Secrets to be Kept

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author's note: Once again, my heartfelt thanks belong to two lovely ladies for holding my hand and making my writing readable. Thank you so much, Annie and Losille :o)

Time seemed to fly for Hermione. While her days were filled with the usual classes, her evenings overflowed with responsibilities: Prefect duties, DA meetings, S.P.E.W. and every Tuesday what she called her "Lily Project".

Professor McGonagall had allowed her to work in the small room next to her office where the Deputy Headmistress filed everything that concerned Hogwarts paperwork. But so far, Hermione had made much slower progress in her search for Professor Snape's Lily than she had expected – and hoped. Already on her first evening, she realized that she had to go over the records of each year individually and isolate the names of the witches who had taken their OWLs or NEWTs one by one. There was no way for her – regardless of how much her heart had desired it – to get a quick overview as to how many witches with the given name 'Lily' had attended Hogwarts in the last fifty years, not with over twenty stuffed folders full with registration forms. So January turned into February, and Hermione had not found an answer to the question that twisted her heart, brief and fierce, each time she caught sight of Professor Snape.

It was not that she saw more than usual of the aloof man besides Potions class and mealtimes in the Great Hall, not at all, but she had become more aware of his presence. Only once had she met him by surprise – in the Owlery, on the morning after the disaster with Neville's cauldron, as she had left breakfast in the Great Hall early to send a letter to Skeeter to arrange Harry's interview for The Quibbler. It had been the same morning the Prophet had announced the mass breakout from Azkaban, and Professor Snape hadn't appeared for breakfast.

The amount of relief she had felt at the sudden sight of him, well and unhurt, as she stepped into the Owlery had caught her by surprise. Snape had already been on his way out and had only given her a stiff nod as they passed each other, but it had been enough to loosen the anxious knots that had held her stomach captive, and her heart had had a thing less to worry about for the day.

After all, worrying had unsurprisingly become a constant occupation of hers, as there was so much to worry about lately: Harry's dreams, Umbridge, Ron's unsuccessful attempts at Quidditch, her OWLs ...

Then, in those gloomy moments of the night, after awaking from another nightmare, there was the silent, desperate worry for her parents' safety; and unnoticed, the worry for Professor Snape had made it on her long list as well. Somehow.

Even now, on her way to Hogsmeade, while the cold February wind was blowing, harsh, into her face, she worried if she had made the right decision regarding Harry's interview. If only her plan would add up as she so desperately hoped – a huge blow to Fudge's strategy to undermine Harry's credibility. It was time that the truth was finally published, and the fact that Skeeter – the nosy and lying beetle – would be the one to provide it to the wizarding public was a side effect that satisfied and amused Hermione immensely.

Reaching the edge of the village, she lifted the hood of her coat. The main street was already overflowing with Hogwarts students, most of them merry couples, huddled together, smiling. Like always on Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day.

For a moment, her chest seemed to tighten as her thoughts wandered to Ron and his Quidditch training, and unacknowledged regret curved her lips into a small wistful smile.

There would be other Valentine's Days for them. Perhaps.

Hermione sighed, brushing the sentiment away like the tendril of hair the wind had loosened from her ponytail as she followed the main street into Hogsmeade. Around her, there were bigger things happening than a hopeless, unrequited crush on one of her best friends.

Hustling her way through the crowds, she recognized Luna walking toward her.

"Hi, Luna," Hermione greeted the younger girl as she came within earshot, Luna's appearance as unusual as ever. She wore a lime woollen hat on which dark green hobgoblins were chasing each other; it nearly covered her eyes while the ends of the matching scarf dragged through the snow on the ground.

"Hello, Hermione," she breathed, inclining her head slightly and holding the recent edition of The Quibbler to her chest. "Daddy is so excited to publish Harry's interview. He hasn't been this happy since they sighted Nargles in Azkaban two years ago."

It took every ounce of willpower for Hermione to master the sudden urge to explain that the existence of Nargles had never been confirmed by serious sources, but in the end she said, "I am really happy your dad agreed to this, Luna. It will help Harry a great deal to finally tell his version."

"Oh, the people will believe Harry," Luna said, smiling, teetering back and forth on her toes.

"I hope so, Luna, I really hope so," Hermione replied with a sigh. Glancing at her watch, she added, "I have one more errand to run before we meet Skeeter in the Three Broomsticks. See you in half an hour, Luna."

Before the blonde Ravenclaw could respond, Hermione had already hurried away, making her way toward the apothecary. She needed new Murtlap tentacles, since it was no longer only Harry Umbridge chose to torture with her vicious quill. She had seen at least two Gryffindor fourth-years and one tiny first-year this week who had tried to hide the cuts on the back of their hands; and she hoped that maybe as Prefect she would have the chance to approach them and offer help, but the small package of Murtlap tentacles she had bought out of sheer foresight before the term, as she had read about their powerful healing potential, was already used up.

With a determined stride, not wanting to waste unnecessary time, Hermione entered the store. The doorbell announced her arrival with a melodious sound, but as she beheld the man who turned at the sound, her breath hitched. Instead of Mr Jiggers, the friendly old owner of the apothecary, the frowning face of her Potions professor greeted her. Snape stood at the counter, clad in a long, black winter cloak; the collar was still turned up chin-high against the icy wind and gave his features an even more grim expression than usual as he assessed her with cold, calculating eyes.

"Uh, hello, Professor Snape," Hermione said, unfathomable nervousness weaving a high-pitched note into her voice.

"Miss Granger. How unexpected," Snape sneered. "Dare I assume you are purchasing potions ingredients the legal way for once?"

Instantly, she blanched, his greeting striking her with the kind of silent panic that usually only the prospect of a broom ride could cause her. So he had known all those years it had been she who had taken the ingredients from his store.

"Don't look so shocked, Miss Granger. Did you honestly believe I hadn't realized it was you and your little friends who snuck into my storage room and stole two Galleons worth of ingredients after seeing you in the Hospital Wing afterwards?"

"No, sir." She shook her head, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she stepped up next to Snape at the counter. In front of them, the door that led into the back rooms of the store was open, and Hermione hoped with all her heart that Mr. Jiggers would return soon from his inventory. Most likely, he was only away to fetch something for Professor Snape.

"I am not here for potions ingredients," she confessed quietly, her gaze still lingering on the open door.

"You are in the apothecary, Miss Granger. Do you take me for a fool? Pray tell, why are you here if not to buy potions ingredients?" he snarled.

Hermione turned and met his glare with one of her own, anger and indignation that he so openly mistrusted her words mingling in her chest.

"I have every right to purchase things in the apothecary without the need to account for it, sir," she said firmly. "But if you must know, Professor, I am in need of Murtlap tentacles."

The moment she had said the word 'Murtlap', Snape's gaze flew to her right hand and Hermione felt her stomach drop.

"You know." The realization spluttered from her mouth.

"Miss Granger –"

"You know what she did to Harry... what she's doing with that quill." Appalled, she took a step backwards. How could he know and stand aside to allow it to happen?

Snape took a quick look around before he closed the distance between them, towering over her.

"Get a hold of yourself, foolish girl. Certainly, we know," he hissed.

We know. The Headmaster. The other teachers. They all knew. They knew what Umbridge was doing during her detentions and they did nothing to prevent it.

Hermione swallowed, starring into Snape's cold black eyes. "Why doesn't the headmaster –"

"–stop her?" he asked mockingly, completing her thought. "And what would you think he should do, Miss Granger? Report her to the Board of Governors, to the Minister perhaps?"

He considered her for a moment as if waiting for his words to sink in; and sink in they did, causing her stomach to lurch with nausea and awareness. The Ministry had installed Umbridge. She had Fudge's full support – his trust. Dumbledore didn't stand a chance to do anything against her.

Hermione's gaze dropped to the floor. "Nothing. He should do nothing," she whispered, the words tasting as bitter as her surrender as she awaited his sneer, his ridicule for being such a fatuous Gryffindor.

However, her words were followed by nothing but merciful silence, and she already wondered if Snape had even heard her as a large hand closed around her right one.

Warm. Gentle. For a breathless moment, Hermione's heart lost its rhythm at the familiar sensation. Her eyes flew to the hand – to those long, slender fingers that covered hers only to see Snape lift her hand slowly, scrutinizing the skin on the back.

"Obviously, you don't need the Murtlap for yourself, Miss Granger", he said coolly, letting go of her hand again and raising his gaze to hers. "Potter again, or is it Weasley this time?"

"What? Oh, no –" she stammered, forcing herself to concentrate... to breathe.

"Well, Miss Granger?" Snape arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to answer.

Hermione heaved another breath, her left hand searching support from the counter before she finally shook her head sadly.

"It's not Harry, sir. Professor Umbridge has begun to use the quill on other students as well. Two fourth-years, from what I have seen and a first-year as well, but I fear there are more, sir."

"I see," he said, the frown between his brows deepening and after a moment of silence he added, "Miss Granger, there is a –" But Snape stopped mid-sentence as footsteps echoed from the back room, drawing quickly nearer.

An instant later, Mr. Jiggers appeared in the doorway, his long white hair floating behind him as he approached the counter.

"Ah, Professor, you are quite lucky," he announced, waving a small grey box enthusiastically. "This is my last set of Ashwinder eggs. I could order another one from Diagon Alley if you –"

"One set will be sufficient," Snape cut him off, scowling at the old man.

Hermione observed him place the eggs carefully in a bag, amazed by the pale pinkish smudges that formed on his cheeks as she forced her mind to catalogue the information she had just gained, brushing the first uninvited image of the man in front of her brewing ridiculous love potions away. But within seconds, another image of him – helpless, hurt – formed in her mind, sending ghost-like shivers down her spine as pieces of knowledge turned into realization. Ashwinder eggs, eaten whole, could ease even the worst spells of ague.

Ague.

Cruciatus.

Sweet Merlin, he needed those eggs to tend to the after-effects he suffered. A new wave of nausea washed over her, and suddenly she was back at his side at Grimmauld Place, hearing those words that wouldn't leave her alone. Cold. So cold... Don't leave me.

"Close your mouth, Miss Granger. It isn't very becoming to look like a fish, even for a Gryffindor know-it-all."

Literally, she winced as the insult jolted her from the memory, but before she had a chance to respond, he was gone.

As if he had never been there at all.

Hermione frowned. There is a.... What? What had he wanted to tell her?

"Missy, do you plan on just staring after the professor or is there something you wanted to buy as well?"

She hadn't the ghost of a chance to hide the treacherous blush that covered her cheeks as she turned to Mr. Jiggers. She hadn't meant to stare after Professor Snape, but apparently she had.

Quickly, she made her request.

"I need three bunches of Murtlap tentacles, Mr Jiggers. Do you have any?"

The old man gave her a curt nod and disappeared into his inventory again, frowning, leaving Hermione to wonder if it was just because she had asked for something so cheap as Murtlap.

Once alone in the shop, she took a swift look at her watch. There were only ten minutes left until she would meet with Harry, Luna, and Skeeter, and all her earlier worries returned to her stomach again, brushing every thought about the encounter with Professor Snape away and making her wish there was a spell to make Mr. Jiggers hurry up a bit.

"Maybe it would be wise for Minerva to speak with Harry and explain why we haven't interfered regarding Umbridge's detentions," Dumbledore said, signing the parchment lying before him.

Snape stood stiff in front of the headmaster's desk, hands clapped behind his back.

"I don't think this will be necessary, Albus," he objected, and the old man in front of him looked up from his parchments – for the first time during his report on the incident in the Apothecary.

"In the past, Miss Granger has proven to be sensible enough not to provide Potter with information the boy isn't able to handle. I don't think she will share this newfound knowledge with him, given the fact that she realized that no other course of action was possible."

It was true; during his Occlumency lessons with Potter he had come across every precious memory the boy had tried to shield from him, and all this time, he had dreaded the moment he would find the vision of Miss Granger telling the boy about Grimmauld Place, about his Death Eater activities, about his weakness... About Lily.

But the moment hadn't come.

"Such praise from you, Severus, for a Gryffindor?" Blue eyes pierced him, calculating, and betrayed the amusement in the headmaster's words.

"For a student," Snape replied coolly, however, he had to fight the instinctive urge to raise his Occulmency shields in the face of the old man's intense gaze.

He was painfully aware that this particular student had occupied his thoughts a bit too regularly lately, but it was nearly impossible, after he had relived the incident in the Pensieve, not to be puzzled and captivated by her foolish promise and... her tears. Every smile the irritating girl wasted on him only reminded him of those tears, of the caring tenderness her eyes had held.

Today, in the short moment, he had thought she had been the one to suffer Umbridge's abuse, he had been unsettled by the rush of protectiveness he had felt toward the girl. It was foolish – a ridiculous, troublesome sentiment – but impossible to deny. Miss Granger's well-being had become important to him. Somehow.

Dumbledore continued to peer at him, even as he removed one of his lemon drops from its wrapper and popped it into his mouth.

"Said student is quite sensible, indeed, and I may add, quite perceptive as well, Severus," he said, only now bending over his parchments again. "Hagrid informed me earlier that our dear Miss Granger had a meeting with Mrs Skeeter in the Three Broomsticks today, together with Miss Lovegood and Harry."

Snape raised an eyebrow. It had been apparent last year that the girl despised Skeeter and her so-called journalism; she wouldn't have her meet Potter without a vital reason.

"I already contacted Xenophilius. Rita isn't working for the Prophet anymore, and it is obvious that his daughter was present for a reason today," Dumbledore said, his quill travelling over the parchments again. "It seems Miss Granger is planning to start something of a public campaign in Harry's favour, Severus. The Quibbler will publish an interview with him on Tom's return in its March edition."

"Lovegood will refrain from publishing it if you'd asked him to," Snape said, and with an after-thought, "especially when you tell him that the Dark Lord will not be amused about so much publicity at the moment. It will make the man and his daughter another target, Albus."

"I agree, Severus. Nevertheless, I think that Miss Granger's idea has some merit. It will strengthen Harry's self-confidence when people begin to believe his version of events, which is, as we both know, unfortunately the true one."

Snape snorted. "Being his father's son, Potter's self-confidence doesn't need any fostering."

Dumbledore smiled mildly. "I'd like to disagree on this point, Severus."

"So you support this interview?" Behind his back, Snape's hands clenched.

"I do."

"And the Ministry? They will think you have arranged it as a new ploy against Fudge."

"Most likely, they will, Severus. That's why I have asked you here tonight. My sources within the Ministry tell me that Cornelius is trying to secure the Boards' approval to have me removed from the school. And I think, once the interview is published, it will further his plan."

"And then? What are we supposed to do then, Albus?" Snape countered coolly, his knuckles were growing white with anger. He wasn't even willing to comprehend why the old man gambled with the possibility to be replaced as Headmaster... And for what reason? Only to pet precious Potter's ego.

"My presence here is dispensable for a while, Severus, if this scapegoat can placate Cornelius' fears. But you, Severus, you must stay at the school, even if this means cooperating with dear Dolores on a certain level. I need you to remain here as my eyes and ears until this charade comes to an end, especially as she holds you in high regard, thanks to Lucius."

Snape snorted. "And the students?"

"Will be safe."

"Safe?" The word tore through the barriers that had corralled his anger as easy a diamond through glass. Snape placed his hands on Dumbledore's desk, unconcerned about its parchment-filled state, leaning down to get the old man's full attention. His voice strained by cold fury. "I told you minutes ago that the woman has begun to use her quill on first-years. First-years, Albus! And now you tell me the students will be safe, once you are gone. They aren't even safe anymore while you are here."

"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore thundered, rising from his chair.

"Albus –" Snape tried again, but the old man held his hand up, stopping him mid-sentence.

"Thank you for your opinion, Severus. I will take it into consideration. That will be all for tonight"

"As you wish," Snape snapped, leaving the office in a flurry of black robes.

On Tuesday evening Hermione sat once more in the small room next to Professor McGonagall's office, her mind deeply buried in the different student files as she worked on her statistics:

McAllister, Ezelda NEWT Registration: 1975

Travers, Selene NEWT Registration: 1975

Travers... Hermione paused, laying her quill down. Something about the name sounded familiar to her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She leaned back in her chair, lost in thoughts as a loud pop broke through the silence in the room. Hermione winced, a flash of adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"Hello Dobby," she exclaimed, surprised, as she saw the elf standing next to her desk, holding a small package in his hands. "What are you doing here?"

Dobby glanced carefully around, his eyes appearing even larger than usual, before he whispered, "I has something for Harry Potter's friend."

He handed her the parcel, but not without looking over his shoulder again. "Professor Snape told Dobby, I is only to give it to Harry Potter's friend when nobody sees."

"Professor Snape?" Hermione gave Dobby a surprised look as she took the item that was wrapped in light brown packing paper.

The elf nodded enthusiastically, and Hermione turned the parcel in her hands, a sudden fluttering in her stomach. What could he possibly sent me? And why?

Looking at Dobby again, she asked, "Did Professor Snape tell you why you should give me this, Dobby?"

"I is told Harry Potter's friend does know it all."

Hermione snorted quietly. That sounded like something he would say. Eyeing the small enigma in her hands curiously, she placed the parcel in front of her on the desk. Her heart pounded as she began to unwrap it carefully.

Inside, there was a black jar with a folded piece of parchment lying on its top. As apparently intended, she opened the parchment first. The neat, spidery handwriting was unmistakeable.

Miss Granger,

S.S.

Hermione's eyes flew once more over the note, and with every word the pounding of her heart seemed to increase. Marigold salve – that was what he had wanted to tell her in the apothecary. Their encounter had completely left her mind in these last days, but Professor Snape hadn't forgotten about it, and he must have recognized that the lines on the back Harry's hand had begun to scar over.

However, there was something else about this tiny piece of parchment, something more precious to her heart than all house points, all the praise he could have ever given her in the last five years, something that flooded her chest with dizzying warmth. He trusted her, trusted her to keep his involvement, his help a secret, a help that – as small as it was – could be dicey in the face of You-Know-Who.

Exhaling slowly, Hermione turned to Dobby again who was still standing next to her.

"Dobby, would you deliver a note to Professor Snape for me?"

The elf nodded again, his ears waggling slightly. Hermione tore a piece of the parchment before her away, her quill rushing over the material.

Thank you, Sir, a thousandfold. I'll put it to good use.

H.G.

She took a long look at the message. These few words would have to do. She didn't dare write more specific thanks for the fear that her message would somehow fall into the wrong hands. She folded the note, her fingers a little unsteady as she did and bent toward Dobby and held it out to him.

"Dobby, it is pivotal that you only give this to Professor Snape when the professor is alone. Do you understand?"

"I is knowing that. Dobby is keeping all of Professor Snape's secrets," he said earnestly and gave Hermione a slight offended look before disappearing with a quiet pop.

Hermione's brows furrowed as her eyes lingered on the now empty space next to her. If the sound of an Apparating house-elf could ever hold an indignant timbre, she was sure it would sound like Dobby's quiet pop had right now.

What other secrets has Professor Snape entrusted you with, Dobby?

Worrying her bottom lip, Hermione turned back to the student files before her and her eyes fell on a name, lurking from beneath sheets in front of her. Evans, Lily.

Curiously, she pulled the registration form forward. It was dated on 1st March 1977 and showed that Harry's mum had enrolled to take her NEWT-tests in no fewer than seven classes. For a moment, Hermione had to fight a wave of jealousy as she realized that Lily Evans hadn't settled for the easy ones like Care of Magical Creatures or Divination, but for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy beside Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration and History of Magic.

Her eyes lingered unseeing on the parchment as she remembered Dobby's words, "I is keeping all Professor Snape's secrets."

Lily... Do you know who Professor Snape's Lily is, Dobby? But even if he did, she would never tempt him to betray the trust Professor Snape obviously had in him.

Her eyes travelled over Lily Evan's registration form again, and another thought hit her. Hastily, Hermione browsed through the pile of paper on the table. Professor Snape and Harry's mum had been in the same year. Looking at her professor's form would reveal how much of each other they had seen during their last two years of Hogwarts.

Only after endless minutes she finally found it, her eyes hastening over the lines. And her breath caught.

No... oh, please no...

It couldn't be. Professor Snape had enrolled for the same seven subjects as Harry's mum and additionally for Herbology. Beside this one class, they had shared the same class schedule during their sixth and seventh year. They had seen each other every day.

They could have even been friends... Friends.

Slowly, the parchment fell from her numb fingers and Hermione rose from her chair, her whole body trembling slightly.

Cold. Suddenly, she felt so cold, so very cold. When had the room become a shell of ice? She hugged herself as she walked towards the single window of the small room.

Unseeing eyes stared through the windowpane, straying over the grounds of the castle.

An identical class schedule. It was a clue, nothing more. She had found nothing but a first piece of evidence. The rational part of her knew that. There were still years of school records left to survey, and even if she didn't find another Lily among Hogwarts' students, there was the small chance that she was a home-trained witch or had attended Beauxbatons or any other magical school for witches around the world...

So why wouldn't her heart believe in those possibilities anymore?

Reviews are love and keep the muse happy ;o))