Survivors

CHAPTER 8

The Play

By the time the final curtain went down, Severus Snape was in a towering rage. He had come to see the production, he had to admit, out of curiosity, but as the evening wore on, he had become more and more uneasy about the way the play was developing, until the climactic scene had sealed his opinion once and for all that Hermione Granger had staged the production solely in order to humiliate and torment him. Well, perhaps not solely, but she had certainly gotten in her digs wherever she could.

The story had centered on the historical events of the trial of the Pendle witches. He couldn't find fault with the plot, which had undoubtedly been historically accurate, but it was clear that Hermione had used the bare facts to explore certain ethical issues, most of which hit uncomfortably close to home for Severus's taste.

It wasn't even as if the barbs (which he was sure had been placed there to wound him) had been veiled, visible only to him; no, anyone who had even a vague acquaintance with Severus's background could hardly have failed to notice them, to notice Hermione's condemnation of his entire existence.

He obviously could not take this lying down. Once the lights came up, before the last of the raucous applause had even died out, Snape was hastening to the front of the room, a black thundercloud intent on raining on a certain Professor for the History of Magic's parade.

He couldn't see Hermione at first, as the cast members were swarming out from the backstage area like so many buzzing flies. He swatted them out of the way, seeking the frizzy head he wanted, right now, to bite off. Then he saw her, chattering excitedly with a couple of attractive sixth-year boys who were a good half-foot taller than her. They were all three of them obviously very pleased. He felt a renewed surge of outrage and it was all he could do to avoid pulling his wand as he reached them, though whether to use it on her or on the boys was unclear even to him.

"Professor," he interrupted, fighting to keep his voice low. He didn't want to lose control, lose face, in front of the students again. "Congratulations on a most successful production."

Hermione looked up at him, the look of delight on her face dying when she saw the hard lines, the displeasure apparent on his. "Thank you, Professor," she said politely, unsure what to make of the disconsonance between his words and his appearance.

"If I might have a word with you?" Not waiting for a response, he took her elbow between his fingers and steered her back behind the stage. A group of girls was there, squealing and congratulating each other, but they, too, became somber and wary when they saw the two professors approaching, especially given the ferocity of the one's expression.

"Out!" Snape glowered at them.

They scurried away, whispering among themselves and casting nervous looks back behind them.

"What is it?" Hermione asked with a frown, once they were alone.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he snarled, maintaining a firm hold on her arm.

"What?" she asked, confused. "I don't understand." She tried to twist her arm out of his grip, but he would have none of that.

"You think you're quite clever, don't you? Is this your way of getting back at me?" He pulled her arm closer, until they were standing toe to toe, and leaned over her in what was either a very intimate, or very threatening, gesture.

Hermione shook her head. "Getting back at you? I don't--"

"Don't play that with me!" he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Acting the ignorant doesn't suit you."

"Professor-- Severus..." she whispered hoarsely. "Please, let go, you're scaring me." She felt in her robe for the security of the twelve-inch length of vine wood encasing a dragon heartstring.

Snape took note of her widened eyes and it filled him with self-revulsion. "What else do you expect?" he said, his mouth twisting in an ugly grimace. "I am a Death Eater, after all. Scaring Muggles and Mudbloods is my raison d'etre."

"You're--" Hermione shook her head and swallowed, her throat dry. "You're not a Death Eater. Not in your heart."

"How dare you have the temerity to tell me what is in my heart," he roared. He, whose heart was blacker than pitch.

"But I didn't-- Tell me what this is about, please!" she pleaded, her hand clutched tightly around her wand. She didn't truly think that he would do anything to her here, with the low roar of hundreds of voices just around the corner, but she had rarely seen him in such a temper, and it did scare her.

"This is about you raking me over the coals before the entire school!" he thundered. "This is about you sitting in judgment over me, you and your high-minded friends!" Not that her portrayal of his misdeeds had been any less accurate than that of the witch trials.

Hermione could feel the heat streaming out of his body and the air coming out of his nose in sharp blasts, could see the ugly red blotches on his face and the clear spittle at the corners of his mouth, could smell the dungeon mustiness of his clothing and pungent musk of his anger. His body tensed, and she was about to flinch away from the blow she instinctively felt was coming when a woman's voice called, "Hey, Herm--"

Angelina stopped short and took in the sight of Severus Snape standing threateningly over Hermione, grasping her arm in what looked like a very uncomfortable way, and Hermione cringing away with a frightened look on her face. She didn't need to see any more.

"Get your filthy paws off her!" she screamed, pulling her wand as she advanced on the pair.

Snape let go of Hermione's arm delicately, his hand still hovering at her elbow. He immediately put on a blank face. "Professor Johnson."

"What the hell is going on here?" Angelina demanded, shoving her wand arm in between Snape and Hermione, who appeared to be dazed.

"I was simply congratulating Professor Granger on her achievement tonight," Snape explained calmly. "It seems that she has...succeeded in her purpose." He gave Hermione a hard look.

Angelina glared at Snape and elbowed her way in between him and Hermione. She grabbed Hermione's shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Are you all right?" she asked, her face tight with concern.

"I-- Yes." Hermione nodded, glancing at Snape with a confused and wounded expression.

"Hermione, look at me," Angelina insisted, having noticed the way Hermione had immediately sought Snape's eye.

Hermione looked back at the other witch and said, firmly, "I'm fine."

"Right, I'm getting you out of here," Angelina determined. She put her arm around Hermione's shoulders and led her away from Snape, who stood rooted to the spot. "And if I find out you've done anything-- anything to her, you'll be on the next broom to Azkaban, and it'll be mine!" she yelled over her shoulder.

"What was that all about?" Angelina asked Hermione, once they were out of ear shot of Snape.

"I have absolutely no idea," Hermione admitted, still feeling a little shaky in the knees. "He said he wanted to talk to me, and then he dragged me back there and started ranting about me getting back at him and him being a Death Eater--"

"What?" Angelina stopped and stared at Hermione, aghast. "I knew there was something going on with that man. We're going to see McGonagall."

xOxOxOx

"All right, Angelina, what is this all about?" Minerva McGonagall had taken her seat in the George I wing chair after making sure that all of the assembled company were settled before the grate in her office with a cup of tea. In addition to Angelina and Hermione, she had asked Remus Lupin to join them.

"This is ridiculous, Minerva," Hermione blurted out. "Professor Snape hasn't done anything to me."

"How do you know?" Angelina demanded. "Maybe he Imperiused you or something!"

"Oh, please!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

Remus reached out and put a calming hand on her arm. "Just bear with us a moment, Hermione. I'm sure this will all turn out to be a misunderstanding, but it's best to be sure."

Minerva nodded to Angelina to continue, and she began, "Well, it started back on the day of the first Hogsmeade outing, when Hermione and I were supervising along with Snape."

"Professor Snape, please, Angelina," Minerva reminded her. "We shall at least do the man the courtesy of referring to him by his proper title."

"Yes, okay, Professor Snape," Angelina muttered. "Anyway, Hermione went down to get him, because he was late, and when she came back, she was...I don't know, kind of weird." Angelina gave Hermione a furtive glance.

"Weird?" The Headmistress raised her eyebrows. "Could you be more precise?"

Angelina cleared her throat and furrowed her brow, trying to remember. "It was like...like she was all out of breath, kind of excited."

"That's because I'd just run up from the dungeons!" Hermione cried.

"I made some joke that maybe she and Snape had... you know..." She waved her hand in the air meaningfully and looked around to make sure everyone was with her. "And she said they'd had some sort of argument."

"It wasn't an argument," Hermione rushed to explain, "it was more like a...disagreement."

"Yes?" Minerva prompted, as Hermione had fallen silent.

Hermione sighed. She really didn't want to blacken Snape's name. "Words were exchanged, he somehow managed to make me look like a fool, by that time we were late and had to run upstairs. No Imperius. Or anything else!" she added, glaring at Angelina, who shrugged. Remus smiled to himself.

"Well, that seems innocent enough," Minerva agreed. "And completely in character for Severus."

"Wait, that's not all," Angelina said. "Then there was Halloween. I was late--sorry--" She ducked her head at Minerva, who gave her a stern look. "--and I came across Hermione in the staff corridor leading into the Great Hall. She was weird again. She hadn't changed into her costume or anything, her clothes were all rumpled, and she was...kind of spaced out this time. Said something about Snape--Professor Snape--but this time she didn't seem totally clear on what had happened."

Minerva turned to Hermione. "Hermione, do you care to explain your version of that evening?"

"All right, remember that was the night when Professor Snape got so angry at me during dinner, and left?" She looked to Remus for backup, and he nodded. "Right, so I went down to try and talk to him, but I couldn't find his quarters, so I waited for him."

"The ashwinder." Remus chuckled softly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said.

Remus cleared his throat. "The ashwinder trophy," he repeated. "There is a stuffed ashwinder mounted on the wall about halfway between the Potions classroom and the Slytherin common room. The snake is the guardian to Severus's private rooms."

Of course, Hermione thought, the ashwinder. Not only was the snake a symbol for the House of Slytherin, but ashwinder eggs were potent potion ingredients. How appropriate.

"Yes, well I didn't know that," Hermione went on, "so I stood in the hall and waited. I knew I was going to be late, but it was more important to me to clear things between me and Professor Snape."

"Why?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Because I don't like how everyone treats him," Hermione said defiantly, glancing at Angelina, who shook her head and stared into the fire. "I keep hearing students, and professors, calling him names and talking about him like he's still a Death Eater, like he's some terrible monster, and that's wrong. I was just trying to be nice to him, and he thought I was baiting him, because he's never had anyone be nice to him before. I just wanted to explain to him, and show him that not everyone thought he was so terrible."

Minerva sighed. "Hermione, your intentions are admirable, and I must say that to a great extent I agree with you, especially where the name-calling is concerned." Here she gave Angelina another warning look, but the Quidditch instructor was still staring petulantly at the fire. "You are not the first one to attempt to befriend Severus. I myself have made countless attempts to engage him in conversation and to show interest in his work, as have other staff members, but our combined efforts have been fruitless. I am certain Remus can tell a similar tale." She looked at the Head of Gryffindor House over the top of her glasses, the flickering light from the fire in the grate reflected in her eyes.

Remus cleared his throat again, and as he spoke, he, too, stared into the fire. "I've said it before: I believe that Severus has demons within him that he has fought long and hard to control. I'm afraid that he sees any attempts to get close to him as meddling in his life, stirring up the spirits he has kept subdued for so long." He looked over at Hermione and gave her a small, apologetic smile.

Angelina banged her fist on the arm of her chair and rounded on Hermione. "But that doesn't explain why you were disoriented when I found you!"

"Disoriented?" Hermione shook her head. "I knew exactly where I was."

"What about your clothes? Your appearance?" she exclaimed. "You told me Snape had done something, but you weren't sure what! Now if that isn't the Imperius!"

"When Severus finally came out of his room," Hermione continued with her narrative, unperturbed, "it was nearly time for the party to start, and he wasn't interested in listening to what I had to say."

Angelina harrumphed.

"But I followed him upstairs and tried to talk to him while we were walking. Finally, in the staff corridor, he stopped and somehow, I don't remember exactly what he said, turned everything around to make it look like I'd done something wrong and I had to apologize to him." She looked at Minerva helplessly. "I always end up talking myself into a corner with him."

"I know just the feeling," Minerva consoled her with a wry smile.

"So when Angelina found me, I guess I was just trying to puzzle out where I'd gone wrong. I was out of breath and my clothes were rumpled because I'd been running up the stairs again. Nothing else happened!" She glared at Angelina.

"And tonight?" Angelina countered. "What about tonight, huh? That didn't look like he was just talking you into a corner! And what about the part about him being a Death Eater?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "It was a little unnerving." She turned to Remus. "He was really, really upset about something. He kept saying I had insulted him, embarrassed him in front of the whole school. And he did grab my arm, really hard. I don't think I've ever seen him that angry."

"He hurt you?" Remus asked quickly.

"I--" Hermione instinctively felt her arm where Severus had held on to her. It wasn't sore; he hadn't actually bruised her, but she could still feel the ghost of the steely fingers clasped around her bone. "No, he scared me more than anything else."

"Did he threaten you in any way?" Minerva asked, her tone suddenly deadly serious.

"No..." Hermione hesitated. "I mean, he did say something about being a Death Eater and hurting Muggles and..." She swallowed, disliking using the hateful term that he had employed. "And... Muggle-borns."

"Only that's not the word he used, is it?" Angelina pressed her.

"No," Hermione said in a small voice, looking at her hands.

Remus hissed and Minerva pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"But I don't think he meant it as a threat," Hermione rushed to defend him. "I think it had something to do with why he was so upset."

"And you have no idea what it was?" Minerva asked in a tone that suggested that Hermione was trying to hide something from them.

"Really, no!" Hermione insisted. "I haven't even talked to him in a couple of weeks. Other than just hello at meals, I mean, and you and Remus do that, too, have for years. I can't believe he's suddenly flipping out over that."

"Nor do I," Minerva agreed, her brow furrowed. "But was there anything else? Have you made any further attempts to...be nice to him?"

"I haven't had time," Hermione said, "what with the play..." Her voice trailed off.

Remus noticed that Hermione had become pensive. "Have you thought of something?" he prompted.

"Oh, but that was a couple of weeks ago," Hermione said dismissively. She told them about the incident with the detention. "And in the end, I was the one who looked foolish, didn't I?" she finished the tale by saying. "I don't think that's what he was on about tonight."

"You actually washed his socks?" Angelina said, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Oh come on." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not like they were poisonous. They didn't even smell."

Angelina shuddered. "I would have walked out at that, deal or no deal."

"You know," Remus said thoughtfully, "I'm not so sure that that might not have been part of it. I don't believe that, to the students anyway, you did look so much like a fool. You were certainly the more sympathetic figure to them from the start, seeing as how you offered to help them with their assignment, and Severus delegating an onerous task to you, which you submitted to on the basis of a code of honour, would quite probably have served to increase your standing in their eyes and to lessen his. He will certainly have realized this. He isn't stupid."

"But I was on his side," Hermione argued. "I told them that he was right and I was wrong, and I didn't help them."

"You may have seen it that way," Remus said kindly, "but I am quite certain that neither the students nor Severus did. To them, you were a martyr for their cause, and to him, a self-righteous Gryffindor who was trying to show him up, although he would probably employ more colourful words."

"I agree," Minerva concurred. "But why he waited until tonight to confront her..."

There was silence for a moment, then Remus said, as if in wonderment, "The play's the thing wherein to catch the conscience of the king."

Minerva looked at him sharply. "The play--?"

Remus nodded. "The play." He turned to Hermione. "It was the play."

"But he didn't have anything to do with the play," Hermione protested.

"No, but the play had something to do with him," Remus said quietly.

"No it didn't, unless he's over three hundred years old..." A strange feeling overcame Hermione. "He isn't is he?" she asked in an incredulous whisper.

"No, he most certainly is not," Minerva snapped. "Don't be daft, Remus, how could that play tonight have provoked such a reaction from him?"

"Philomena's trial, first of all," Remus explained. "She was innocent, and had to stand trial for something that everyone believed her guilty of. Just like Severus."

"Oh, come now," Minerva scoffed. "That is pretty far-fetched."

"Yes, why would that have made him angry?" Hermione puzzled. "If he did even see it as an event from his own life, the point was that Philomena, and he, were innocent."

"Maybe, maybe not." Remus shrugged. "It was perhaps enough that he saw his past being dredged up again. It seems that Hermione may unwittingly have set something off in Severus during that detention. Even if completely unintentionally," he assured Hermione, who had opened her mouth to protest once again. "Perhaps he felt that, in her eyes, he had deeply injured her pride or her standing before the students. Imagine how he would have felt to do what you did in front of a roomful of students."

Hermione could just imagine the acute embarrassment he would have felt, and nodded. She, on the other hand, hadn't been embarrassed at all. Not about washing the socks, anyway. She had been somewhat ashamed of having carried out the argument in front of the students, however.

"So maybe that's what he meant about me getting back at him?" she ventured.

"Possibly," Remus mused. "But I think the real crisis for him came at the end, during Maggie's monologue."

"Yes," Minerva said slowly, "I believe I am beginning to see what you mean."

"As a witch, Maggie had it in her power to help the Muggles like Philomena who were being falsely accused of witchcraft. Yet she couldn't do anything without risking exposing herself."

"Or quite possibly the entire wizarding community," Minerva added. "This was before the Obliviate spell was discovered, so everyone had to be extremely careful."

"So she was guilt-racked, having to stand by and watch innocent people being put to death," Remus continued.

"And you think that's how Severus felt during his time as a Death Eater?" Hermione asked, finding herself saddened at the thought.

"I would say so," Remus assented. "And, I would say, he felt that you--" He looked at Hermione somberly. "--were condemning him for not having done anything."

"But she had to, he had to!" Hermione insisted. "They didn't have a choice! There was no condemnation, in fact the rest of the witches and wizards had to restrain her from acting! It was clear that she wanted to help!"

"There is always a choice," Remus said softly, catching Hermione's eye. "And you portrayed Maggie as feeling culpable in her own eyes, and perhaps in the eyes of the Muggles, even if she was not to her fellow witches and wizards. I think that is what was stirred in Severus: his own feeling of culpability, the consequences of the choices he made."

"But-- So you're saying that Severus thought I was pointing out to the entire school that he stood by and watched the Death Eaters do terrible things, as revenge for him humiliating me in front of the students during detention?" Hermione summarized. The whole thing was sick and at the same time utterly laughable.

Remus shrugged. "Only he can answer that, and I don't think he will."

Everyone was silent for a minute, digesting the information that had been shared. Finally, Minerva stirred. "Well, I think it is clear that Hermione has not been placed under the Imperius curse. Although I do feel that Severus has severely tested the limits of decency and propriety. I shall have a word with him tomorrow."

"Oh please, don't do that," Hermione pleaded. "It will only embarrass him more!"

Angelina snorted. "Hermione, when are you going to get it through your head that he can't go around treating people like that! Someone has to stop him!"

"If the Headmistress hasn't been able to stop him by now, I don't think her talking to him again will do any good," Hermione shot back. Then, realizing what she had just said, she cringed and said meekly, "Sorry, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared, indicating that she was indignant over the insubordination. She seemed on the verge of a sharp reply, but then reconsidered and sighed. "I'm afraid you are probably right, Hermione, but I don't know what else to do. I cannot let this behaviour continue. I do not wish Severus any ill, but he is making the situation here untenable for all of us."

"Let me try talking to him again," Hermione pleaded. She was worried now that McGonagall was thinking of terminating Snape's contract.

"Yeah, that's worked really well up to now," Angelina sneered. "If the Headmistress's authority doesn't impress him, how do you think you're going to?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted miserably. "I just--I don't want him to have any unpleasant consequences because of me."

"It is not because of you, Hermione, it is entirely his own doing. I will be speaking to him tomorrow," Professor McGonagall stated in a voice that brooked no argument. "It is late. I would suggest that we all retire for the night and see what the morning brings." She stood, indicating that the audience was at an end.

The three Gryffindors stood as well. Angelina tossed a gruff "Good night" into the round and stomped out. Minerva walked the other two to the door.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Severus, Hermione," she said, in an attempt to be consoling. "He's a resourceful man. He's been able to fend for himself for a long time now."

Hermione shook her head. "Please, Minerva, don't fire him."

"I admit the thought had crossed my mind, but I think we shall wait and see what the morrow brings," Minerva said. "Now, good night."

Remus and Hermione descended the spiral staircase and started toward Gryffindor Tower, where both of them had their rooms. "Would you like to come up? For a tea or something?" Remus offered. "I know it's late, but...you look like you're still all wound up."

Hermione smiled kindly at her friend. "Thanks, Remus. Another time?" She felt bad turning him down; she knew how much he liked to have her to himself. She didn't think that he fancied her, exactly, but they did have a special kind of friendship, one that she couldn't have with anyone else. He was a man, yes, and they weren't shy about touching each other; Remus often laid his head in Hermione's lap as they read in his room on Sunday afternoons; she gladly snuggled up to him for warmth when they were watching a Quidditch match (she attended mostly out of loyalty to Angelina and the Gryffindors; she had never truly gotten bitten by the Quidditch bug herself). But it was a safe kind of relationship to Hermione, one that would never be fraught by the complications of sexual attraction. In her mind, it was pretty much as if Remus were homosexual. Due to their age difference, his lycanthropy, the fact that he still seemed to be mourning Tonks, and the fact that they had known each other for this long and there had never been a sexually charged moment between them, Hermione assumed that his feelings were the same as hers, and that was a comfortable way to be.

But right now, tonight, she had something to do that she felt shy telling Remus about. For some reason, she didn't think he would take well to the fact that she was going to go down to the dungeons and try to talk to Snape again. She had to talk to him before the Headmistress did.

Remus walked Hermione to her door, and she pretended to go in, watching him walk around the corner with his slow, loping gait, then hastily shut and locked her door again and ran quietly back downstairs. As a professor, she didn't need to worry about being out after curfew, but it still made her jumpy to be wandering the deserted halls.

The ashwinder. The passage down to the dungeon was dark and murky, the magical torches having been dimmed for the night. Hermione felt a chill emanating from the stones on all sides. It was December now, and the halls were cold. She wished she'd thought to grab her winter cloak, but hopefully she wouldn't be hanging around out here for that long. She passed the Potions classroom and then slowed her pace, scanning the walls for a snake. There it was. A grey serpent curled up into a spiral S, mounted on a wooden plaque, in her mouth a dusty red egg. Hermione touched the egg tentatively, the ran her fingers over the dry, brittle scales. She didn't see how to activate it. Maybe it was waiting for a password, which of course she did not have.

"Severus?" she said clearly. "Severus, it's Hermione. I need to talk to you." She waited a moment. The ashwinder stared at her with dead eyes. The silence pressed on her ears. It became clear that she was going to have about as much luck with this approach as she had had on Hallowe'en. At least she knew now where the entrance to his quarters was, so he couldn't sneak out or sneak up on her. She consulted her timepiece. It was just past ten o'clock. He probably wasn't asleep yet; he was obviously just avoiding her. But this time it was important. She knocked at the wall and called his name again, then leaned back against the opposite wall to wait.

xOxOxOx

Snape had retreated to his room as soon as possible following his confrontation with Hermione, fleeing the excited swirl of activity and plans for after-parties. None of that concerned him. They were all relieved, even the Slytherins, when they saw him leaving. The first thing he had done was to sweep all the parchments, books, quills, and ink bottles from the table, sending them flying across the room. Then he had braced his arms against the table, head down, breathing hard, seeing nothing but red.

Eyes closed. Black. It does not concern me. Nothing. Those actions are not my actions. Blank. I am not that. Empty. I am that.

The floor was still littered and stained. The house-elves would take care of it tomorrow, when he wasn't there.

When I'm not here... What a temptingly eternal ring that phrase has...

He was sitting in the camelback leather arm chair, staring into the fire, a glass of now-lukewarm Rooiboos tea hanging by the tips of his fingers. He never drank alcohol; in his former life as a Death Eater, when a Summons from the Dark Lord could have come at any time, he couldn't afford a clouded mind, not for a second. And old habits were hard to break. Very hard.

If Johnson hadn't shown up when she did... Merlin only knows what I would have done to Granger, but it wouldn't have been pleasant...for either of us. Why does she have to keep pursuing me? Oh I know what she's doing, I know all too well, insufferable do-gooder that she is. She's trying to show what a big person she is, how she can even be friendly with the fiendish Severus Snape.

Snape's head snapped toward the door. Someone was there.... Her. He slowly turned back to the fire.

xOxOxOx

A cat meowed. Plaintively. Insistently. Crookshanks? Do you need to be fed? Hermione felt distinctly cold and uncomfortable. Was there a window open somewhere? Wait--Again the meow. Intense. Demanding. That wasn't Crookshanks. That was--

"What is it, my pet?"

Hermione forced one eye open. A bloodshot, yellow-whited eye was staring at her. A scream escaped her, and she grabbed for her wand.

The eye retreated, allowing Hermione to see the face it belonged to. It was a leathery, deeply-lined face, hung about with stringy grey hair. And it was scowling. Filch. Mrs. Norris was rubbing herself against his shins, obviously pleased with her quarry.

"Filch!" Hermione exclaimed, scrambling to stand. She was sitting on the floor in the dungeon corridor opposite the ashwinder trophy. She must have fallen asleep.

Argus Filch squinted and peered at her, as if not sure that she was who she seemed to be. "Professor Granger," he finally stated in his raspy voice, and it might have been that he was disappointed.

Hermione's heart was beating wildly, both from the shock of being awoken and from the vague feeling that she had been caught doing something she oughtn't to have been doing.

"Erm...I was...waiting to see Professor Snape," she quickly explained before she realized that neither had Filch asked for an explanation, nor was she, as a professor, beholden to give him one.

"Snape, eh?" he echoed, searching her up and down.

Hermione drew her robes more firmly about her and stood up straight. "Yes," she said, looking him in the eye. Her feet were numb from the cold, and her fingers stiff on her wand.

"At this hour?" He seemed skeptical.

"I fell asleep," she stated with as much dignity as she could muster, trying to suppress her shiver reflex.

"You had a bit of a run-in with him earlier, didn't ye?" He looked very suspicious. He clearly had an ear to the ground for everything that went on around Hogwarts, and Hermione knew where his loyalties lay...and they weren't with Gryffindor. She was, quite frankly, insulted by his attitude, and was about to take the caretaker to task for questioning a professor's intentions when an idea presented itself to her.

"I don't know that it's any of your business," she said huffily, hoping that the fact that she had to clench her teeth together to prevent them from chattering lent her a stern air. "I am a professor now, Filch, and if I wish to teach another professor a lesson for his own good, I can bloody well do so without your permission!" She glared at him.

Filch was obviously having a hard time swallowing the fact that he was supposed to kowtow to this witch, whom he clearly still viewed as a student, magisterial title notwithstanding. Hermione could tell, though, that he was about to come down on the side of capitulation, and hastened to add, "It's about time someone took Snape and the entire Slytherin House down a few notches. I think they're getting too full of themselves." She hoped against hope that Snape wasn't able to hear her; otherwise she would be ruining everything before she even got a chance to talk to him, but it was the only way she could think of to--

"Is that right?" Filch was saying, a nasty glint in his eye. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like he had bitten. "I wonder what Professor Snape would say if he knew you were skulking about here, on Slytherin territory, in the wee hours of the morning?"

"I don't really know, and I don't really care." Hermione sniffed disdainfully. Actually, she sniffed because her nose was running, but she tried to turn it into a disdainful sneer.

"How about we...see!" Quicker than Hermione would have thought it possible for the Squib to move, Filch pressed on the red orb in the ashwinder's mouth and called, "Professor! Professor! You'd better come out here!" He hadn't taken his eye off Hermione for a moment, clearly wary of the wand which she held in her fist. Now they both waited, Filch eyeing Hermione with a look that was both greedy and triumphant, and Hermione silently pleading that this entire scheme wouldn't backfire. She had never been very good at schemes.

After a very few moments, the wall with the stuffed snake swung inwards and Snape appeared in the opening, his eyes flashing. He was wearing a black dressing gown, belted at the waist, and did not appear to have been just woken up. "What is it, Filch--" His gaze immediately lighted on Hermione, and the thought came to her that this perhaps had not been such a good idea after all. He did not look pleased. She feared that he had heard their entire exchange.

Filch, on the other hand, looked to be beside himself with glee. "I found Professor Granger lounging around here in the Slytherin corridor with no clear purpose. I thought you might be interested in finding out what she was up to." He looked at Snape the way a dog might look at its master after retrieving a stick.

"Did you." Snape sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "And why should I be interested in how Professor Granger spends her nights?" He had kept his gaze fixed steadily on Hermione, and she found that she had to look away under the intensity of his scrutiny. She suddenly worried whether he had been doing Legilimency on her and shivered.

"I don't know." Filch shrugged uncertainly. "It just seemed...suspicious."

"Indeed." He narrowed his eyes, seeming to watch Hermione more closely. She shivered again and clenched her wand hard to try and get her cold muscles under control. "Tell me, Professor Granger. Have you been standing out here all night?"

"No." That was truthful enough, as she hadn't been standing. She wasn't about to tell him she'd been sleeping on the floor. How pathetic was she?

"No," he echoed. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he said, "Thank you, Filch. You have been most helpful."

To one of us, anyway. I wonder what she told him...

Filch glanced uneasily between Hermione and Snape. He had apparently been hoping that Snape would give Hermione a dressing-down in front of him, and he was disappointed. "Then, I'll...bid you a good night, Professors." He bobbed his head toward Snape and backed away down the hall, like a servant leaving the presence of royalty.

Hermione waited until Filch was gone, then said, "I wanted to talk to you."

"Clearly," Snape replied coldly. "You have obviously learned to manipulate people as well as words."

"I didn't manipulate any words!" Hermione insisted, leaving the part about manipulating people aside for the moment. "I know what you were--"

"Professor, I really do not want to stand here all night," Snape said curtly.

"No, I understand, but if I could just--" Hermione began, desperate to make him listen.

Snape withdrew from the doorway into the shadows of his room, and Hermione was debating whether to throw herself at the opening before it closed, when his silky voice said, "Aren't you going to come in?"

Snape stood back from the door to allow Hermione to enter. Her first impression was that the room smelled of leather and ancient parchment. Maybe something fermented, or acidic, as well. The only source of light was the low fire glowing in the grate, but by it she could see the rather Spartan furnishings: A large wooden table, empty, with a single chair standing askew at it, an armchair near the fire, bookcases and cabinets around the walls, brimming with books, parchments, folders, codices. Bare stone floor and walls. The floor, littered with papers and books scattered helter-skelter (What had happened here? Hermione wondered). A small window, currently covered with a dark red drape. A narrow wooden door in the far corner stood ajar and probably led to his bedchamber. Clearly, Snape did not entertain often. The air was warm enough, but Hermione could not help shivering again.

"Well, Professor," he said, closing the wall with the rather ominous sound of stone grating against stone. "I wonder why you are here. I wonder indeed. Could it be that you are interested in continuing our conversation from earlier?" His voice was dangerously low.

Hermione turned to face Snape. She couldn't read his expression, his face obscured both by flickering shadow and by the dark strands of hair hanging down into it. She swallowed. "Yes, that's exactly why I'm here."

"Yes," Snape hissed and walked past her, picking his way carefully among the debris, to stand by the fire with his back to her. He was silent for a moment, and Hermione was about to say something when his voice came again: "You have put yourself in a very dangerous situation, you realize." His words were slow, guarded. "You, a Mudblood, alone, in a room with a known Death Eater." He turned to face her, his hands behind his back, but now she could not see his face at all, as his back was to the fire. "The doors locked. Warded. No one would hear you. No Gryffindors to save you. No Johnson. No Lupin."

He's trying to scare you. He's lashing out at you because he thinks you tried to hurt him. He wouldn't really hurt you... Hermione tried to convince herself.

"There are no more Death Eaters," she said in as confident a voice as she could manage. "That organization has been destroyed."

"But its spirit lives on...in some."

"Severus, I know that you were, are, a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix." She moved closer to the fire, avoiding stepping on the precious parchments, trying to get at an angle where she could see his expression, and stopped on the other side of the arm chair from him.

"That organization, too, has fallen by the way," Snape muttered bitterly.

"No, it hasn't!" Hermione countered fiercely. "Just because there's no threat right now, all of us would be ready to re-assemble in an instant, if needed!"

" 'All of us'," he sneered, and Hermione could see how his lip curled in disdain. "I do not recall you ever having been inducted into the Order."

After all she had done! Fighting side-by-side with them, helping Harry find the Horcruxes. If it hadn't been for her, she thought indignantly...But that was an argument for another time. "I would be a part of it now!" she cried. "And so would you!"

"You seem to know a great deal about the leanings of my heart. I do not think you have ever truly considered what it meant, what it means, to be a Death Eater. Or, perhaps you have. Perhaps that is why you thought it so important to expose my guilt to the student body tonight." His voice, until now low and controlled, was starting to increase in volume and intensity, and his black eyes glittered with the embers of that same anger she had experienced earlier.

"You're wrong!" Hermione cried, her hands balled into fists at her side. "I never wanted to expose anything! Whatever you read into it, is only your interpretation! Nobody else saw it that way! But to set the record straight, I don't hold you responsible for anything that Voldemort and his cronies did! I know you only did what you had to, that you didn't have any choice!" She was shouting at him now, desperate that he understand.

"Every moment is a choice!" he snapped, his voice rough. "What do you think I did, just stood by and watched, wringing my hands, like your poor Maggie?" He reached across the chair and grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Do you need a demonstration in order to make you understand?"

In a flash of movement, Hermione perceived that Snape had his wand in his other hand and was raising it. Instinctively, she raised her own wand and started to shout the Protection Charm, but before she could do so, a blast of force hit her like a giant fist directing a blow to her wand arm. Her wand flew out of her hand and she herself was thrown back and off-balance, causing her to sit down hard on the floor, skidding backwards on the papers.

"Accio wand!" Snape commanded, and Hermione's wand flew to his outstretched hand.

She scrambled away over the cold stones, heedless now of ripping and crushing the books under her, seeking cover under the table, desperately trying to come up with a plan to get out, to get help. After a moment, however, she realized that he wasn't pursuing her. Everything was quiet. All she could hear was the sound of her own ragged breathing. What had he hit her with? She hadn't even heard an incantation. She peered out cautiously from under the table. Snape was leaning over the chair by the fire, his head bowed.

"You can come out, Professor," he said after a moment, and his voice sounded strangely flat. "I won't attack you." He tossed her wand onto the floor, and it clattered against the stones and rolled in her direction. She reached out and furtively grabbed it, then slowly emerged from under the table.

"Now get out," he muttered, not raising his head.

Hermione didn't move. It was slowly beginning to dawn on her what Remus had meant about Snape's feelings of culpability, about him having borne more than most. "I'm...sorry," she whispered. "I didn't really realize..."

"I don't need your pity," Snape cut her off bitterly.

"It's sympathy. And I can't help how I feel, it's just an emotion. I'm sorry if you don't like it. Not everyone is just trying to come up with ways to hurt you, you know."

Hermione waited a few seconds, but he did not respond.

"Severus...?"

He still didn't answer, but stood motionless by the chair. Hermione took a tentative step toward him, then another, until she was standing right beside him. She could hear him breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, in a deliberate rhythm. His eyes were closed, clenched shut, his face a mask of pain.

Don't, don't, don't, just go away, I can't bear to be the object of pity...sympathy...whatever she wants to call it...it won't change anything...I am reprehensible, craven.

Hermione reached out one hand and laid it, hesitantly, on Snape's shoulder. She felt him stiffen, but other than that, there was no reaction.

Enough violence for one night. Just. Go.

She let her hand rest there for one, two, three, four, five seconds. Then let it slide off and turned to leave. She soon found her way blocked by a solid stone wall, however.

She cleared her throat. "Erm...Severus? Wards?"

Snape turned, waved his wand and muttered something, and the wall swung open again.

On the threshhold, Hermione turned back once more and, sure she was pressing her luck, but unable to contain her inquisitiveness, asked, "Out of curiosity, what did you...do to me? I didn't hear the incantation."

There was no answer for a moment, but then he said, curtly, "Expelliarmus."

That was all? Just Expelliarmus? But it had been so powerful. Hermione replayed the scene in her head. She really could not recall him speaking the spell, which meant... "Non-verbal?"

Snape inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, and Hermione stepped back out into the cold corridor and headed for the stairs, her mind whirling with thoughts. Behind her, she heard the wall slide back into place.