A Capacity for Love

Chapter 21

Everyone Has a Secret

Hermione made her way down to breakfast with butterflies in her stomach. She wasn't hungry; she wasn't actually sure why she was going at all. Now that she'd officially ended her sessions with Teresa, she was all on her own. Nothing had really changed, of course, but she felt like she was swimming far from shore, toward an unknown destination. Her only course of action at this point was to grasp onto normal routines. Going to breakfast before the first class was a normal thing to do. Therefore, here she was. She had been avoiding social situations for weeks now, slipping into the Great Hall at the tail-end of meals in order to snatch a few bites of necessary nutrients. This time, the morning meal would be in full swing. She followed a pair of Hufflepuffs into the muted clatter of spoons stirring and knives scraping against plates.

Everyone's conversation paused as she approached the Gryffindor table. She forced herself not to care and slid into the space beside Harry on the bench, greeting Ron and Lavender as well without really looking at them. Mechanically, she reached for a piece of toast and began to nibble on it, dry. Slowly, the others relaxed and resumed their chatter. She kept her eyes on her plate, and after what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, the toast was gone, as well as a second piece, and her clenched stomach began to relax. Just in time, too, as the post owls took that moment to arrive, dropping the Daily Prophet directly in front of her.

She sought out the headline with apprehension - Death Eater-related stories were hard for her to stomach, but she was pathologically unable not to read them - and was relieved to see nothing more ominous than a Quidditch referee who'd been caught taking payoffs. She was about to open the paper to check the inside stories when raised voices from the Slytherin table caught her attention. The din of conversation around the hall ebbed at the promise of an interesting confrontation.

Snape and Draco were engaged in a ridiculous tug-of-war over a small, wrapped package which Draco had apparently just received by owl. After a brief struggle, the professor won, and he turned the box over in his hands.

"I don't believe this has been checked for Dark magic yet. No WizardPost stamp..." Snape's dangerously sharp voice carried across the hall.

"Of course not, that's directly from my mother," Draco shot back impatiently, tossing his hair back out of his face.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the young man. "Private deliveries are to be brought directly to the Head of House for inspection."

"Are you accusing my mother of trafficking in Dark items?"

"One can never be too careful." Snape's thin lips pressed together in a white line as he gave Draco a hard look. "Remember the unfortunate incident with Miss Bell and the cursed necklace."

Draco glared back at Snape. "That was different. She didn't know who it was from. This is obviously from my mother." He jerked his head in the direction of the great horned owl strutting through Crabbe's kippers.

"Still. It would be possible that someone else commandeered your family's owl in order to harm you. I think you will agree there are some very sick people out there who might wish your family ill."

Draco seemed to be considering a proper reply to that, but then became aware of all the eyes on them. He flicked his hand toward the package and turned around with a scowl. "Take it, then. You'll see there's nothing Dark in there."

"You may collect it from me this evening after dinner." Snape stalked back up to the teachers' table, glaring at any students he caught looking at him. Hermione quickly returned to her toast.

"Blimey, what I wouldn't give to be there when he opens it," Ron said in an undertone so as not to attract the retreating professor's attention. "I'll bet it's something embarrassing."

"Underwear!" Seamus blurted out.

The entire Gryffindor table burst out laughing. Hermione found herself giggling as well.

+++000+++000+++

"Today, we will be discussing the Unforgivables -- specifically, the Imperius," Snape droned, staring at a spot on the back wall.

Hermione froze, recalling what had happened the last time the Imperius Curse came up in class: she ended up losing fifty House points and was sent to the Headmaster's office for insubordination. And she also recalled, vividly, the reason why she had become so agitated: Snape had used the Imperius on her on Halloween in order to rape her, and then began blithely discussing its use in class. Although, now that she thought back to it, she didn't actually remember him having lauded its use in any way. But then she'd been sent packing so quickly, she didn't really have any idea what his take was on the subject. She determined to listen carefully this time and not let herself be provoked.

"We have touched on the subject a number of times thus far," Snape continued in the same bored monotone, "but only tangentially. Open your books to page two hundred and fifty-three." He fixed Harry with a cold sneer. "We will not be interested in hearing about any incidents of precocious heroicism." Was it her imagination, or had his gaze flickered just briefly in her direction as well? "Miss Brown, if you would, please summarize the third paragraph from the top."

While Lavender frantically flipped to the right page and began to stutter out an answer, Hermione snuck a look at Harry. He was staring at the page in front of him, but she could see his nostrils flaring. She reached over under the table and gave his hand a squeeze. He started, and looked at her, surprised, and she gave him what she hoped was a sympathetic look.

"Thanks," he whispered and squeezed her hand back, before she withdrew it.

By the end of the lesson, Hermione was troubled. Not because Snape had done anything egregious; somewhat the opposite, in fact. She came away with the impression that he actually abhorred the use of the Class Three Unforgivable. He had even snapped at Malfoy when the young man suggested using the Imperius Curse in order to make someone write his homework for him, thus fulfilling both theoretical and practical aspects of the assignment.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape had said, "may I remind you once again that we are not here to learn how to cast the Imperius Curse, but rather to recognize when others are under the influence of it. We will not go so far as to discuss resisting it, as I doubt any of you" --here, he could not resist giving Harry a hard stare-- "have the fortitude of will to do so. In any event, you will not be called on either to demonstrate the Curse nor to resist it in the course of your N.E.W.T. exam."

Hermione felt Harry shift in his seat at that, but, admirably, he remained silent.

Malfoy wasn't able to contain himself as well, however, and cheekily retorted, "So you're telling me that our side has never used it?"

Hermione caught her breath. Knowing (or believing, at any rate) that both Draco and Snape were Death Eaters, the use of the phrase 'our side' was like a call for a show of colors.

Snape, however, did not take the bait, but rather answered sharply, "What other people are called on to do in their jobs, and in the course of battle or other operations, is none of your concern, Mr. Malfoy. There is a reason, however, that the Imperius is one of only three Unforgivable curses in the wizarding justice system, and rest assured that anyone - anyone - who uses it, no matter what the reason, will be called on to answer for it."

Malfoy had smoldered at this answer, and it set Hermione to wondering: had Snape also answered for his use of the Imperius on her? Not to the wizarding justice system, obviously, but maybe to Dumbledore? Had Snape been punished? A second, related thought was: maybe he hadn't taken the whole thing as lightly as she thought at first. Maybe it hadn't just been another night like any other to him.

She realized with a bolt that Harry (well, all of them, really) had badly misjudged Snape in their first year: they'd all thought that he was trying to kill Harry, when in fact he was trying (and succeeding, several times) to protect him from Professor Quirrell. Maybe she was just as guilty this year. Maybe she had misjudged Professor Snape. It was certainly easy to hate him, to see him as the villain. It was true that he had done a very bad thing ... more than one very, very bad thing. He'd had a choice, and he'd made a mistake.

But, recalling what both Snape and Dumbledore had told her, it was probable that Snape felt it was the best thing he could do in that situation. He may have even thought he was protecting her. But did he know how she'd suffered because of it? Did he realize the extent of what he had wrought?

"That was a joke, right? Tell me that was a joke." Ron galumphed along on the other side of Harry, Lavender toddling beside him. "Bloody wanker can't teach for bollocks. Too bad that Moody was a nutcase. At least he knew what he was talking about, eh?"

Harry shook his head, confused. "What are you talking about, Ron?"

"He didn't even show us the Imperius! Just a bunch of case studies. 'Acting in a strange manner', 'vacant expressions'. Pfff!" Ron scoffed.

"He didn't even give me a point for the right answer, did he, Wonnie?" Lavender whined.

"But those are the signs of being under the Imperius Curse, Ron," Harry pointed out. "It wasn't exactly a very interesting class, but I don't think he actually said anything wrong."

Or did anything wrong, Hermione added silently. Since that last time he'd sent her to the hospital wing, he'd been very correct and careful with using his wand in class. It was almost as if... he had learned from his mistakes. Hermione's ears prickled and she got a very uncomfortable feeling.

"Oh great, now you're defending him, too!" Ron threw his long arms up into the air, causing a suit of armor to sway backwards to avoid being hit. "Come on, Lav." He pulled his girlfriend with him, and the two of them disappeared down the hall.

"That was a bit of an overreaction," Harry commented mildly to Hermione.

"I guess," Hermione said, still lost in thought about Snape.

"You're not still in a twist about him and Lavender, are you?" Harry asked, obviously misinterpreting her aloof manner for annoyance at Ron.

Hermione sniffed with mild amusement. "No. No, it's something else entirely."

"What?"

"What?" Too late, she realized she'd put Harry onto a new scent. "Oh, nothing. Just... the homework. I was thinking about the homework."

"Two feet on the Imperius. You'll have no problem."

"No, but I'd better get cracking. You coming to the library?"

Harry shook his head. "Quidditch this afternoon," he said grimly. Hermione got the feeling that things weren't going so well with the team. "I'll squeeze in a foot tonight after dinner."

They parted ways on the second-floor landing, with Harry continuing up to Gryffindor Tower and Hermione turning down the hall toward the library. She considered again whether to tell him what had happened. He was reasonable, unlike certain red-heads she could mention; he would listen to her. Maybe he could even help her to decide whether she was completely off with her new assessment of Snape. She could, of course, go back to Teresa to talk about it, but she felt like that would be admitting failure, and Teresa had told her she should confide in a friend, after all. Maybe she would talk to Harry. Tonight.

+++000+++000+++

"...Apparating without a license. Although they are Ravenclaws, can't resist showing off their knowledge," Flitwick was saying, although Snape wasn't really listening. He scowled and shook his head at the plate of ginger snaps which Minerva silently pushed in his direction.

"Dear me, that is a bit of a sticky pickle, what, Filius?" Slughorn daintily brushed crumbs off his waistcoat. "Can't fault a chap for trying, though, eh?" He winked conspiratorially.

"Really, Horace!" Minerva scolded. "That's the second serious Splinching this month. It's a good thing Mister Pembroke had the presence of mind to bring the leg along to Madam Pomfrey!"

"Quite," Slughorn agreed affably, reaching for another handful of biscuits.

"Albus, I would recommend - Albus! What is it?" she asked in alarm.

The Headmaster had just winced and clutched at his left arm.

"It's nothing, nothing," Dumbledore said, waving his good arm and forcing a smile, fooling no one.

"Everyone out," Snape barked, at the Headmaster's side in one smooth motion.

"I most certainly--"

"Shall I summon Poppy?"

"Whatever is--"

The other House Heads began talking over each other in a flurry of excitement, all converging on the Headmaster, who suddenly looked very old and sunken in his chair. Snape reached for Dumbledore's left sleeve and began to pull it back to reveal the black and crackling skin, but the Headmaster slapped his good hand down onto Snape's to prevent him pulling the material back any further.

"Severus..." he said softly, looking into Snape's eyes. He didn't want any witnesses to the rest.

"Filius!" Snape said quickly. "Go to my potions cabinet and bring back the jar of ice-blue salve. It is labeled 'Number Fourteen'. The password for the office is 'antimony'. You will need to perform an unlocking charm three times."

Flitwick set off as fast as his short legs could carry him.

"Pomona, down to the infirmary. Tell Poppy to prepare a bed. If it becomes necessary..."

"Right away!" Sprout charged off before Snape had even finished talking.

"Minerva--" Snape began, but she cut him off.

"You won't be sending me away!" she huffed, glaring at Snape in a very nearly hostile manner.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "Please. Severus knows what he's doing. I trust him."

"I know a thing or two about countering Dark magic myself!"

"I'm not going to curse him, if that's what you're worried about!" Snape growled.

"Of course not!" Minerva replied, affronted.

"It will be all right," Dumbledore said soothingly. "I apologize for alarming you. It's nothing, really. Just that old injury giving me a twinge. I'd prefer if Severus took a look at it in private, though. If you don't mind."

McGonagall pressed her lips together, obviously minding very much. "Very well. But I will be waiting down with Poppy, and if you don't appear there in short order, I shall return to escort you there myself."

"Fine," Dumbledore agreed with a nod.

"Horace?" McGonagall invited him to accompany her out.

"Ah, yes," Slughorn said, having silently and with great interest followed the conversation. "I'll just check on things in Slytherin House, shall I?"

With a suspicious backward glance, McGonagall allowed Slughorn to hold the door for her as the two of them left.

"Now what is this all about?" Snape asked roughly as soon as they were alone. He shoved the heavily embroidered sleeve back and blanched. The bottom half of Dumbledore's arm was nothing more than a charred bone ending in a blackened claw. "When did this happen? When was the last treatment?" Snape tried frantically to recall.

"Now, now, Severus, it's not as bad as it looks," Dumbledore said calmly. "What I felt, though - " He winced again and his arm twitched against his side. "There!" He indicated an area of his upper arm.

Snape had him hold his sleeve all the way up against his shoulder. The blackness was literally creeping up the old man's flaccid biceps. Several thin tendrils were etched across the bluish skin, moving inexorably upward.

"Cold..." Dumbledore breathed out.

Snape looked at him sharply. The headmaster's eyes had fluttered shut. His eyelids were nearly transluscent and blue; his lips had taken on an alarming purple hue.

"It's going straight for your heart," Snape announced, surprised at how calm he sounded. He didn't feel calm at all. What to do? A Stimulans Charm? Digitalis? He'd have to send Flitwick back down when he got back with the Dark magic blocker. The thing was, he couldn't slow the curse down any further. Amputation would do more harm than good: The arm was acting as a sink, keeping the Dark magic localized. Cutting the arm off would cut the curse free, in effect, allowing it to wreak its final havoc on Dumbledore's body. But the arm was as good as amputated now; there was just nothing left, no substance for the curse to feed on.

"Albus!" Snape spoke more sharply than he intended. Dumbledore's eyes jerked open. "We're going to have to try something else," Snape said, trying to sound more assured than he actually was. He wasn't a Healer, after all.

"I trust you, Severus," Dumbledore said, never taking his eyes off of the other man's face.

Dumbledore trusted him. That was the crux, wasn't it? He trusted him, and that was what bound Snape to him. Snape felt the weight of that trust heavily.

"I will attempt a graft," Snape said, trying to dredge up his memories of long-ago read passages from Dr. Frankenstein's treatise on melding body parts. "The curse is getting restless. It needs something to work on, something to destroy."

Dumbledore smiled wanly. "Of course. A brilliant suggestion. I only wish..."

"What, Headmaster?" Snape steeled himself for the unavoidable melodramatic listing of the Headmaster's regrets and unfinished business, most of which would involve Snape needing to repent and improve himself.

"I only wish," Dumbledore continued in a weak voice, "that I had indulged more thoroughly at Christmas. The extra few pounds would have come in handy right about now."

+++000+++000+++

If Snape could have afforded it, he would have been exhausted. As it was, he awaited the - he hoped - final confrontation of the day in his office. An untouched plate of food, provided by one of Hogwarts' ever-solicitous house-elves, had been pushed to the edge of the desk. He knew that he should eat something, but quite honestly, the sight of the bloody cut of roast beef turned his stomach.

The graft had gone well, all things considering. He'd had to do it quickly, mindful of the toe-tapping and clock-watching that would be going on down in the hospital wing. The black tendrils had immediately turned back and latched on to the layer of fresh, pink skin and muscle that Snape had laid down across the ulna bone. It would buy them a bit more time, but there were only so many spare bits of flesh on the elderly headmaster's body. It was a stop-gap measure at best.

Snape had never really thought about it in such terms before, but Albus Dumbledore was old. Over a hundred and fifty years, when it came right down to it. Even for a wizard, that was a lifetime and a half. Snape couldn't conceive of a time when Dumbledore might not be around any more. He had simply always been there. And it clearly wasn't just Snape who felt that way. McGonagall, Hagrid, Riddle... Dumbledore (and his myth) had been a fixture in their lives from their earliest years, too, and they always spoke of him as they did of Hogwarts castle itself: as an icon, something akin to a force of nature. But the end of that time was rapidly approaching, one way or another. Snape was somewhat appalled to find himself regarding that prospect with regret. Quite inappropriate, considering that he himself would likely end up being the instrument of that event.

A quick double rap on the door brought him back, mercifully, to the present. He hardened his features and bade his charge enter. He was quite interested to hear what explanation Draco might offer for the contents of his mother's package.

"Mr Malfoy." He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.

Draco slunk in and hunched down. He seemed nervous.

Good, Snape thought. Maybe we can give him an ulcer while we're at it. He stood abruptly, flipping his robes out of the way, and walked over to the cabinet on the far wall, purposely not looking at Malfoy. He made a great show of perusing the shelves, taking his time, letting the boy sweat. Finally, he plucked the heavy brown bottle from its place and inspected it carefully, all the while not saying a word.

Finally, seemingly offhand, he stated, "Polyjuice Potion."

Draco cleared his throat, taking this as his cue to talk. "What about it?" he retorted belligerently. "It's not illegal. Or Dark!"

Snape raised one eyebrow and turned halfway toward Malfoy. He had expected him to say there had been a mistake. This made things more interesting. "Nor is it the sort of thing that a student at this institution should be having sent to them from home. The potential for abuse is... shall we say ... varied?"

Draco scoffed. "Afraid I'd use it to impersonate you?"

"You would be ill-advised to do so," Snape advised him. "For your own safety and sanity."

Draco's eyes widened at first, then he let out a bark of a laugh. "Right."

"Just out of curiosity, then... who were you planning on impersonating?"

"No one," Draco said sullenly. "It was just for laughs."

"This couldn't possibly have anything to do with your special assignment, could it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Draco muttered.

Snape walked over and put the bottle down gently on the desk in front of Malfoy. "Let me help you, Draco."

"I told you, it's not for that."

"Forget about the Polyjuice. The Headmaster would never be fooled."

"I said, it has nothing to do with that!" Draco was becoming agitated.

Snape leaned down close and placed his hands on either arm of the chair. He spoke quietly, but dangerously so. "Do you have any sort of plan, Draco? Even a vague semblance of a plot?"

Draco looked like he'd like nothing better than to shove Snape out of his face. "Give me my potion and let me go," he said, struggling to maintain control.

"Artifacts ... potions ... You can't get close enough to him to make any of those things work, Draco. You don't have many more chances. He's not on to you yet, but he's suspicious enough. I can get to him. I have his confidence. Just let me help you."

"It has to be--"

"Yes, yes, I realize that it has to be you," Snape said with a touch of irritation. "I'm not talking about shooting off a Killing Curse during breakfast. If you would just take me into your confidence--"

"I haven't got a plan, all right?" Draco burst out. "Nothing! Happy? You-Know-Who's going to kill me and my mother at the next summons!"

"Not if I can help it. You will not die. Do you hear me? Draco!"

The young man had buried his head in his hands. "I had an idea... but it's no good. Everything I think of, it's no good."

"What did you think of, Draco?" Snape asked, careful not to scare the boy off by appearing too eager.

"I thought of..." Draco lifted his head to look at Snape warily. "Do you remember when Umbridge had Hagrid arrested last year? There was a fight ... McGonagall was hit."

"I remember," Snape said stiffly.

"If ... if there were a fight. A battle. I could hit Dumbledore by mistake. Make it look like a mistake, anyway, in the confusion."

"I don't think that even I could convince the Headmaster to bring in a team of Aurors to take Hagrid down."

Draco looked disgusted. "That's not what I meant."

"That was sarcasm, Draco."

Draco, to his credit, did not even blink. "Right, I knew that. But what if ..." Draco's expression lightened as he warmed to his new idea. "What if Dumbledore showed up at one of our raids? You know. With all the hexes flying, he'd never notice me sneak up behind him..."

Snape sneered. "Don't flatter yourself, Draco, and never overestimate your abilities. That will get you killed. Albus Dumbledore faced the Dark Lord himself in single combat last year at the Ministry. Even if by some fluke or trick you did find yourself opposing him in such a confrontation, I daresay a sixth-year student, sneak or no, would be no match for him under battle conditions." Snape made himself sound as condescending as possible, but secretly, he feared that in the Headmaster's present weakened state, a sixth-year might well prove a match for him, especially if he were truly taken off-guard. Draco couldn't know that, though. He must continue to see Dumbledore as a formidable, impossibly superior opponent.

Draco deflated. "If you're supposed to be helping me, why don't you tell me how to do it, then?"

Snape straightened up and looked down his nose at Draco. "You know I cannot do that. Our master wants to see you prove yourself. But I want you, from now on, to come to me with any plans, any ideas, you might have, no matter how far-fetched they may seem to you, before you take any actions. I can save you needless work. Do you agree?"

"Sure," Draco said listlessly. "Can I have my Polyjuice now?"

Snape picked up the bottle, but before relinquishing it to Draco's outstretched hand, he repeated: "Promise you will come to me before trying anything else?"

"I promise," Draco said, meeting Snape's eye, but both of them knew it was a lie.

+++000+++000+++

Hermione was angry. Harry hadn't shown up in the library after dinner. He'd said he was going to come to have Hermione help him with his essay on the Imperius Curse. Not that she was particularly concerned about whether he completed his assignment or not. But she had wanted to take the opportunity to talk to him about what had happened on Halloween. She had spent an hour psyching herself up for it, then another hour getting more and more insulted at his absence, and now she was stalking through the corridors on her way back to Gryffindor Tower. She should learn never to count on anyone!

Of course, deep down, she knew she couldn't blame him; it's not like she had told him she had something important to discuss. And, in a way, she was actually relieved that he hadn't shown up. She'd practically made herself sick trying to figure out how to bring it up. She couldn't exactly just blurt out: 'Hey, Harry, by the way, Snape and Draco are Death Eaters who raped us last year...' In fact, she thought it would be better to keep names out of it entirely. Harry needed to focus on other things right now, and she wasn't looking for him to take revenge on her behalf.

She was going to tell him the gist of what had happened, break into it with the Imperius assignment by saying that she'd been put under the Imperius once, and hopefully go from there. She'd run through the possible conversation in her head countless times, going over what she thought she could safely say. She wasn't trying to protect Snape, or Draco, but she was aware that there were bigger things going on, and it was a little bit like with a Time-Turner. She didn't want to interfere with the events any more than necessary, for fear of having things turn out even worse. She was just trying to straighten up her own little corner of the world, and lately, she had been feeling that telling someone what had happened would relieve some of the pressure on her. Sharing the secret would make it a little smaller.

But it didn't look like it was going to happen tonight. She snapped the password at the Fat Lady, who swung outward with a huff, and clambered awkwardly into the common room, bumping her heavy bookbag behind her.

It was mostly quiet, with a group of students playing some game in front of the fire, and several others lounging around chatting or reading. Harry was at a table by himself, bent over a parchment.

Hermione's anger had mostly dissipated by now, and she went over to him, feeling just a bit grumpy.

"Where were you? I thought we'd work on the essay for Defense together."

Harry looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on her. "Oh, hi, Hermione." He sounded tired. "I've almost got it done. Want to take a look at it for me?" He flicked his wand at a chair, scooting it over into her knees.

"Thanks," she said with a bit of a glare as she sat down. He shoved the essay over to her.

She gave it a cursory glance but was unable to concentrate on it; her heart was beating harder as she tried to decide whether to try and tell Harry now. But it would be awkward; aside from the fact that someone might overhear, she was afraid that she might actually cry, and she definitely didn't want to do that in front of half of Gryffindor Tower. She forced herself to at least check Harry's spelling. After making a couple of corrections, she flipped the parchment back toward him.

"Looks fine," she said with a tight smile.

"Cheers," he said and leaned back, obviously relieved. "I'm knackered. Ginny and Demelza came up with a new play. It's pretty cool, actually. See, first one of them flies--"

Hermione held up her hand. "Quidditch, Harry. You're trying to tell me about Quidditch." They had an agreement that he wouldn't try to explain Quidditch to her, and she in return wouldn't try to explain Ancient Runes to him, no matter how exciting they might be.

"Ah, right," he said with a sheepish look. "Forgot. But I really think it'll give us an edge on Hufflepuff." He looked like he was about to say more, but Hermione stood up.

"That's great, Harry. Really. I'm going to turn in now. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure. Yeah, me, too." He began to gather together his things.

Hermione was just about to leave when something occured to her that she'd been wanting to ask. "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever find out where Draco Malfoy was going when he's not on the Map?"

Harry's expression darkened. "No. But I'm sure he's up to no good. Why?" he asked sharply. "Did you hear something?"

Hermione frowned. Now wasn't the time. "No. No, I didn't hear anything." That was the truth, at least. "If I do, you'll be the first to know. Good night."

Tomorrow, she thought on her way up to her room. Tomorrow, she would definitely tell him.

+++000+++000+++