A Capacity for Love

CHAPTER 12

-- Dying Inside --

"Hermione, why don't you say something to Ron?" Harry pleaded. She was gathering up her school things from where they were scattered about her, as she had just spotted Ron and Lavender coming back from lunch, their arms wrapped around each other. They stumbled a little with the awkwardness of coming through the portrait hole like that.

"You're both miserable with this whole thing," Harry said.

Hermione snorted. "Him? Miserable? So that's what misery looks like." She tossed her head spitefully in the direction of the couple, who were now laughing together on their way to the far corner of the common room.

"Really. Trust me," Harry swore. "He's only acting like that because...." He stopped short, apparently trying to think of a way to end the sentence.

"Because what?" Hermione snapped. "Because he's blissfully happy? Because he's got some brainless girl with low self-esteem giggling all over him?"

"No, because he's trying to cover up how much he's hurting. He misses you." Harry looked quite earnest.

"Oh, really," she replied acidly. "Well, I'm right here. Anytime he wanted to come over and say, 'Hey, Hermione, what's up? How've you been?' he could've done. But he hasn't, has he?"

"Neither have you," Harry pointed out.

"I don't make a habit of horning in on other people's boyfriends. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the library. Coming?" She paused, her hand on her hip, studiously ignoring the slurping sounds coming from behind her.

Harry stretched and grinned sheepishly. "No, thanks. I actually thought I'd take a turn around the Quidditch pitch."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I thought you said Slytherin were practicing this afternoon."

"Exactly. Got to keep an eye on the competition, haven't I?"

Hermione pursed her lips, knowing perfectly well that by 'competition' he meant Malfoy. He still hadn't given up dogging the suspected Death Eater's footsteps. "Fine," she said finally. "But don't come begging to me for my notes when N.E.W.T.s roll around. They'll be here sooner than you think, mark my words."

Harry blinked innocently. "Who, me? Beg? You wouldn't make me beg, would you?"

Hermione smiled despite herself. "Oh, Harry. Honestly!"

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"What news do you bring us?" Voldemort demanded.

"Milord, Dumbledore has been absent from the castle for days at a stretch. This week again, he was gone for three days."

"Where does he go?"

"He does not confide in me, Milord."

"Impertinence! Crucio!"

The pain clenched in on Snape instantly, reducing his consciousness to a point of light, before receding, leaving him reeling and on his knees.

Voldemort walked into the middle of the circle of robed and masked Death Eaters. "He is planning something. Gathering troops to move against me. Macnair," he said, twirling around to point at a hulking figure, "what news do you have on rounding up those rogue giants?"

The bulky man spoke in a voice that was thick from nicotine and overuse. "We're tracking the movements of three of them, Milord, including the female that's still hiding in the Carpathians. We should have her on our side or dead by the end of the week. The other two, both males, are moving north; one's currently somewhere in Poland, the other'd made it to within a hundred kilometres of Durmstrang at last report."

"Could he be part of an attack on the school?" Voldemort asked quickly.

Macnair dismissed the idea. "Not on his own. More likely scrounging for food; Vahanian is under orders to trap him if possible when he gets within striking distance, otherwise to kill him."

"We cannot allow even a single giant to ally itself with Dumbledore," Voldemort announced. "They subjugate themselves to us, or they die."

A murmur of assent spread through the group.

Snape had managed to pull himself to his feet. Voldemort turned on him and poked his wand into the fold of material at Snape's neck. "And you will go back and uncover the secret of our enemy's leaves of absence... and come up with a plan as to how we can best use them to our advantage."

"Milord," Snape acquiesced with a slight inclination of his head.

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"I don't like it, Albus." Minerva stood with her back to the fire in the Headmaster's office, a cup of tea balanced in her hands.

Professor Dumbledore regarded her from his comfortable seat nearby. "Do you imagine that I take pleasure in it? I don't; yet it is necessary."

She fixed him with an intense gaze."It's killing you."

"Yes." The old wizard smiled gently. "But then there are so many dangers in the world. My great-uncle Archibald was killed in an accident with a birthday cake. Pound cake, I believe it was. Unfortunate man."

"Ach," scoffed Minerva. "Archibald Alderton was a fool. You, Albus, are no fool."

"I thank you for that," he replied, his eyes crinkling up with pleasure.

McGonagall paced the small space, her robe silently flaring out. "And that is why I trust you to be doing the right thing, the wisest thing." She stopped and pointed at him with her teacup. "It doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid you have more trust in me than I myself have. Sometimes I do wonder at the rightness of it all. As to whether the choices I have made are wise... I believe I would say, no, in many cases, they have not been wise. But they seemed the best thing to do at the time. Although I am not, I admit, without regrets."

Minerva took a seat beside him and looked into his eyes, searching the pale blue orbs for answers she knew weren't there. Finally, she said softly, "Albus, tell me, is there nothing more that can be done?"

Dumbledore gently took her hand. "You and I both know there isn't. Severus has managed quite a feat already. I owe him much." He frowned slightly. "Everything."

"And what of him?" Minerva inquired, concerned. "He has seemed preoccupied this term... More than usual. I fear the Defense professorship is taking too much out of him."

"Mmm." Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Perhaps there is something to that curse that Tom put on the position."

Minerva scoffed. "You don't really believe that. He had nothing to do with the Ministry installing that Umbridge woman last year. Nor with Remus's being forced out. No, I'm afraid that Severus's problems stem as well from another source."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what would that be?"

"The pull of the Dark magic itself," she said in a low voice. "I always thought you were wise to keep him from direct contact with the Dark all these years, although he clearly craved it so desperately."

Dumbledore cocked his head and looked into the fire, absentmindedly caressing the back of Minerva's hand with his thumb. "Again you imbue me with wisdom I am not sure I have. It seemed... prudent at the time, to keep Severus working in an area he excelled at. Gave him confidence. Perhaps too much, though. I do not know. I admit, I am... worried about him. About his--"

"His loyalty?" Minerva spoke pointedly.

Dumbledore shook his head, and his brow furrowed deeply at the crackling blaze. "No. Something much more important. His soul."

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Hermione's heart was beating rapidly and her palms were uncomfortably moist. She hadn't been able to concentrate all hour. Luckily, they had been assigned a reading that she'd already done several weeks ago.

"Coming?" Harry was standing behind her, waiting to go to their next class.

"Yes-- No," she said quickly, "you go on ahead. I just have to ask Professor Snape something."

Harry shrugged and left. Hermione waited until the last stragglers had departed before taking a deep breath and forcing down the butterflies in her stomach. She gripped her book-bag firmly, made sure her robe was properly buttoned up, and then walked on wooden legs to the front desk.

"Miss Granger." Snape busied himself straightening out the stack of parchments which the students had just turned in. "What do you want?"

Hermione checked over her shoulder to make sure that no one was listening in, then said in a voice that suddenly seemed much too loud, "I want to know if you were forced." She struggled to suppress the feeling of disgust that invariably rose into her throat whenever she was near him.

"Forced? In what way, 'forced'?" he said coldly, without looking at her.

"You know what I'm talking about," she said in a low voice that matched his in tone. "Were you forced to do it."

Snape snapped up the parchments. "I told you the topic was closed." He strode away from her, toward the door.

"You can't just close it. You owe me an explanation, at least that," Hermione insisted.

"I owe you nothing. Now get out." He opened the door and stood back, indicating that she was to leave.

Frustration welled up in Hermione's throat, threatening to overflow into tears, but she stood her ground. "I won't leave until you tell me."

"Then I will leave." Snape started past her, but Hermione jumped in front of him, effectively blocking his egress. "Get out of the way before I hex you," he threatened in a flat voice, dark eyes flashing dangerously.

Hermione nearly slunk out of the way at that, but she knew that if she gave in now, she would never again be able to confront him on this. And so she whispered, with a Gryffindor fierceness, "I hate you, you know. I hate you for what you did. But I've thought about it a lot--" She tossed her head and looked up at the ceiling, exclaiming bitterly, "God, I hardly do anything else but think about it! --and the more I think about it, the more I think you might not have had a choice. But that would mean I couldn't hate you as much as I do." She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke through clenched teeth. "So tell me now, that you weren't forced to do it, so that I can keep hating you with all the depths of my being."

Snape regarded the girl before him with a cool look. No, not a girl. A witch. A remarkable one, at that. He almost regretted what he had been made to do to her. Almost. And so he said with a sneer: "Do you really think that anyone could force me to do anything? Everything that I have ever done, has been my own choice." He paused, and then repeated, in a tone heavy with meaning, "Everything.... Now move."

Hermione flattened herself against the wall and let him pass, feeling a cool draft on her cheek as his robe billowed by.

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Hermione sat in the dark, hunched up on her bed. She'd been crying. Lavender made a little moaning sound in her sleep, and Hermione was comforted, even though she suspected 'Won-Won' was the cause of it.

She didn't have any safe places left anymore. She was afraid to go to her favorite spot by the lake, or anywhere outside alone, really, because he might show up again; she couldn't hole up in the library either for the same reason; he had taken those places from her. And her bedroom, the place where most people retreat to when seeking solace, was where the horror had all begun in the first place. She had talked herself into sleeping there again, as long as the other girls were there and she kept her curtains open.

But tonight, sleep was fleeting. Her encounter with Snape had left her shaken. Maybe Teresa was right. She kept going in circles; this was turning into an unhealthy obsession. She confronted Snape--he acted the villain. But that was it: maybe he was just acting the villain.

Block off your mind. ... I will do my best not to hurt you. She'd only just remembered those words, spoken to her by the Death Eater who... no, by Snape, on Halloween. Somehow, the words had gotten lost amidst all the other awful things she'd heard...seen...felt...been subjected to. But now they had bubbled up to the top. She was certain now that he had tried, albeit in a twisted way, to help her. An unlikely ally. A great sadness overtook her, causing a fresh onslaught of sobs, which she tried to stifle against her arm.

He truly was a pathetic man, pitiable and wretched. Yes, he had willingly done what he had done -- That -- but he also had some sort of compassion, if one could call it that. He understood that what he was about to do would hurt her -- and not just physically, else why advise her to block off her mind? -- and he did what he could without drawing undue attention to them, to lessen her suffering. Not that she was grateful to him for that. But it did turn some of her hatred into sorrow. For both of them.

And, she realized now, he didn't do it to avoid unpleasant consequences to himself, as she had thought when he told her in the library that night, 'If I did not carry out my duties, I should be reprimanded. Possibly even punished'. Or rather, he had, but not because he was afraid of the pain, or even of dying. 'It is not for myself that I fear' he had told her in Dumbledore's office, and something in his eyes when he said that had been deeply compelling, had spoken to her more than the words expressed. She felt that she was beginning to see the desperation of his situation. And also the depths of the evil that they were up against. That didn't make what he had done right. But it did turn some of her hatred into fear. For all of them.

Sometimes we are called upon to do something which we would otherwise find so foul that we would rather die than do. Dumbledore's words to her when she'd found out that it had been Snape. She'd applied them to herself, logically, assuming that Dumbledore was asking her to make a sacrifice in order to give them more time to complete some plan. But they would equally well apply to him. She was sure now that they did. That didn't mean that she could forgive him for what he'd done. But she also no longer had the wish that he'd died instead.

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'Was he forced?' The words echoed in his mind as bitter as the raki that was in his mouth, and he sucked on it to prolong the sensation. Of course he had been forced. By Dumbledore. Forced to make the choice. Azkaban or The Order. Quick insanity or slow. He swallowed and immediately knocked back the last bit of alcohol in the glass, hoping it would diffuse his thoughts.

Normally, he liked thinking. Planning. Second-guessing. Getting one up on everyone else by his wits. But that was when he had a chance of coming out on top. He couldn't come out on top of this one. And so he didn't want to think about it anymore.

Why couldn't the stupid chit just leave him alone? Because she's hurting. Shut up. We all hurt. Hell, he hurt. You didn't see him pestering the Dark Lord about it, did you?

He lurched over to his bed and let himself fall lengthwise onto it. The room was spinning.

He was tired. So tired. He'd already begun his descent into the welcoming blackness when something brought him back up. Annoyed, he ignored whatever it was until he realized with a burst of adrenalin that it was his Mark. He was being Summoned.

Immediately alert and grateful that he'd been too apathetic to remove his robes, he staggered to the cupboard where he kept his mask, then into the bathroom for a Pepperup Potion. Within two minutes, he was racing out to meet Draco at the edge of the grounds.

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"Why have you not completed your task yet?" Voldemort's tone of voice was not impatient, yet the reproach was clear.

"Milord, an important part of my plan is not yet ready," Draco answered softly, keeping his head bowed, his eyes averted.

"It is nearly the end of another year. Every day, our enemies grow stronger. I can feel the urgency increasing. We cannot afford to waste time. You cannot afford to waste my time." Voldemort's wand hand became twitchy.

Draco shook his head emphatically. "No, I would never--"

"Crucio!" Quicker than one would have thought possible, Draco was lying on the floor, back arched, screaming.

Snape watched him impassively. Strange, how he felt not a bit of sympathy for his fellow Slytherin, the boy he had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to protect. But then, he knew that the young Malfoy was not in mortal peril. Not yet.

Abruptly, the Dark Lord switched his attention to Snape. "And you? What news do you bring?"

Snape sniffed derisively. "The old man's age is catching up to him. He is increasingly weak. I agree that the time to strike is ripe." Maybe he could push Voldemort into an early attack, before the Curse had time to destroy the rest of the Headmaster.

"You see? We are counting on you." He nudged Draco with his toe. "Get up."

The rest of the Death Eaters present watched as Draco pulled himself to his feet. None of them would ever have thought to help him. After all, no one helped them, when they were the ones writhing in pain at the Dark Lord's feet.

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They walked in silence across the dark grounds, both stiff with the cold and lack of sleep. When they reached the castle, Snape perfunctorily unlocked the side door and let them in. "Accompany me to my office. I have a potion that will help you."

"I doubt that," Draco said snidely.

Snape fixed Draco with a haughty glare. "I believe I know a bit more about the effects of the Cruciatus than you, and the magical means of allieving them."

Draco stared at Snape for a moment before replying flatly, "Oh, that."

"Yes, that," Snape repeated testily. "But if you wish to suffer in silence..."

"Well, I do," Draco said coldly. "I always have."

Snape paused, appeared to be sizing the youth up. "You know I'm here to help you, Draco. I'm on your side in this." There was no sympathy or compassion in his words. Just a statement, which could just as well be taken as an order.

"I told you before, I don't need your help!" Draco spoke fiercely, trying to keep his voice down. "I stood there tonight and took it, didn't I? Haven't I proven I'm as much a man as you or any of the rest of them? Why do you keep treating me like a child?" Belying his words, a trace of petulance crept into his tone.

"Because you are one!" Snape retorted. "You are sixteen years old, and you have no idea of the depths you're wading in. You think this is just some homework assignment you've been given by your new teacher, to test your loyalty, or prove how clever you are. This is real, Draco! This is life and death. I don't believe that you are fully aware of that fact."

Draco, silent now, watched the black-haired wizard with eyes that were slightly widened.

"I made a Vow to protect you, aid you in your task!" Snape continued. "Don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart, or because of any noble or tender feelings. I don't know the meaning of those things. But I do know that a man honors his commitments, doesn't piddle about, trying this and that, things that have no hope of working anyway, just to buy time. The Dark Lord was right tonight, Draco. You are wasting our time. You have been entrusted with a key assignment, and you are in the process of blowing it.

"You had better make a move, and quickly. Every moment of hesitation is another moment during which you, or I, may be exposed. And I will not allow that to happen. You will not ruin something that has taken longer than your lifetime to set up. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, sir." He understood. And, not for the first time, he trembled.

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