A Capacity for Love

CHAPTER 6

- Rumours, Plans, Nightmares -

Hermione retreated to the library right after dinner. There was a Quidditch practice that evening, and she knew the common room would be full of post-practice analysis and backbiting until late into the night. Harry might be well-meaning, but he had nothing on Oliver Wood when it came to being a team captain. Even a complete Quidditch naive like Hermione could see that Harry's attempts at appeasing everyone were only leading the Gryffindor team into a morass of mediocrity, hurt feelings, and second-guessing.

She was thus not surprised when she slipped back through the portrait hole just after curfew, to see several groups of students still up and involved in intense discussions. Only one of them appeared to have anything to do with schoolwork, and that group was comprised of Oonagh and a few of the other seventh-years cramming for N.E.W.T.s.

Back in the corner, Cormac McLaggen was holding court to a good dozen of his classmates and younger years. Hermione would just bet they were saying nothing good about Harry, or Ron, for that matter. At least they weren't discussing her, Hermione felt pretty sure.

In front of the fire, Ginny and Dean were in the company of two of Ginny's dorm-mates and a fourth-year boy. Hermione tried to walk through the room as naturally and purposefully as she could without catching anyone's eye, but as she approached Ginny's group, she noticed the red-headed girl look up, then say something to the others which caused them, too, to watch Hermione as she passed by. Hermione felt her ears grow hot. She almost wanted to snap at them, but considered it was better not to engage in a discussion. Most likely they were sneering at her for spending so much time in the library, or were unhappy about her last round of confiscations. She had, it was true, plucked a Cupid's Arrow right out of Romilda Vane's hand just last week. Hermione'd bet anything that Romilda had been planning on using it on Harry; some girls seemed to be willing to stop at nothing where he was concerned.

She pushed the door to her dorm open slowly, hoping her roommates were already asleep, but she groaned inwardly when she saw Lavender and Parvati sitting on Parvati's bed, flipping through a glossy illustrated.

"Oh, there you are!" Lavender exclaimed as Hermione went to put her things away. "We're very hurt, you know, that you didn't tell us, but I guess you didn't want the press to get wind."

Hermione turned around. "What are you talking about?"

Lavender and Parvati looked at each other and tittered. "You and Viktor Krum, of course!" Lavender said.

Hermione frowned. "What about me and Viktor?" What an old story. Why were they suddenly dragging that up?

"Only that you and he...you know, did the dirty deed," Lavender said in a stage whisper, a naughty grin on her face.

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. "We did no such thing! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Oh, come on, Hermione, you don't have to worry about us blabbing. Although I suppose it doesn't matter now, anyway, everyone's talking about it."

Hermone stalked over to the other girls. "Just what is everyone saying?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Now don't get your knickers in a twist, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I understand completely, I mean, he is an international Quidditch player and a Triwizard Champion, and I suppose he's good-looking, too, if you like that sort of--"

"Lavender," Hermione growled. "What are people saying about me and Viktor Krum?"

"I already told you," Lavender said, slightly exasperated. "That you shagged him! Or he shagged you. It all comes out to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"I do not have, and have never had, that kind of relationship with Viktor!" Hermione shouted. "I have no idea why anyone's coming up with this now, but whatever went on between us was over a long time ago -- not that there was anything -- and even if there were, I wouldn't be discussing it with you!" Hermione felt tears welling up and fought them hard. This was silly. There was no reason for her to cry about some childish -- to say nothing of completely false -- gossip.

"So there was something?" Parvati asked hopefully.

"No! There was not!" Hermione stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

She leaned back against the door and let the unwanted tears come, hating herself for shedding them. She and Viktor Krum! She hadn't seen him in over a year! After the Yule Ball, she'd met him a couple of times out on the Hogwarts grounds, when he was able to sneak an afternoon free from training on the Durmstrang ship. And then he'd invited her and her parents to visit his family's farm in Bulgaria the following summer. He had always been very correct; sure, they'd kissed a few times, but it had all been very innocent. A flirt. No 'shagging'.

The way everyone tossed those terms blithely around: snogging, shagging, as if it were all nothing more than a bit of fun; it made Hermione feel sick in the pit of her stomach. They had no idea. They didn't know how sex could be used as a weapon, how what was supposed to be tender and good could be twisted and used as a tool for hatred.

Quickly undressing, Hermione turned on the shower as hot as she could stand it and hopped in, letting the water droplets wash away the tears and mucus running down her face. She wished they could wash away the memories, too. No, not the memories; the actual events. She had briefly considered, the day after, asking to be Obliviated, but then decided it would be better for her to remember. If only so that she could be on her guard, so that it could never happen again.

When she had calmed down a bit, she washed her hair and started going over the conversation with Lavender and Parvati again in her mind. Someone was saying she and Viktor had slept together? Was that what Ginny and her friends were whispering about? But why now? And then an awful thought came to her. Maybe, somehow, word had got out of what had happened. A half-truth, to be sure, something like Oonagh's mysterious attacker in the halls. Something along the lines of she, Hermione, having had sex with someone, an older man. And then some dimwits who had no greater concerns than who was dating whom and what jumper to wear with which shoes had put that tidbit together with what they knew (or thought they knew) about Hermione and come up with her and Viktor having a fling.

It was just bizarre, and sick, enough that it might be true. But who could have originated such a rumour? Surely not one of the other girls. Not Dumbledore, nor Madam Pomfrey. Maybe someone had overheard something in the infirmary; there was that Slytherin hex victim who'd been there over the weekend. Had Lisa said something in her sleep? Or...Draco. Was that what he had been talking to Pansy about that morning in Defense class? She absolutely had to corner Harry and find out what he'd seen on the Marauder's Map that night.

When she finally peeked out from the bathroom a half-hour later, the lights had been turned down and all was quiet. Relieved and with a towel wrapped around her body, Hermione made her way to her quarter of the room and got out her pyjamas (a brand-new pair she'd bought in Hogsmeade on Saturday), then climbed up onto her bed. She was about to pull the curtains shut for privacy when someone stirred.

Parvati stuck her head out from behind her own drawn curtains and whispered, "Hey, Hermione. Sorry about before. We didn't mean to get too personal."

"It's all right, forget about it," Hermione muttered, not wanting to get into a discussion.

"Is there anything going on, though?" Parvati continued, her voice expressing concern. "You've been acting kind of weird the past few days."

Hermione shook her head and tried to give a wan smile. "Still feeling down from the 'flu, I suppose."

Parvati nodded. "All right. Good night." She slipped back inside her curtains, and Hermione could hear the rustling of covers being adjusted and pillows being fluffed.

Hermione quickly got herself ready and lay down, then extinguished the lights completely. In the darkness, her ears went on alert, trying to distinguish any suspicious sounds from the normal sleepy-teenagers and nighttime-castle sounds. She remembered (or perhaps she only imagined she remembered) a heavy swishing sound which had accompanied the intruder, the sound of his robes as he brushed against her curtain. She could see the window in the space where her curtains gapped apart. It was lighter now than it had been that night; or maybe it had just seemed dark to her, with that dark figure looming over her.

She turned onto her side and concentrated on reciting the Runic alphabet backwards. Within a few minutes, she had drifted off to sleep.

+++000+++000+++

A tall figure in a dark robe was standing over her. A man. His face was hidden in shadow, but she knew it was a man. She couldn't move, couldn't scream. He reached out a pale hand, and the black hairs on the back of it stood straight up like bristles. He kept reaching toward her, until she was sure he must have reached right through her, but she couldn't feel anything. Then he lifted his hand, and there was something glistening red in it: a heart; her heart. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and she rolled over onto her side and retched.

+++000+++000+++

"How have you been sleeping, Severus?" The Headmaster's tone was conversational.

Snape was holding Dumbledore's blackened hand delicately between his own two pale ones, his head bowed over it, so closely his nose nearly touched the surface of the skin. "You should have called me earlier," he said, ignoring the question. "The necrosis is progressing more quickly than I anticipated." Indeed, it was not just the hand that was shriveled and black as charcoal, but the arm a good several inches past the wrist as well.

"It doesn't matter," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "I shall still have time. My part is nearly complete. But you..." His brow furrowed. "It is important you take care of yourself."

Snape grimaced without looking up. "My part is nearly played as well."

"Perhaps in this act," Dumbledore said, his concern evident, "but your exit is not meant to coincide with mine."

"Perhaps a low potency dilution of corpse flower serum," Snape murmured, then stood abruptly and went to the cabinet, moving vials and bottles back and forth.

"I had hoped," Dumbledore sighed, "I had hoped you and Harry would find a connection."

"That was one of your less brilliant plans," Snape retorted fiercely, moving now to the workbench, a slender flacon in one hand. "He hates me and I him."

"You hated his father," Dumbledore returned quietly.

"The boy is just like him: arrogant, quick-tempered, thick--"

"Not at all like you, eh?" Dumbledore's face crinkled briefly with a hint of humour, but soon lapsed back into the tired mask it had been all evening.

"No," Snape stated without emotion. "Potter is not like me."

"No," Dumbledore echoed faintly and with regret. "He possesses a power the Dark Lord knows not..." he mumbled to himself. He looked over at the Potions master, hunched over his workbench, carefully measuring out drops of a clear, pale green liquid into a burnished metal cup. The elder wizard's face took on a pained expression, which quickly turned to blank curiosity when Snape straightened up and brought the cup over.

"Drink this, and then I will perform the counter-curse again," Snape stated.

Dumbledore took the cup and drained it, wincing slightly at the bitterness. "Would it hurt very much to put a teaspoon of sugar in?" he complained.

Snape harrumphed, then flourished his ebony wand over the Headmaster's arm at the point where the blackness turned light grey. Concentrating, he moved the wand in an arc as he spoke words in an arcane language much older than the Latinate spells which were taught at Hogwarts. The skin above the dead tissue glowed a healthy pink momentarily, then reverted to dull grey.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully, pulling the sleeve of his robe back over his injured limb. "I feel quite rejuvenated."

Snape grunted and stood, taking the cup back to the workbench to rinse it out.

"I don't suppose I can interest you in joining me for a drink at The Three Broomsticks?" Dumbledore inquired politely as he stood as well.

"If you insist," Snape said, his back as stiff as his words.

"Oh no, I would never insist," Dumbledore protested demurely.

"In that case, Headmaster, I would prefer to remain here."

"Very well." Dumbledore sighed as he arranged his purple and green robes. "I will pass on your regrets to Rosmerta, who, I am sure, will be sorely disappointed."

"Only because there's no one else foolish enough to pay the outlandish prices she charges for her Firebrandy," Snape muttered, leaning on the workbench with both palms.

Dumbledore stopped beside him and touched Snape's arm with his good hand, silently begging his attention. Snape turned his head to look at him, knowing what was coming and dreading it.

"Is there still love, Severus?" the Headmaster asked with a kindly smile.

Snape closed his eyes and turned his head away. "There is duty. It will be enough."

Dumbledore tightened his grip slightly. "Duty and loyalty are admirable, but they are not enough," he contradicted sharply. "You must maintain a capacity for love, no matter how small; otherwise I will not allow you to complete this task."

"I will complete it," Snape said roughly. "I have sworn it."

Dumbledore's usual gentle manner was replaced with a sudden ferocity. "It will destroy you!" he swore, anger entering into his tone. "I will not have your soul on my conscience!"

Snape whipped his head back towards the Headmaster, his stringy black hair flying back and his face contorted with contempt. "There is no one else! I am the only one in a position to fulfill the plan, and I will do it! My soul is none of your concern!"

"It is!" Dumbledore's eyes flashed. "It is, and has been, my utmost concern; Harry has his friends, and he has love within him. That will not be destroyed, no matter what else happens. But for you, Severus, time is running short." Dumbledore was speaking urgently now, and with an undeniable authority. "Tom is pulling you ever more closely towards him. He knows you have not been thoroughly corrupted and deadened, as Bellatrix and so many others in his ranks have been, and he is now redoubling his efforts to make you completely his; recent events leave me with no doubt about that. Your protection is wearing thin, and I fear, when I am gone, it will crumble altogether."

"It will not matter by then; the course will have been set."

The two wizards held each other's gaze, both stubborn, one imposing, the other defiant. Then Dumbledore dropped his hand. "We will not discuss it now, but the matter is far from decided," he said.

"As you wish." Snape watched as Dumbledore turned and walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

+++000+++000+++

Someone was holding him. Standing behind him, pinning his arms to his sides. He tried to wrench himself away, but the grip only became stronger, as if he were caught in a Devil's Snare. He knew if he only relaxed, he would be released, but he couldn't let himself relax. He had to fight it, had to twist and bite and kick. "Shhh, Severus, it's me," a woman's voice said softly, soothing. "It's going to be all right." He felt a great relief. It was his mother. He stopped struggling and let her embrace him; he hadn't felt her arms around him like this since he was very small.

He turned his head to look up at her face and saw a white skull mask, and the panic rose in him again. He struggled again, more furiously than ever, causing the arms around him to tighten like bands of steel, making him gasp for breath. He looked at the figure's face again and the mask melted away, but the face behind it was not his mother's; it was Bellatrix Black Lestrange's, and she was leering at him with red, slit-like eyes.

AN: Next: Snape and Hermione in the same room, interacting, I promise!