A Capacity for Love

Chapter 18

January

Although still socially isolated, Hermione found the other students to be much less hostile and off-putting than she remembered; maybe it was because she herself was less tense. On their first night back in the dorm, Lavender and Parvati chattered about their holidays, trying to include Hermione but not pressing her when it was clear she had nothing piquant to reveal. At least they didn't rub any news of 'Won-Won' in her face, nor make any mention of rumours regarding her real or imagined romantic attachments.

The first chance she got, Hermione went to see Madam Pomfrey to double-check the Muggle pregnancy test results. She felt a bit foolish doing so, and even more so after Madam Pomfrey assured her that she'd run a pregnancy test as part of the initial examination. It had been negative, as had the other checks for sexually transmitted diseases. The nurse said she hadn't wanted to worry Hermione needlessly by going into unnecessary details; certainly she would have told her if there had been a problem.

Hermione privately wished that Madam Pomfrey had explicitly explained all that back then. It would have saved her from those days of worrying during the holidays. She did vaguely recall being told something about 'no lasting effects' or something along those lines, and a pregnancy would certainly have been a lasting effect, but she preferred not to press the point.

However, she still had no satisfactory reason for why her menses had failed to appear, and a second, equally dire explanation began to occur to her: Could it be that she had suffered internal damage to her reproductive organs, or that a curse had been placed on her that would cause her to remain barren?

When she tentatively voiced these concerns to Madam Pomfrey, the nurse assured her kindly but firmly (as if her professional expertise were in question) that there was absolutely nothing physically wrong with her. ("You're a very lucky young lady, Miss Granger." Hermione was getting perfectly sick of hearing that.)

And as for an undetected curse - Madam Pomfrey looked at Hermione over the tops of her glasses, her soft, white hands folded neatly on the desk before her - "Anything is possible, of course, but I certainly don't see any indication of it. Infertility curses are usually accompanied by abdominal pain, cramping, or heavy bleeding at the time of casting, and quite often for many weeks, months, or even years afterwards, although--" she admitted--"not always. As you haven't suffered any of those symptoms, I don't believe you have anything to worry about.

"However, if it would set your mind at ease, I can arrange for you to see a fertility specialist. I think it most likely that your body is still in a bit of shock, and has shut down that particular system for the time being. If you want, we can try a potion that will set things into motion and force a cycle."

The idea of the fertility specialist, another stranger poking around at her body, was not exactly appealing, especially as it wasn't like she actually wanted to get pregnant. A quick vision of a waiting room filled with anxious couples flashed before her mind's eye. "I don't think a specialist will be necessary," she said quickly. "But maybe we could try the potion." It was funny - Whenever she had her period, she always thought it an utter nuisance and wished it over with as quickly as possible. Now, though, she yearned for it as a sign of normalcy.

"Very well, then." Pomfrey nodded. "I don't keep this potion in stock, not much call for it, so I'll have to ask Severus to brew some--"

"Oh, no!" Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. He, brew a potion for her? For such an intimate purpose? She shuddered. In fact, thinking about it, if Snape prepared all of the potions for the hospital wing, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to be treated there any more.

"What's the matter, Miss Granger?" the nurse asked, perplexed.

Hermione avoided her eye. "I--I wouldn't want to bother him with it. Isn't there some other way to get it?"

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Why, yes, we could order one from the apothecary at St. Mungo's. But that would take a couple of days. It all depends on whether they have any ready in stock."

"I can wait," Hermione answered promptly, twisting her fingers in her lap.

"I can assure you, I wouldn't tell Severus who the potion is for, if that's what you're worried about. And in any case, he is a professional."

"That's not it, it's just--I'd rather have the potion from St. Mungo's, if that's all right." She fervently hoped that Pomfrey wouldn't question her further.

The nurse watched Hermione for a moment, seeming to consider something, but then acquiesced. "All right, if that's your preference. I can send the request by owl now--" She looked out the window, gauging the time. "They should receive it by this evening, but they won't be able to fill it until tomorrow, maybe the next day. If they need to make it, it will take another day."

"That's fine," Hermione said quickly and stood up. She was embarrassed and actually wanted to forget about the whole thing at this point.

"Very well. I will let you know when it arrives."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you." She turned to go, but the nurse spoke once more.

"Oh, Hermione?"

"Yes?" She turned back, already dreading a renewed entry on the subject of her reproductive system.

Madam Pomfrey smiled at her kindly. "I just want you to know, I think you are a very strong young woman. Quite remarkable."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, before rapidly departing.

The next morning, when she awoke, it was to a familiar vague sensation of discomfort in her lower back. Half excited, half anxious, she hurried to the toilet and found that all the talk of potions and fertility experts had been enough to jolt her body into gear. With shaking fingers, she took a blood crystal from the jar that stood in every girls' bathroom and was about to insert it when she reconsidered; witches generally caught their monthly bleed in the crystals, which could then be ground up for use in various healing and fertility potions. But now, she carefully replaced the sparkling crystal and unrolled a small wad of toilet paper. It took her a couple of tries, but she managed to Transfigure it into a serviceable tampon. She wouldn't be saving this blood. This was the detritus of whatever it was that had been left inside her. She wanted it gone, destroyed, perhaps even burnt. After this week, perhaps, finally, she would feel clean.

+++000+++000+++

The first Defense class wasn't until mid-week, so Hermione had a few days to steel herself for it. She was, understandably, apprehensive about seeing Snape again, but not because she feared another attack. Now, it was because she was afraid that he might have gone completely round the twist. He had spouted such odd things at her parents' house. And if her ruminations on his life outside of the classroom were in any way accurate, he was due for a breakdown any day.

But when she entered the classroom, barely on time, Snape looked much the same as she remembered him: Cold and scowling, clad all in black, with his hair hanging limply down either side of his angular face. He acted no differently, either, snapping at Dean and Seamus for no good reason and making an oily comment regarding Blaise's apparent hangover. The lesson was short on discussion, consisting mainly of a pop quiz reviewing the previous term's content. His callousness and apparent lack of feeling would have been shocking to her, had she not already been shocked nearly beyond human capacity by everything else which had gone before. Still, she remained on her guard and kept a low profile, not wishing to incite another outburst.

All in all, it was a rather anticlimactic return, and there were moments when Hermione almost felt as if the past months had fallen into some sort of time warp, only existing in her own memory. But then reality would invade again in the form of Ron and Lavender laughing in the corridor, or feeding each other grapes at lunch. Hermione's throat still tightened whenever she would see such a scene, but it was better this way, she reminded herself as she rushed out of the Great Hall, her appetite disappeared. He was obviously happy with Lavender. It was good that he had someone.

As for Harry, his conversation with Hermione that first night back seemed only to fuel his obsession with Draco Malfoy. He spent every free moment he had tracking the Slytherin boy. In a previous year, Hermione would have gotten more involved, found some way to either prove or disprove what Harry suspected. But not this time. For one thing, she already knew that Draco was a Death Eater. She could easily have told Harry about where Draco was on Halloween, but that would have meant revealing what had happened to her as well, and she just couldn't do it. She already felt awful about nearly lying to him that first night back. It wouldn't make any difference anyway, whether Harry knew the truth about Draco's involvement with Voldemort's organization. All it would do would be to feed his hatred. She was resolved to stay out of the whole thing from that point forward.

However, when Harry came to her and reported what Dumbledore told him about the mysterious 'Horcruxes', Hermione's insatiable curiosity was piqued. It seemed a good distraction for her, so she repaired to the library, boldly entering the Restricted Section for the first time since she ran into Professor Snape there. She kept expecting to see his scowling form lurking behind the next stack, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned a corner and did see a tall, black-robed figure reaching up to pull a book down; it turned out to be a seventh-year Ravenclaw, who returned her startled gasp with a raised eyebrow and a sniff.

Clenching her fists, she scowled, both at him and at herself, and made herself concentrate on the task at hand. Since Harry was supposed to get the information from Slughorn, she headed for the shelf with Potions texts. Her first thought was that Horcruxes could be a class of potions, like love potions or healing potions. But of course they must be something Dark, otherwise there wouldn't be such a problem getting information on them.

Two hours of squinting at faded ink later, she rubbed her aching neck and glared at the pile of codices, books, and scrolls before her. If a 'Horcrux' (or Hoarcrux, Whore-Crocks, Hohrkracks, or any of the alternate spellings she searched for) was a kind of potion, it was either not mentioned, or called something else altogether. But surely, if Professor Slughorn knew of it, it must be mentioned somewhere! He couldn't have gotten his information by osmosis. Unless he had invented it, and never written it down, or kept the manuscript hidden elsewhere... in which case there really would be no way to get the information other than from him. It was so frustrating! It must be terribly important, for Professor Dumbledore to have set Harry the task of wheedling it out of their Potions professor.

Wait a moment. Their Potions professor. Maybe... She felt the beginnings of dread creeping over her at the thought. But maybe Professor Snape knew something. She didn't recall Slughorn ever mentioning Snape as having been part of his inner circle Slug Club, but he surely had been a talented student. Talented enough to take over Slughorn's position when he retired. And she recalled what Hagrid had said about Snape having been a Death Eater when he was young. It was entirely likely that he had dabbled in Dark potions at that time ... if not later as well.

Her skin felt prickly. She knew what had to be done. She had to tell Harry to go talk to Snape.

+++000+++000+++

"No way, Hermione."

"But Harry," she pleaded, "don't you think it makes sense?"

"Professor Dumbledore told me to get the information from Slughorn, not from him."

"Maybe... Well, maybe he thought, given your ... poor experience with him ..."

"You mean how he broke into my mind so that Voldemort could implant those false visions?" he said fiercely.

"If you'd only practiced--" she blurted out with her patent response from last year.

"Don't make it my fault, Hermione!" Harry said in a threatening tone.

She stopped and took a deep breath. This wasn't what she'd wanted to do. "That's not what I meant. I'm sorry. Harry. He was wrong. Totally, completely wrong. I know that now."

"Now? Why now? Did you think he was right before?" Harry was still angry.

"No! I mean--I thought he was doing what Dumbledore told him to, and so for that reason it must have been the right thing to do. But maybe Dumbledore wasn't thinking of you; maybe he was thinking of a larger plan, and your lessons with Snape were just a way to achieve something else."

"You're not making any sense now. You mean you think that Dumbledore wanted Voldemort to have access to my mind?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No!" Hermione nearly stamped her foot in frustration. "Now you're twisting my words around. What I meant to say is, maybe Dumbledore didn't foresee all the consequences of sending you to Snape. He does make mistakes, you know."

"Really," Harry commented dryly.

Hermione gave Harry a wry look, but continued, "And maybe Snape took Dumbledore's orders and went in the wrong direction with them, or did what he thought was best in the situation, but it turned out to be completely wrong." Like what he had done to her.

"You've got that part right. He took advantage of the situation to get back at me for something my father did. And the result was, he got Sirius killed!"

Wincing, Hermione pointed out, "Harry, to be fair, Sirius went to the Ministry of his own accord because he thought you were in danger. Snape was the one who alerted the Order that we were there. Without him, we might all have been killed instead." She rubbed protectively at the spot where Dolohov's curse had hit her and considered that was twice that he had saved her from mortal injury... although his methods were more than questionable.

"Great, so you're defending him again. Snape, our Saviour," Harry bit out viciously.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Stop. We're going in circles." She sighed and looked up. "The Horcruxes," she reminded him wearily. "I think he may know something about the Horcruxes. If Slughorn won't budge... maybe he will."

"Hermione, that's mad! Listen to you! You think that Snape would actually willingly tell me, the person he hates the most on the earth, how to make this Dark potion or whatever it is, when he wouldn't tell Dumbledore? Especially if, according to your theory, everything he does anyway is only on Dumbledore's orders? I'm supposed to get the information from Slughorn because apparently he had a soft spot for my mother. I've got nothing on Snape, no leverage, nothing. What's worse, he hated my father, and he probably didn't feel much differently towards my mother, as she was Muggleborn. He'll see me dead and buried and the rest of the world too, I'd bet, before he'd give me the time of day, much less share some dark, hidden secret. I'm sorry, Hermione, but this time you're barking."

Hermione didn't press the point any further, thinking that Harry was probably right. Snape would never willingly help Harry, especially if even Dumbledore wasn't able to get the information he needed from him. Unless Dumbledore had never tried. Incredible as it was to think of, they'd both just agreed that Dumbledore made mistakes. Maybe the Headmaster was so set on Slughorn as his source that he'd overlooked another one right under his nose. She could forget about Harry approaching him; as he'd said, aside from the fact that he hated him, he had no leverage over Snape anyway. But Hermione did.

+++000+++000+++

Snape put the last of the students' essays away and pushed himself smoothly away from the desk. He was not fooled. Potter's female sidekick might be acting relatively normal again (as normal as teenagers acted anyway), but he knew that the business between them was not finished. She had been watching him the past week, ever since they returned from the Christmas holidays, in fact. He wasn't surprised; he'd made a bit of a fool of himself during that home visit. He hoped he had scared her well enough. She could do with a bit of sense being scared into her.

He left his office, but not without first procuring a tub of unguent from his private storage cabinet: He had an appointment with Dumbledore. His visits were becoming more frequent; soon, there would be nothing more to do.

They were all so reckless, he considered, scowling, as he stalked through the empty corridors: she, Potter, and their gang. Oblivious to the dangers they put themselves in. Running off to the Ministry alone, thinking they could take on adults fully trained in combat; traipsing about the grounds alone at night shortly after an infiltration by Death Eaters. Stupid little Gryffindors. They think things will always work out for them. Had things worked out for Sirius Black or James Potter? And as they would all soon see, even their precious Albus Dumbledore was no stranger to hubris.

Draco Malfoy was no better, the arrogant brat. In way over his head but refusing to see reason. It must be an artifact of their age. Now he was saddled with the three of them: Potter, Malfoy, and Granger. Dumbledore, too, if you wanted to look at it that way. All of them needing to be protected, from themselves more than anything else.

His duty toward Harry would be over when the boy turned seventeen in a few months. As long as Harry didn't do something incredibly stupid, like go out and try to hunt the Dark Lord down (although Snape wouldn't put it past him), there was every chance he'd make it until then alive, with little effort on Snape's part. Hogwarts was still relatively safe, despite the break-in on Halloween. And that little security leak was now sealed. Even so, Snape knew that the Dark Lord was not yet ready to confront Potter. Something was holding him back. Five years of repeated failed attempts had made him more cautious, particularly his near-defeat by the elderly Headmaster in the Department of Mysteries the previous year. Lord Voldemort was not about to make another flat-out attempt on Harry as long as Dumbledore was still around. He needed him out of the way first. Little did he know how close he was to having his wishes fulfilled, and not because of Draco's feeble attempts, Snape thought grimly.

The Vow he'd taken to protect Draco would be resolved soon, then; the curse the Headmaster was suffering from would see to that. Again, as long as Draco didn't inadvertently kill himself whilst mucking about with Cursed objects and poisons, Snape needed do nothing else than sit back and wait for Dumbledore to die; he felt confident that it could be made to look as if Draco had done it, or at least facilitated it far enough to have completed the Dark Lord's assignment.

Granger, though, was trickier. Magically speaking, he was under no obligation to her. But once again, Dumbledore felt otherwise. Damn him and his ponderous morality. Soul magic, he called it, but all it boiled down to was old-fashioned honour. He had dishonoured her. Therefore, he must make recompense.

Pah! Snape's lip curled in disgust. Was he to apologize for not killing her? For not destroying her mind? Not that he expected her to be grateful. But she had escaped all but unscathed. The physical act she had been forced to endure was meaningless. It had been for him, why shouldn't it be for her? Oh, yes, he knew that females were very often silly about that kind of thing, but from what little he knew of Granger, she seemed to be more practical-minded than most. Surely she would realize that it was a necessary part of the scenario to enact. There was no place for emotions. He had learned that from very young. To allow oneself emotions is to suffer. Well, she would simply have to learn that as well, if she didn't want to continue to suffer.

Snape stoically readied himself for another round of sparring over it as he reached the Headmaster's staircase and spoke the password.

+++000+++000+++

Hermione considered how she would go about it for over a week. Ask him straight out, tell him it was for Dumbledore? Try and trick the information out of him somehow? Blackmail? The worst part was, she had no idea how he'd react. He was so unpredictable. The time and place would also be crucial. She certainly didn't want to corner him alone, late at night, in some remote corner of the dungeons. On the other hand, she couldn't very well raise her hand in class and ask about Horcruxes.

It would have to be something in between: private, but not secluded. She didn't like the idea of going up to him after class. For one thing, there was never much time between classes, and for another, she didn't want to risk another student coming in and overhearing. It would have to be in his office.

And she would definitely not be confronting him alone. In addition to putting her into a very uncomfortable position, in the past her attempts at speaking to him had gone exactly nowhere. It could be that if she had company, he would be more willing to at least give some sort of civil answer.

However, the pool of potential mediators was small. Harry might possibly agree to go with her, but that wouldn't exactly put Snape into a mood conducive to talking about the Horcruxes. And there was no one else who could be allowed to hear about them... other than Ron. There was nothing for it. She would just have to get him to come with her. She didn't want to, but there was no other way. She would explain about Snape and Harry. Make him see that they had to help. But that meant that she would have to talk to Ron first. Alone.

She went back and forth with herself on it for the entire weekend. She was actually on the verge of catching up to him on Sunday evening, when she saw him coming in from Quidditch practice, but Lavender beat her to it, running over and flinging her arms around his neck, and she soured at the thought of interrupting the two, instead stomping up to the dorms so that she could be asleep before Lavender came in and shared all the gory details of her snogging session.

Come Monday, though, when Harry confided that he had finally approached Slughorn, but gotten the brush-off, and wasn't inclined to try again at the moment, Hermione's sense of indignance at his head-in-the-sand techniques overcame her embarrassment factor, and she very stiffly turned to Ron - Lavender had just fed him a large piece of her breakfast roll - cleared her throat, and said, "Ronald. I need to speak to you."

Ron and Lavender both looked at Hermione curiously.

"Wha--?" Ron said thickly around the bread in his mouth.

"I need to speak to you," Hermione repeated primly.

Ron made a motion with his fork, indicating that she should go ahead.

"Alone." Hermione felt the eyes of their housemates on her.

Lavender giggled. "Oh, come on, Hermione." She dabbed at Ron's cheek with her napkin. "Whatever you have to tell Ronnie you can say in front of me. And if you don't want me to hear it, you shouldn't be saying it to him in the first place." She gave Hermione a cool smile.

Hermione sneered. "Oh please. I'm not interested in trying to take him away from you." She looked at Ron. "This is important."

"Need help with your Defense homework, do you?" Lavender simpered. "I've noticed you've been quiet in there lately. I could help you, you know," she offered, now turning more sincere. "I got an E on the last quiz." She looked around proudly.

"An E?" Ron looked aghast. "I only got an A!"

Hermione scowled; she had also gotten an A, but she wasn't about to let everyone know that. The fact that Lavender had done better than she was a real slap in the face, but the problem wasn't a lack of understanding the material, nor was it, truth be told, favoritism on the part of Snape. She simply didn't care anymore, and had written the test paper as quickly as possible in order to be done with it and get out of the classroom.

She pointedly ignored Lavender and said testily, "Ron, if you have an ounce of your own will left, I would appreciate it if you could find me later on, alone, to discuss something very, very important. Please." She allowed herself to look him in the eye - had they always been that perfect shade of blue? - and felt something stir in her. Disconcerted and not trusting herself not to cry, she got up without waiting for an answer and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Snape noticed her leave. He couldn't help it. He always noticed what she did. Granger, Malfoy, Potter... They couldn't escape his notice. Or rather, his notice couldn't escape them. He was sure that Dumbledore noticed as well, and he deliberately did not turn toward the Headmaster, in order to avoid another one of his annoying knowing looks, urging him to act. Instead, he calmly stirred his tea exactly once, picked up the cup, and drained it, all the while keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead and focused on nothing at all. If he forced himself not to think of any of them, maybe they would all simply go away and leave him alone.

+++000+++000+++

Hermione more than half hoped that Ron would forget about the scene she'd made that morning, or that Lavender would prevent him from seeking her out, or at the very least that the floor would simply open up and swallow her whole. She should have kept out of it. It was Harry's task. Dumbledore knew more than she did. But maybe Dumbledore knew that Harry wouldn't be able to get the information out of Slughorn, and that Harry would go to Hermione for help, and that Hermione would figure out that Snape should have the information they needed, and ...

Hermione threw her quill down in frustration and rubbed her temples. Maybe this whole thing was just a set-up for some other purpose entirely. Maybe there was no such thing as Horcruxes, or if there were, they weren't what Dumbledore was actually after. Maybe he was having Harry, and by extension, Hermione, do his dirty work for him. Intrigues within intrigues, plans within plans.

Her back ached, and she stretched, just in time to see a lanky red-head half-clad in Quidditch gear striding across the library toward her. Her stomach did a flip and she unconsciously clutched her robe together at the neck, then pretended she didn't see him and bent her head over her books again, all the while realizing how ridiculous she was being. After all, she had practically ordered him to come. She forced herself to look up and smile when he got to her table, although it probably came off looking more like an awkward grimace.

"What's so important?" Ron asked, flopping himself down onto the chair opposite her and pulling off his gloves the rest of the way. "I can't stay long. Lav'll come looking for me."

"Got you on a short lead, has she?" Hermione blurted out without thinking.

Ron glared at her. "I didn't come here for you to insult my girlfriend."

"No. Sorry." Hermione took a deep breath. "It's about Harry."

Ron snorted and slapped the gloves down onto the table. "It's always about Harry, isn't it? And here I thought you might be wanting to apologize for how you've been acting."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Me? Apologize for how I've been acting? When you're the one who's been ignoring me?"

"I have not! You're the one who scuppers off whenever you see me coming. You've been acting weird for a couple of months now."

"I have not been acting 'weird'!" Hermione protested, all too conscious that he was right. "You've been so busy sucking face with Lav-Lav I'm surprised you're even aware that other people exist!"

"That's it," Ron said, standing up. "I knew this was stupid, I don't know what I was thinking when I agreed to come." His face contorted in an ugly scowl.

Hermione cringed inwardly. This was going all wrong! She had to cut out any personal feelings. What she felt, what she wanted, wasn't important. The mission was the important thing. With a momentary chill, she realized that she was beginning to think like Dumbledore. Quickly, though, before Ron could leave, she called out, "No, wait! I'm sorry. Look, forget about you and Lavender--I mean," she corrected herself upon catching the murderous look on Ron's face, "forget what I said. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm happy for you. That you found someone. Really," she said, making it sound as sincere as possible. She wasn't exactly happy about it, of course. But he hadn't done anything wrong. Why shouldn't he have a nice girl to mess about with?

Ron seemed to grudgingly accept her apology. "She really nice, you know," he mumbled abashedly as he sat back down.

"I'm sure," Hermione said quickly. If there was one thing she did not want to discuss, it was the relative merits of Lavender Brown. "Look, Ron, I wanted to talk to you about Harry."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, yeah, what about him?"

Hermione looked down and started toying with her quill before clearing her throat and asking in a low voice, "Did he tell you about what Dumbledore wants him to do?"

Ron shifted in his seat. "Yeah, something about getting information from Slughorn, wasn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm not sure why he needs it - I don't think even Harry knows - but apparently Professor Slughorn has some very important information, something that Professor Dumbledore needs to fight Voldemort."

"So why can't Dumbledore ask him straight out?"

"I don't know, but I think it must be something very secret and Dark. Something that might be dangerous for Professor Slughorn to reveal. But that's not the point. Ron--" She dared to look up at him again. "I think that Professor Snape has the information as well."

"Snape?" Ron's lip curled in disgust. "What's that great git got to do with it?"

"I think whatever it is, it's got something to do with potions. That's Professor Slughorn's specialty, isn't it? He used to be the Potions master here when Harry's parents were students, and he came out of retirement specially to teach Potions this year. And who was Potions master right after him, for ever so many years?"

Ron's expression showed his understanding, but he was still skeptical. "Yeah, but even so, Sluggy's loads nicer than Snape. So what if he knows whatever it is? I bet that's why Dumbledore told Harry to go to Slughorn for the information in the first place. He knew Snape'd never cooperate."

"Apparently, Professor Slughorn isn't cooperating, either. Harry told me he's already asked him about it, and he just brushed him off."

"There you have it, then. Maybe Dumbledore's barking up the wrong tree. Nothing to be done." He picked up his gloves and made to get up.

"No, wait--" Hermione reached out a hand, but didn't quite touch his arm.

"What?"

"I think we need to get the information from Snape."

"Hermione," Ron said in a tone most often used for conversing with the slightly daft, "we just said, Snape's not going to tell Harry, even if he does know whatever it is."

"I know. He won't tell Harry. But he might tell us."

Ron stared at her blankly for a moment. "What, us?" he finally managed.

"Well, me, mostly. But I need you to go with me."

"You, mostly?" Ron repeated weakly. "Wait--Let me see if I understand this. You think that Snape, the bloody greatest bastard ever to walk the face of the earth, has some Dark and secret information that not even Dumbledore can get out of him, and you're going to waltz in there and ask him pretty please and he's going to roll over and give it to you?" Ron barked out a short laugh. "That's mental, that is!"

Hermione tried to let the insult roll off her, but it hurt nonetheless. What made it worse was that she couldn't explain to Ron why she really thought that Snape might tell her what they wanted to know. She would just have to feed him some half-truths and hope that he would go along with it. "I know it sounds mad," she admitted, "but I really think we have a chance. Everyone knows he hates Harry. That's why Professor Dumbledore didn't send Harry to him."

"And what, he doesn't hate me and you? After what he did to you?"

Hermione's heart froze. "What do you mean?" He couldn't know . . . . He couldn't possibly!

"The way he attacked you in class. Put you in the hospital wing."

She frantically racked her brains for what he might be referring to; it couldn't be Halloween, but when else had Snape attacked-- then she remembered the day in class with the Nightmare Hex. "Oh, that," she said, and was about to try to make little of it when she realized that the incident would serve her explanation well. She couldn't tell Ron what she really had on Snape, what the real reason was that she believed he might tell them about the Horcruxes, but she could pretend that the incident with the Nightmare Hex was the reason. "That. Yes," she said, willing him to believe her. "Exactly! That's why he's going to tell us what we need to know."

"Sorry, I'm not following."

Hermione began to warm to her story. "Haven't you noticed how he's laid off me in class? I think he feels guilty about it. He didn't really want to hurt me; he was trying to make Neville look stupid, and I got in the way. Telling us about the Horcruxes will, you know, let him make up for it, in a way." At least that part was true, or she hoped it was. It was their only chance for getting the information.

Ron made a derogatory face. "That's barmy. Snape doesn't feel guilty about anything."

"Well, let's hear your plan, then!" Hermione snapped.

"I haven't got one, and I don't need one!" Ron retorted in annoyance. "This is Harry's assignment, not ours. I think you should stay out of it."

"It was also Harry's idea to go to the Department of Mysteries last year! Did you want to stay out of that?" Her voice started to take on a hysterical edge. "This is easy, Ron! It doesn't involve sneaking into government offices or battling Death Eaters!" - I hope, she added silently to herself. She forced herself to calm down and give Ron one last chance to be reasonable. "It's only going with me to Snape's office and standing there while I ask him. You don't need to say anything."

"Then why can't you go by yourself? You don't need me there if I'm not supposed to do anything."

Hermione felt tears coming on. She should have known. Ron was really not her friend any more. She should have been able to say, 'Hey, Ron, come with me down to Snape's,' and if he were really her friend, he would have gone along without making a big deal. But it was clear now, their friendship was well and truly over. They only had a common bond through Harry, but that wasn't enough to sustain even the semblance of civility between the two of them on their own.

"Okay, you know what? Forget it." She hastily began gathering up her materials and stuffing them into her bag. "Forget it, forget it. You're right. It'll never work. He'll probably give me a detention or hex me again for even bothering him. Harry should just flounder along on his own. I only thought -- silly me -" She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I only thought that maybe this time, if we got the information in time, we could avoid someone else being hurt. Remember in second year, with the basilisk? If I'd found that page from the encyclopedia one day earlier, maybe no one else would have been Petrified, and Ginny might not have been kidnapped. In third year, if we'd found out the truth about Sirius and Pettigrew a couple of days earlier, the entire thing with the Shrieking Shack, you getting attacked, and the Dementors nearly sucking Harry's soul out, might never have happened. If we let Harry go about this on his own, who knows what disasters might happen because he didn't find out what Horcruxes were until it was too late? But never mind now. We'll just sit back and wait for it all to happen." She stood up and swung her bag up over her shoulder.

Ron looked up at her in surprise. "Hey, I never said I wouldn't come."

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Snape was on his way back to the dungeons after another session with the Headmaster. There was nothing new to report, really. Dumbledore had nattered on about recompense, souls, and forgiveness. Snape had listened with half an ear, if that, making noncommittal grunting sounds at appropriate intervals whilst checking the progress of the Curse. It didn't really matter anymore. What was done, was done.

He stopped short, surprised to see Draco Malfoy exiting the Slytherin common room. He'd made sure the whelp would be too occupied that evening to do any more mischief. "And exactly where do you think you're going, Mr Malfoy?" Snape asked, glowering.

"Out," Draco answered peevishly and attempted to slide past his Head of House.

Snape stepped neatly in his path and scowled down at the boy. Although it looked like Draco had put on another inch over the holidays, Snape still had a good half a head on him. "I believe I assigned you to tutor Mr Harper for his O.W.L."

"Zabini's doing it," Draco answered shortly.

Snape's scowl deepened. "I assigned you." He was having to be ever more creative in finding ways to keep Draco too occupied to make much progress on his plans to murder the Headmaster.

"You told me to see to it that Harper passes his Potions O.W.L., because his father told you to see to it. You delegated; I've delegated."

Snape looked around quickly to assure their privacy, then hissed in a low voice, "Don't play games with this, Draco. You know who Harper's father is, what position he holds. You don't simply turn over one of the Dark Lord's retainers to the likes of Zabini." Draco's mouth opened, an argument imminent, but Snape smoothly countered, "Oh, he may be adequate at Potions; better than you, I shouldn't doubt, especially given your appalling lack of application to your studies this term. But he is not someone whom his father would consider a good influence, if you get my meaning. These things should stay in the family."

Draco tossed his lank white-blond hair out of his face. "What do you think the Dark Lord would consider more important? Coaching the son of one of his lesser followers into a miserable passing mark on a meaningless test that he won't need anyway once we're in power, or completing the task which he assigned to me personally? What do you think he'll say when he asks me why I haven't done what he wanted, and I have to answer, 'Sorry, but Snape here had me doing fifth-year Potions in my spare time. I simply couldn't find the time to get around to it. Maybe next year.'"

"You will refrain from addressing me with such cheek!" Snape thundered.

"What will you do?" Draco asked with a sneer. "Give me detention? It won't change my answer. It'll just be detention that prevented me from completing my assignment, instead of tutoring. Are you literally trying to get me killed? You swore to my mother that you'd help me. Then let me get on with it!" Draco attempted to storm past Snape, but Snape reached out and grabbed him by the arm and leaned so close that their noses nearly touched.

"I swore to your mother that I would protect you, and that is exactly what I am doing! At the same time, I am trying to make sure that you have a life worth living after you complete your task. You will need friends in certain places, N.E.W.T.s... "

Draco wrenched his arm away.

"All of that doesn't matter if I don't do it! He'll kill me! You know he will!" He seemed on the verge of crying.

The apparent proximity of tears caused Snape to back off slightly. He answered in a slightly less urgent tone, "I do not know that. Your father failed to retrieve the Prophecy, and he is still among us."

"I can't take that chance. Please. Let me go." He nodded in the direction of the staircase he had been heading for.

Snape pressed his lips together. There was one more thing that Dumbledore had pressed him to ensure was done. Not that Snape believed all that nonsense about the soul magic, but at least it would stop Dumbledore from hounding him about it. "All right. Under one condition."

"What is it?"

"You remember the fund for Miss Ploppe that we discussed."

"It's already done," Draco answered quickly, eagerly even. "Disguised as an inheritance from a distant relative." He looked at Snape expectantly.

Snape exhaled through his nose. Did he expect praise? Praise for covering up what might well have been the biggest mistake of his young life? But at least it was done, whatever good it might do. "Very well then. Go." Snape inclined his head slightly to the side and stepped back so that Draco could scamper off.

Snape watched him go with a sour expression. He could follow him... but he couldn't make Draco any more suspicious. He was only in a position to help him if he remained above suspicion. From both ends.

Now in a thoroughly foul mood, Snape continued to his office. It had been a long and unpleasant day, and he thought he might have a glass of Old Ogden's.

However, rounding the corner, he saw that the day had just become considerably longer and more unpleasant. Two figures were lounging right outside his office. Granger and ... yes, it was Weasley. He considered turning on his heel right then and there, but ground his teeth instead and kept going. He would not be cowed by the likes of them! Without acknowledging the two, he opened his door and went in, letting it fall shut behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know that one of them had caught it before it fell into the latch.

"Professor!" It was Granger who spoke. He could hear the tightness in her voice that revealed this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. He headed directly for the Ogden's in the storage cupboard.

"... told you this was stupid," Weasley mumbled. Granger shushed him impatiently.

"Professor, we need to talk to you," she announced. He could practically hear the set of her jaw.

"I do not recall hearing you knock, nor inviting you to enter," he stated flatly, pouring himself a generous dose. When would she give it up? Although he had to admit he was surprised that she had confided in Weasley... and even more so that Weasley was exhibiting such self-control, knowing now what he had done to Granger.

"It's about Horcruxes," she blurted out. The following silence rang in his ears.

Horcruxes? Nothing about Halloween, then? How refreshing... A vague memory of the word 'Horcrux' floated into his mind. It was something associated with the Dark Arts, to be sure. But beyond that...? Regardless. He had less than no interest in sharing his lack of knowledge with the two Gryffindors.

"Never heard of it," he finally responded, after having taken his seat at his desk but angling the chair such that he could only see the two students out of the corner of his eye. He noted with grim satisfaction that Hermione stood well back from the desk; in fact, she seemed to be shrinking away from everything in the room, including Weasley. Interesting.

"See?" Weasley said, but Granger clicked her tongue at him.

"Horcrux," she repeated, carefully. "It could be that I'm saying it wrong."

Snape swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Most likely you are, but that does not change my answer. Now if there is nothing you have to discuss which is pertinent to this year's syllabus..." He let the dismissal dangle in the air.

But Granger stood her ground. "At least tell us if it's a potion," she insisted.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "If I might remind you, I am no longer the Potions master. Not that I would expect you to keep such piddling details straight. Go and discuss it with Slughorn."

"He says he doesn't know what it is, either."

"Then you have obviously exhausted your possibilities," Snape said, allowing his irritation to creep into his voice. "Most likely you are working on the basis of false assumptions and there is no such thing."

"There must be! Dumbledore--"

"Hermione!" Ron cut in sharply. Frankly, Snape was surprised to hear him take that tone with her.

"What?" she asked, irritated.

"You're not supposed to tell about -" Snape couldn't hear the next word or words, but he saw Weasley lean over and whisper something in Hermione's ear. She batted him away.

"I'm not telling that part! Just stand there and keep quiet, like we agreed. Do you think you can do that? I know what I'm doing."

Snape smirked inwardly at her treatment of him. Clearly, she was the one wearing the pants in that relationship.

"As I was saying," Hermione continued, "Professor Dumbledore mentioned it once. It must be terribly important. I'm fairly certain I heard it right. I think it must be a potion... or possibly something else related to the Dark Arts. I feel certain that you must know of it. And I think if you do, you owe it to me to tell me."

Snape raised his eyebrows, but hid his face by leaning over his glass. So she was playing it that way, then. If this was what she was exacting as payment, he might just be willing to give it to her... if only to get her out of his hair once and for all. And because he had nothing of consequence to share with her, the term 'Horcrux' being truly nebulous to him. "I 'owe it to you'?" he queried quietly, entering into the game.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Hermione hissed. Her fury was nearly palpable.

"You owe her one, Snape!" Ron called out, clearly unable to follow even the simplest directions. "After how you attacked her, you can do her the one favour and tell her what this 'Horcrux' thing is."

"Ron!" Hermione was beside herself. "He means in class," she explained quickly, almost plaintively. "That day when we were practicing the mind shield. That's all."

All suddenly became clear. Hermione had not in fact confessed everything to her companion. She had come here, hoping to hold something over his head in order to gain information about Horcruxes - for what purpose, he could only surmise that it had something to do with Harry. But in fact, he was the one holding all the cards at the moment. He had no information to share, and she did not wish to reveal her true reason for this feeble attempt at blackmail. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"That's all?" Ron screeched. "He should have been kicked out on his bony arse for that trick!"

"Ron!" Hermione stamped her foot; she was clearly losing control of the situation.

"Five points from Gryffindor for that remark, Weasley," Snape snarled. The boy fumed, but it had the desired effect of silencing him. For the moment.

Snape then addressed Hermione: "So. You believe that actions taken in the course of a ... how shall we say ... an object lesson ... entitle you to some favor on my part."

Hermione was clearly undergoing an internal struggle of exactly how much to own up to. Finally, she said, "I think so. It's not much for you. Just a few words."

How pathetic she was now, he thought. Begging for a scrap from his table. When by all rights - or so Dumbledore said - he was the one who should be begging from her. It was truly twisted, how these things played out. He let his eye run over her. She was thin, thinner than he had her in memory at any rate; her eyes were sunken and dark, her robes hung loose and baggy. He couldn't remember what it felt like to sink himself into that body. He hadn't even been aware of the physical sensations at the time, he didn't think. He had been concentrating too hard on all the other players, on Voldemort and Draco and the hissing masks encircling the scene, ready to jump at any sign of weakness.

But he did remember the look in her eyes, the terror, how she begged-- He cut off that line of thought. He had been unable to acquiesce then. He could now. He recognized that this moment was about more than merely the paltry snippet of information. It was about her demanding something back from him. She must think this a difficult thing for him to give, a fair trade somehow. How ironic.

"A few words, you say," he repeated. "Yet they are of such import to you."

"To you, too, or why is it such a big secret? Why won't you or Professor Slughorn tell us? Are you afraid you'll be putting a weapon into our hands?"

"If I were, it would only be because I would be trying to protect you from your own foolishness."

"You protect us? That's a laugh!" Ron simply could not keep silent.

Hermione didn't even bother shushing him, and Snape did not bother responding. The two of them held each other's gaze for a moment, and a kind of understanding passed between them.

Snape nodded slowly. "Very well. I will tell you what I know - although I warn you, you may be disappointed. In return, you will consider any debt you feel I owe you to have been repaid."

Hermione swallowed. Snape found that he was clenching his glass tensely in anticipation of her answer. Finally, she nodded, once. "Fine."

Snape leaned back. "Horcrux." He frowned and looked into his glass again. "I have heard the term - or read it, more accurately. It is magic of the Darkest Art." He looked back at Hermione. "An object. Enchanted." He shrugged, now slightly uncomfortable that he didn't have more to offer. "That is all."

Hermione looked hurt. "That's all?"

"He's lying!" Ron cried. "He's lying! He tricked us! He knows more than that!"

Hermione looked frustrated. "But that can't be all! An object? What kind of object? What does it do? Is it a weapon?"

"I warned you that you might be disappointed. I can speculate that it has something to do with control over life and death - that is the general aim of the Dark Arts. It most likely involves a draining of the life force in some fashion - blood, aging, that sort of thing, either as the end in itself, or as the means to achieve some other end. It is an ancient magic, thought of before ethics committees and human rights. It was born of a time when life was cheap, especially when it wasn't one's own." Snape grunted out an abbreviated, humorless laugh.

"So it's not a potion... you're sure?" Hermione asked.

"There may be a potion involved in its creation, or in its use. My feeling is that the main focus is more than a simple potion, however."

"Can you at least tell us where we can find out more?"

"No. I myself do not recall the specific book in which the Horcrux was mentioned, but even if I did, there won't be anything more than what I've told you; less, even, as much of what I have just said is speculation on my part."

"It wouldn't be 'Magick Most Evile', would it?"

Snape's eyes widened. "How did you -" Then he shook his head. "Never mind." Of course she would have her ways of getting her hands on anything in the Restricted Section, and then some. It wouldn't even surprise him if Dumbledore himself had found some way for the material to wander into her possession. "As I said, I do not recall the specific book. Now I think you've gotten what you came for." He flicked his fingers at the two of them and turned away again, this time closing his eyes and willing them to simply leave.

There was silence for a matter of seconds, and then Weasley whispered, "Come on, then," and there were the sounds of shuffling footsteps. A door opened and closed, and Snape felt a brief puff of cool air move across his cheek. Only then did he look around. The room was empty. He drained his glass. "Nox," he said, and sat there in the dark for a long time.

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