "So that he could get it over with," she mumbled. "But the others..." she continued, whispering now in a horrified voice. "They were tortured, actually tortured. The Cruciatus and the Laughing Hex and... Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she said, her eyes filling with tears as she looked at Dumbledore again, pleading with him, "I tried to pay attention, I tried to remember it all so I could tell you, but I couldn't, it's all gotten mixed up, and he was--"

"Shh, Miss Granger, that's all right," Dumbledore soothed her. "No one expects anything. As I said, I am quite pleased simply to have you back among us. However, if there is anything else you would like to tell me, I am certain it would be useful."

Hermione swallowed down her tears and sat up straight, trying to be objective again. "Well, I know this sounds crazy, but at first, I thought it might be Draco."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes, I know it can't have been, though, because he doesn't have dark hair, and this one had such dark hair on the backs of his hands--" A sudden memory of the narrow hands sprinkled with short black hairs, the bones prominent, grasping the wand pointed at her throat--

"Miss Granger?" the Headmaster said gently.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely, "sorry, I just..." She looked at him again and continued, "Harry thinks Malfoy's a Death Eater, and I just thought, it seemed like he didn't really want to hurt me, but he did after all, so it doesn't really matter." She looked down again. "It wasn't him."

"I am very glad to hear that," Dumbledore said, and Hermione believed him. "Is that all, then?"

"Yes-- No, wait!" The most important thing, and she'd nearly forgotten. She became focused and deadly serious. "Voldemort was after Muggleborns. All the girls he took were Muggleborn. He said he wanted us to tell the world what would happen if we didn't give in to him. But you can't give in, sir!" she exhorted him, her eyes snapping. "Don't let him shut down Hogwarts. I'm not afraid of him. He's nothing but a coward!"

"You are truly a remarkable young witch, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "I agree with you wholeheartedly. But we must allow the other young ladies to decide for themselves how they wish to proceed. It may be that one or the other will insist on bringing the school governors into the investigation, or, indeed, the press."

Hermione shook her head. "We already decided not to make it public. Well, Oonagh and I agreed to go along with what you say," she corrected herself. "Sandy didn't want anyone to know, period. And Lisa..." Her voice trailed off, and her expression became pained. "Have you seen her yet, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am speaking to you first. However, I am aware that Miss Turpin is in no state to be making any decisions at the moment." He also seemed pained by this fact. "Miss Granger, I hesitate to impose upon you, knowing you have been through quite an ordeal yourself, but I would like to ask you to help Miss MacDermott, Miss Ploppe, and Miss Turpin to get through this. You have more experience than they in dealing with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

Hermione was taken by surprise. She didn't feel in any way qualified to offer any sort of help to the other girls; she certainly didn't feel 'experienced' in dealing with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and she most certainly had never been the victim of a sexual assault before, nor had she known anyone who had. But she found herself nodding and saying something about trying her best.

+++000+++000+++

"I brought you notes from our classes." Ron plunked himself down on the foot of Hermione's bed.

Hermione gave him a nervous smile. "Thanks." She pulled the blanket up more tightly around her body. She had requested that her blue tracksuit be sent down, which was much more comfortable for lounging around in than the school uniform which Professor McGonagall had provided. She actually felt well enough to go back to her own room tonight, but had decided to spend the night on the ward. Lisa was still largely unresponsive, and Sandy kept bursting into tears. Oonagh had confided in Hermione that she wasn't able to listen to her anymore, and had gone back up to the seventh-years' dorm after dinner. Hermione, mindful of what Dumbledore had asked of her, didn't feel she should leave Lisa and Sandy alone.

"So, you feeling better?" Ron asked hopefully, peering at her face. "You're still looking a bit peaky."

"Twenty-four hour thing," she assured him. They had agreed to say she had the 'flu, as that rumour already seemed to popped up of its own accord. "I'll be back to normal tomorrow," she said, thinking at the same time that she'd never be back to normal.

"Good," Ron said, nodding his head several times. He smiled at her, then looked around, obviously at a loss as to what to say.

"How were they?" Hermione asked, trying to help the conversation along.

"Sorry? How were what?"

"Classes."

"Oh, right, uh, fine, I guess." He shrugged.

Hermione smiled politely. "Good."

There was a silence. Ron cleared his throat several times and watched as Madam Pomfrey walked over to where Sandy was lying, curled up on her side, crying.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked, trying to direct Ron's attention away from the other girl.

"Hm?" Ron's head snapped back toward Hermione. "Oh, er, he's tracking Malfoy on the Map." He shrugged. "Seems he keeps popping on and off."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Ron," she asked, trying to remain calm. "Was he on the Map last night?"

"Malfoy? No clue. Hey, what's with her?" He jabbed his thumb in Sandy's direction.

"I think she has the 'flu, too," Hermione said, trying to sound unconcerned. "Ron, can you find out for me, about Malfoy? Whether he was on the map last night?"

"Oh, not you, too," Ron groaned. "I thought you didn't think Malfoy was a Death Eater!"

"I don't," Hermione said. "Of course I don't. But that's why-- Oh, never mind," she said, irritated. That's why she wanted to know if Harry had seen Malfoy on the Map last night. Because if he had, then he couldn't possibly have been...wherever it was they had been. One more thing to add to the long list of things Ron would never understand. Only this time it wasn't because he was so dense; this time it was because she could never, ever tell him about it.

+++000+++000+++

"What do you want?" Draco Malfoy leaned against the doorway of Snape's office, hands in his pockets and a very put-upon look on his face.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape said sharply, glaring at the boy from behind his desk. "Come in and close the door."

Malfoy lazily stood away from the door frame and flicked his wand behind him, so that the door swung shut with a bang.

Snape stood up and swept out into the middle of the room. "Let us get one thing straight," he snapped.

"And what would that be?" Malfoy sounded bored.

Snape tossed his hair back out of his face and stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest. "I am your professor and Head of House! I demand that you give me the respect of the title."

"I didn't see you doing much demanding of respect last night," Malfoy said with unfeigned disgust. "You practically coddled that Mudblood; it was pathetic, really," he sneered.

"I did as our Master demanded, which, need I remind you, you very nearly did not."

"It was just disgusting, having to touch a Mudblood." Draco shuddered in an exaggerated manner.

"You may be called upon to do many things which you find distasteful. I have pledged to your mother to help get through them, as I did last night."

"You're talking about my assignment, aren't you," Draco said, now swinging his wand carelessly about.

"I am, yes," Snape said.

"Well, I don't need your help with that," he said scornfully. "I already have my own plans."

"Like the necklace? That was pathetic," Snape spat.

"That was only a test," Draco said dismissively. "I've got a better one."

"No doubt equally amateurish and prone to failure," Snape scoffed. "If you had only let me know about the necklace, I could have guaranteed it got to Dumbledore's desk, at least."

"I told you, I was just testing something with that," Draco said impatiently. "And it worked exactly as I planned."

"You planned on sending Miss Bell to St. Mungo's indefinitely?" Snape jeered.

Draco frowned, annoyed. "I don't know why you have such little confidence in me. Didn't I figure out how to let Nott in last night?" His eyes flicked to Snape and away again, and then he smiled to himself, a self-satisfied smirk.

"I thought it must have been you," Snape said. "How did you do it?"

Draco shrugged. "It was easy, really," he said, obviously pleased with himself. "When we were Summoned, you had to raise the ward around the grounds to allow our Marks to pass through the gate; he was waiting outside, invisible. I only had to make sure to take long enough going through to let him pass in at the same time. The passwords to the Houses were easy. Had Crabbe beat them out of a couple of first years," he gloated.

"You imbecile!" Snape thundered, and Draco's face instantly dropped at his mentor's obvious displeasure. "Have you any idea what might have happened, had anyone caught on? You would have exposed yourself, and not only you, but me! You may think you are held in some sort of favour by the Dark Lord, having been allowed to take the Mark at such a young age, but he is only using you to get back at your father! You mean nothing to him! I, on the other hand, in my position, with the trust the Headmaster places in me, am of crucial importance to the success of the Master's entire plan! If Dumbledore were to find out that I was part of last night's adventure, you can be sure that I would be out on my ear, and you would be out a protector! I can only help you if I am here, with you! You absolute, utter fool!"

Draco now seemed to be fighting back tears, whether of anger or chagrin was hard to tell. "I never asked for this!" he shouted back, his voice now raw with emotion. "I never asked to be born the son of Lucius Malfoy! But I'm also the son of Narcissa Black, and you swore an oath to her to help me and protect me! Only I don't think you want to help me! You just want to strengthen your own position with the Dark Lord! You're getting old and weak, and your heart isn't really in it anymore, and you're just trying to take the glory from me, so you don't have to do anything yourself!"

Snape laughed, shortly, an ugly bark. "My heart. I have no heart, you're right about that much. Only you, Draco, you do." His tone became softer as he stepped closer to Draco. "You have someone in your life whom you love very much: your mother. As long as you have that, you will never truly belong to the Dark Lord."

"Are you telling me I have to hate my mother now? Is that the next test of my loyalty?" Draco challenged.

"No, I am not," Snape said quietly, and Draco thought he sounded eerily like Dumbledore right at that moment. "Although, it may well turn out to be the ultimate determiner of your loyalty."