Reckoning

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Albus scarcely broke stride as he passed behind Severus's chair.

'Come to my office at eleven, Severus, if you please.'

He spoke in a quiet, neutral tone, and it put Severus's hackles right up. Whatever the headmaster wanted, it wouldn't be pleasant.

Perhaps Albus knew or guessed something about his affair with Hermione. If so, he had an unpleasant hour ahead of him. But Hermione was right...what was Albus going to do about it? Sack him? He couldn't.

Severus watched Albus as he made his way down the Great Hall, his slow but steady progress communicating dignity and a civilised refusal to rush. Or that would be what the uninformed eye would see. Severus saw in it Dumbledore's steely determination to hide his waning strength.

Of more moment than whether or not Albus knew was how he knew. And the question of who else knew.

Severus looked down at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was sitting with her usual pack of Potter-and-Weasleys. All her companions were dressed for Quidditch even though the season was over. Finnegan was far from her, and the boy Weasley...whose apelike arm had been wrapped around her last night at dinner...was silent and glum and sitting across from her rather than beside her.

Good. It was good to see nothing that would inflame his own very active jealousy. He had no time for the jealousy, and he had no cause for it...he knew he hadn't...but it would keep flaring up and deadening his reason. All too often, by the time the fit had passed, he would have lost one more chance to hold his girl.

Last night, for example. Still angry with her for dallying with Finnegan, embracing Weasley, he'd turned her away when she'd come to him after midnight. He had finally gone to her at nearly two o'clock, curling around her for an hour or two as she slept, leaving before she woke. He could not stay away, it seemed. And why should he stay away out of pique? It would be stupid; criminal and stupid.

Severus looked at his watch. He had a potion to attend to. He pushed back his chair and rose from the table, and it was habit that made him extend his arms slightly as he began to walk, allowing air to flow into and along his robes so they began to billow and flap behind him.

* * *

Albus wasn't sitting companionably in his fireside chair. He wasn't at his desk. He wasn't up in his gallery poking about among his books.

Rather, he was standing square in front of the fire facing the door, and he was wearing his outer robes and his tall hat.

He got right to the point.

'Severus. How is it that Hermione Granger knows you're going to kill me?'

Oh. Worse than he'd feared.

He chose an evasive tack to start with. 'What makes you believe she knows that?'

Albus turned and took off his hat and placed it on a bust of Paracelsus. He unclasped his outer robes and draped them over a suit of armour that stood beside his desk.

Back nearly turned now, he said, quietly, 'Severus. Reconsider your reply.'

Ah. He knows.

'May I ask, then, how you know that?'

Dumbledore peered at him. 'It is, as you might say, right in the front of her mind. Or it was, three hours ago at breakfast.'

Legilimency. Anger flooded Severus. Hypocritical old bastard. But at least she hadn't told him voluntarily. And at least it went no further than Dumbledore. Probably.

'How does she know this, Severus?'

'I told her,' he said coldly.

'And what did you tell her, exactly?'

'Only what's pertinent. That you're dying and that I'm going to kill you to make it look like I've turned.'

'I see. And, Severus, why is that pertinent for Hermione Granger to know? Have you told others? Does Harry know?' The headmaster's voice was very quiet, very even.

'Potter doesn't know,' sneered Severus. 'And I've told no one else. Nor has she.' He would have to answer the first question, doubtless, but the thought of talking about Hermione with Dumbledore made him almost sick with anger and disgust.

'I am truly glad to hear it's gone no farther than your teenage lover. And, of course, one of her most intimate Muggle friends. Yes,' said Dumbledore. 'I know that part, too. The friend is dealt with and, for the rest, we needn't discuss it at length. However, I do want to know, right now, if there are any more surprises like this waiting for me. Are there?'

'Surprises of what nature, exactly?'

'Well, I shall spell it out. Surprises in the nature of gross personal misconduct. Insubordination. Recklessness. Violations of trust. Any other little explosive devices you may have lying about that may tend to promote Voldemort's cause.'

Severus's hand was resting on the back of one of Albus's armchairs, and at this he tightened his grip so hard that one of his fingernails pierced the fabric. How dare Albus. How dare he.

When he could speak, he said, biting out the words, 'My actions have been in no way intended to promote the Dark Lord's cause. My dedication to his defeat is complete.'

Albus's tone grew sharp. 'Then why did you do this, Severus? Seducing a student...and this girl, of all people...then telling her the one secret upon which so much depends? Why?'

'It's not... I didn't seduce...'

He stopped. He knew how the words would sound. No one in his position would ever admit that it was like that. What could he say that wouldn't sound deluded? What words could touch what she was?

I need her.

Absurd. Of course he could survive without her...yes, he bloody well could. 'Need' was self-indulgent and weak.

I love her.

No, damn it. A cheap word to fling about, 'love.' He pictured himself saying it and was repelled.

She is mine.

It was the word that came closest. And he knew it was selfish. Not allowable. Cowardly. Wrong.

'Can you tell me nothing, Severus...nothing to help me understand? Nothing to help me help you?'

A battle raging inside him, Severus dug his fingers into the back of the chair.

Albus looked down at the hearthrug and said, 'If you care for her at all, Severus, don't expose her like this.' He looked up. 'And even if you don't care for her, you must still protect her. Either way, this cannot stand. The risk is unacceptable.'

Albus's words were like poison pouring into his ears, coursing towards his heart.

If you care for her at all.

Silence stretched for...how long? He struggled to find something...a word, a gesture...that could turn the tide. At last, he bowed his head and, fixing his gaze on the rug at Albus's feet, he whispered, 'Please.'

'I beg your pardon?'

Severus looked him full in the eyes and said, harshly, 'Please, Albus. I said, please.'

Albus studied his face for a moment and turned abruptly towards the fire.

'No, Severus,' he said quietly, then, louder, 'No.'

He turned back around and drew himself up tall.

'Fix it, Severus. If you won't, I will. You have twenty-four hours, and that's generous.'

He walked around his desk and sat. 'I will be out of the castle most of the afternoon. We shall talk again by this time tomorrow.'

Severus didn't move.

The headmaster reached for a quill. 'Goodbye, Severus. That is all.'

'Yes. Sir.'

Severus left.

* * *

When the door closed behind Severus and the staircase rumbled into motion, Albus laid down his quill and slumped back in his chair.

He waved his wand, allowing the portraits in his office to move, talk, and hear again.

Dilys Derwent sniffed. 'So good of you to let us out of the cave occasionally, Albus.'

He looked up at her. 'My apologies, Headmistress. If it's any consolation, I'll soon be equally subject to the whims of the living.'

'Well, that sounds like nothing but self-pity,' clucked Dilys, and went back to her tatting.

Albus supposed it did, and for a brief moment he wished he might be indulged in some self-pity.

The moment passed. Albus Summoned his teapot.

It was, perhaps, no surprise that Severus would seek out carnal comfort while he was under such tremendous pressure. Understandable, if undesirable. But he had chosen his partner most cruelly and recklessly.

Albus poured his tea. It didn't much signify now...he was eliminating the affair...but he did wonder: how had this happened?

He'd known Miss Granger cared for Severus...respected him, liked him. Miss Brown had not been able to recall the exact wording of the letter she'd intercepted, but she seemed to think the girl fancied herself in love. Jill Fletcher, the Muggle girl he'd visited this morning, had thought so, too, before he Obliviated her.

Perhaps she did love him; or perhaps respect and liking had been enough to precipitate the affair. These things could take on a life of their own once begun.

Albus stroked his beard. The decision to tell her the secret, though... why had Severus made such a baffling, foolish choice?

Possibly Severus imagined it was a hedge against ruin. Perhaps he needed someone to bear witness to his loyalty and his sacrifice...even though telling the secret undercut his loyalty and might nullify the sacrifice. So irrational...so unlike Severus.

He has lost his way. By how much?

He put four sugars in his second cup of tea, stirred, drank it down.

The situation was dangerous, but Albus hoped...no, he believed...that it would come right. He was fairly certain Severus had begun to fall back in line.

He won't snap. He HAS lost his way, a little, but he'll do his duty. He simply needed to be reminded of it.

And this... crisis... might just make it easier, in the end, for Severus to kill.

It's better, perhaps, that his anger is fresh.

* * *

Stairs, stairs, so many fucking stairs to get down.

'Goodbye, Severus. That is all.'

Back to the dungeons and out of the light, creature.

He stopped on the landing, too sick with fury to keep moving. Bracing his hands on the ledge, he stared out of the window. Across the courtyard and over ten yards or so were the library windows, shadowed and opaque.

She was probably there now. Was she?

He got up onto the ledge and, reaching into an inner pocket in his robes, he pulled out a blank piece of grubby, dog-eared parchment, soft with use. He unfolded it and smoothed the creases, touched it with his wand, and muttered under his breath. 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.'

Yes. His idiot heart leapt. His magic surged and kindled at the sight of her tiny dot. Bloody fucking ludicrous.

According to the Marauders' Map, H. Granger was at a table in the library gallery, alone. Working on Merlin knew what.

Three days ago, proud and a little abashed, she'd told him about this one successful piece of work.

'And then you tap it with your wand, like this, and say, "mischief managed."'

'So this is the original?' he'd asked.

'Yes,' Hermione'd said. 'I made the swap yesterday. The copy Harry has now looks almost exactly the same. I used a Protean charm based upon the original map, with one small corruption: the copy doesn't show my dot.'

'You don't think Potter will notice you're not there?'

'Not as readily as he'd notice if yours went missing. Typically, he wouldn't be searching for me on the map. You, however...' She'd shrugged, pink-faced. 'It's not the perfect solution, but it's what I could manage. It does ease my mind, a little.'

What pains she'd gone to, copying the map. What trust she'd shown, giving him the original. ('You'll need it more than I would, I think,' she'd said.) How utterly fucking futile it all was.

He watched her dot start moving. Down the stairs to the main floor of the library and out of the door, then to the main staircase and up, up to Gryffindor tower. He wanted to reach into the map and seize her, gods if she were only here. He spread his hands out on the ledge, pressing his fingertips into the joints of the stone, and closed his eyes against this witless longing.

When he opened them again, he saw her dot moving out of the Gryffindor common room and into the corridor, then onto the stairs. Which shifted, depositing her on the fourth floor.

Come, he thought. Come here. And, by Merlin, she was coming. Down the passage, two turns, down the other side of the quadrangle and into the stairwell, and now he heard her, and now he saw her.

He slid down from the ledge and warded the landing. Without a word, he lifted her up onto the ledge and pushed between her legs. She came to me, she's mine. Fuck you, Albus.

He kissed her with hard, angry kisses, and she didn't push him away. First she froze, and then she reached out her arms to wrap around him beneath his robes, and held him as he mauled her.

Ah, gods. He pulled back to look at her face. He looked, and looked. Mine. Won't she always be mine.

He dipped his face to hers again and breathed with her once, and twice.

'Severus,' she said shakily. 'What is it?'

'Four o'clock,' he said. 'We'll talk then.' He swept through his own crackling wards and down.

Done. Time to start breathing without her.

* * *

Four o'clock at last. Oh, they had so much to talk about! Plans, worries, her desire to confide in Dumbledore and recruit his support.

Every day seemed to bring new difficulties and dangers. But they always found new ways to think through their problems, separately and together. We are a good team, she thought. I am so glad we have each other.

Hermione pushed open the door. Severus was not in his sitting room, so she put down her bag and walked towards the lab, calling out, 'I'm here. Are you in the lab?'

He was. He was funnelling a thin clear potion into a bottle. He stoppered it, and put it in a box with some others. 'I'm almost finished here,' he said, gesturing at a cauldron on the worktable behind him. 'I made tea; have some while you wait, then we can go to the sitting room and talk.'

'Okay,' she said, getting up onto a stool set near the table that held the tea things. 'Thank you. Would you like some?'

'Not just yet.' He reached up to a shelf for a pair of empty bottles, and pulled on his protective gloves.

She sipped her tea and made a face. 'Severus, I am sorry to say it, but this is the worst tea I've ever had. A new low, even for you.' She smiled at him to show she was teasing.

He had stopped moving and was looking at her oddly. 'Is it?'

'Oh, dear. That wasn't funny at all, was it? Just stupid of me; forget I said it.' She hopped down from her stool and walked over to him. 'No cruel words between us, even in jest, yes?'

She stretched up to kiss him. He turned his head away.

'Sever...' She stopped. Had she been about to call him 'Severus?' How embarrassing! Why would she... But, wait, of course she would call him that, she had been calling him that for weeks, ever since...

Ever since when? She couldn't think of when she had started using his given name. Trying to remember felt like trying to see to the bottom of the lake...it was there, the bottom, but she couldn't find it, not at all.

A staticky feeling plucked at her spine, and her skin felt clammy. Oh, god, what...

'You should sit down. This won't take long, but it will be disorientating.' He took her by the elbow and walked her back to her stool.

'What won't take long? What are you... Severus!' she gasped. 'What was in that tea?'

He moved to the other side of the table, so that it lay between them. 'You know what was in it,' he said softly. 'You'll know for another minute or so, and then you won't know or care. This is best. We could not have done it, Hermione. It wasn't going to work.'

She was on her feet. 'No, no, no, oh god, no! How could you... Take it back! Make it stop!' She ran around the table and pulled on his sleeve. 'Quick, quick!'

He didn't move; she couldn't move him; why was he just standing there? 'Severus!' she screamed, pounding on his chest. 'Stop this! Where is the antidote? This is not funny!'

He pulled her arms away from him and held them at her sides. 'Do you see me laughing?' His voice was sharp and venomous. 'There's no answer for us but this. This is wartime. We cannot be together, not at all. I was a fool. A disgusting fool. This is best,' he repeated, in a hissing whisper now.

'But I had some new ideas,' she sobbed. 'I had so much to talk to you about, to ask your opinion about, and now I c-can't re-remember any of it. Oh, please, please. Please. Please don't.'

He put his arms around her.

'Hermione. I'm s...' He coughed. 'I'm sorry. But you need to fight your war, and I need to fight mine, and I can't risk... We should never have... But we did.' He squeezed her to his chest. 'I'll never forget it. Never. I might be a coward and a villain but I'll always be yours. I'll come for you. After, I'll come.'

He released her and stepped away, again putting the table between them.

Confusion. Parts of her mind felt like they were filling with sticky mud, a slow flood drowning anything she tried to hold onto. She stopped trying, and that was better. Speed and sharpness returned. Clarity. So much better. Leave that other stuff alone; it's impossibly murky, and somehow really horrid, and what does it matter anyway?

Relieved, she lifted her hand to her cheek. Tears. Why? She was crying? Snotty and tear-soaked, and Professor Snape was right there! Looking unbelievably sour, too...what must he think? God! She turned away and fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. It was hard to get her hand to do what she wanted it to.

His cold voice cut through her muddle. 'If you are quite done snivelling, you had better drink some tea.' He was beside her, holding the tea up to her lips with one hand and steering her onto a stool with the other. She tried to take the tea from him...so awkward to have him so close!...but her hand...her whole body...felt floppy and boneless.

She drank from the cup...oh! The worst tea conceivable!...and horror of horrors, she vomited. All over his sleeve, all over the floor.

'Tergeo,' he said, and...goodness! He swept her up in his arms and took her into the next room, where he placed her on a sofa with a pillow under her head.

It was utterly shocking...her mind went immediately to Harry and Ron, who would probably suffer twin strokes when she told them that Professor Snape had picked her up.

He glared down at her. She swallowed hard, and cowered. 'I am brewing, Miss Granger. I do not require bile or the remains of your lunch as ingredients. Stay here until you feel able to leave.'

When he got to the door of the laboratory, he turned. 'I have been revolving the question in my mind for some weeks, but the scene you just created in there has decided me. I no longer require your services as an assistant, effective immediately. Thank you for your help. It has been... interesting.' He vanished into the next room.

Mortified and exhausted, Hermione lay on his sofa for a minute or two...just long enough to gather her strength to leave. She'd try not to think too much about being sacked by Snape. There was a tide of misery in her that she must stem; sleep would help.

Bright side, Hermione; look at the bright side, she thought as she shouldered her stupidly heavy bag and dragged herself out into the corridor. Less work means more time to rest. This is a good thing.

Right now, she only wanted to get to her bed...why did it have to be so far away? She felt she could sleep for a week.

* * *

The antidote filled four phials. He took them out of their box and lined them up on the worktable with shaking hands.

One would remain here. One would be at Spinner's End. One he would hide on her parents' property. The last quantity he would desiccate and put in the poisoner's ring she'd brought him. This he would Transfigure into something he could wear around his neck.

The door in the next room clicked shut.

He was alone again.

~fin~

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A/N: O.o

Bye now. I'll see you around.