Truths Untold

Disclaimer: All rights belong to JKR.

Author's note: My eternal thanks belong to potionsmistress23 for her beta magic. As always, this chapter wouldn't have been what it is without her. Any remaining errors are mine, and mine alone.

---

Her first attempt at opening her eyes was futile, as was the second. Her whole body, from her little toe to her eyelids, felt heavy... exhausted as if she had taken a walk of a thousand miles.

All around her, there were noises, voices whispering from afar, luring her into the state of waking. Yet, more uncounted minutes ticked by until the Hospital Wing took shape around her, and Hermione realized she wasn't alone.

On the footboard of her bed sat Dobby, observing her quietly while his bony legs dangled in the air.

"Good mo-orning, Dobby," she said, stifling a yawn.

Though, when she tried to sit up, there was a sharp jolt of pain to her chest. Hermione grimaced, lying back again. Instinctively, her gaze dropped to the hurting area. Her eyes grew wide with surprise when she saw the thin, silvery scar running from the upper part of her breastbone to her left shoulder; it was a scar that hadn't been there before, and she felt a rush of dread as she realized that it must be the visible remainder of a curse. Only Dark magic would leave such a mark on human skin.

She drew a quivering breath, closing her eyes as the memories of the events at the Department of Mysteries slowly came back to her.

Their way to the Ministry had led them straight into Voldemort's trap, and the expression of terror in Harry's green eyes, when he had realized it, had nearly been too much to bear.

There had been so many Death Eaters, waiting in the shadows for them. A safe escape had appeared impossible, and the last things she could remember, before her world had gone mercifully black, were Harry screaming her name and a flash of purple light. And right now, she didn't even dare and try to imagine how the Order had managed to rescue them.

But they had. Harry... Ron... they were safe and well.

All of us are safe.

She exhaled slowly, silencing her freshly flaring fear with the memory of Professor Snape's assuring words from last night.

Only when the mattress shifted slightly and she felt a presence next to her, she realized that Dobby had left his place on the footboard and looked up, meeting a pair of worried green eyes in front of her.

"Harry Potter's friend shall not sit up. Harry Potter's friend must rest. Dobby is to have an eye on that."

"I know, Dobby, thank you. Professor Snape already told me to. I only forgot about it for a moment," Hermione said, giving him a rueful smile.

Dobby shook his head, his small hands grasping the tie hanging around his neck tightly as he spoke once more. "Harry Potter's friend must NOT forget. Harry Potter's friend has been grievously injured."

Bat-like ears flapped sadly forward, and Hermione was left to watch as he sat down on the edge of the bed, muttering to himself in a quiet wailing voice. "Mustn't forget. Mustn't. Professor Snape, so very worried he was. Never eating, never sleeping. Dobby always asking, always trying."

Hermione blinked, feeling a sudden stab of guilt at the revelation. Her professor had already looked exhausted beyond words, even before their supposed feat of rescuing Sirius right from beneath You-Know-Who's non-existent nose, even before he had been forced to forgo sleep once more... because of her.

However, she was sure Dobby had never intended for her or anybody else to hear those words.

And her hand flew unconsciously to cover the silvery scar on her skin as her mind began to conceive the possible danger should Dobby accidentally unveil Professor Snape's concern for her to anybody else.

If Voldermort would learn that one of his Death Eaters had kept night watch at the beside of Harry Potter's Muggle-born friend...

Merlin, he should have never done that. Madame Promfrey could have easily taken his place at her side.

But he had. Because he had been concerned for a student. For her.

And she had once again been nothing but a foolish, ungrateful Gryffindor who had stumbled into more trouble than she could handle.

Something in her chest constricted oddly at the realization. Hermione swallowed hard and reached out to lay a hand on Dobby's shoulder. She had to put his worries at rest. He could not again mutter them in such a quiet mantra for uncounted ears to hear.

At her touch, Dobby turned to her, and solicitous green eyes regarded her quietly.

"It's alright, Dobby, I promise I won't forget it again. And I promise I'll do my best and rest."

"Well, that's music to my ears." Startled, Hermione's gaze snapped up at the sudden sound of Madame Pomfrey's voice.

"Good morning, dear, how are you feeling? Dobby, would you please inform the Headmaster that Miss Granger is awake," the mediwitch said cheerfully as she scurried into the small niche of the Hospital Wing, her arms loaded with potions bottles in every possible colour. She gave Hermione a broad smile before turning to the bedside cabinet.

"Good morning, Madame Pomfrey," said Hermione, noticing that beside her, Dobby had already left without so much as a sound. "Well, so far, my whole body feels as if I have been forced to play a Quidditch match or two, and when I try to sit up my chest hurts. Apart from that, I am feeling quite acceptable, I guess."

"Well, well, that was to be expected," said the mediwitch, unstopping a bluish and a brownish bottle before she handed them to Hermione. "Drink the blue one first, dear. It should attenuate the pain you still experience, and then brown one with the Strengthening Solution. You'll have to drink some more of those during the day, but for now these two should do. Once you've eaten breakfast, I'll give you something to help you relax and sleep a bit more." Madame Pomfrey gestured towards the colourful collection on her beside cabinet.

Hermione nodded and took the bottles, swallowing the potions like the mediwitch had told her to do. When she had emptied the blue flask and turned to put it on the cabinet, she noted that while the brown bottle was marked as Strengthening Solution, the label of the blue one held nothing but her name in Professor Snape's narrow handwriting.

Only my name... Her brows creased, and she brought the bottleneck close to her nose. The remains of the liquid had a slight golden colour, but it didn't smell like any potion she knew. She could clearly identify hints of mandrake roots in it, but she couldn't dispel the growing impression that the draught wasn't one of the usual concoctions her professor prepared. But why would he need to brew something so uncommon?

"Madame Pomfrey?" she asked and looked up, searching the mediwitch's gaze.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" The older witch gave her a benevolent smile.

"I'm not sure... I can barely remember what happened to me at the Ministry, and I had not the chance to ask Professor Snape last night, but I know that I must have been hit by a curse: I have deduced as much. However, I'd like to know... could you tell me what curse hit me?"

The smile faded from Madame Promfrey's face, and she sighed deeply. "I wish I could, Miss Granger, but I have never heard of a curse with such effects before. All I can tell you is that it was a very dark spell. It was threatening to poison your magic when Professor Snape brought you here."

"Professor Snape brought me here?" Hermione asked, taken aback. Hadn't he told her he hadn't been at the Department of Mysteries, so how could he have been the one to take her back to Hogwarts and to the Hospital Wing?

"That's what I said, Miss Granger," said the mediwitch tightly, obviously mistaking her astonished unease as aversion against that particular piece of information. "And it has been very fortunate that the professor was the one to bring you here. I wouldn't have been able to remove the curse and to counter its effects. You should be very thankful to Professor Snape."

"I'm sorry, Madam Promfrey, I–I am thankful to Professor Snape. I never wanted to imply otherwise. It's only last night he said–" she faltered, realizing that it would not be wise to share her professor's words. "Never mind, I simply was under the impression that someone else had brought my friends and me back home to Hogwarts."

"The impression is quite correct, Miss Granger, and that someone would be me," the voice of Albus Dumbledore announced kindly, even before the Headmaster appeared next to Madam Pomfrey. "But you have to forgive an old man for delegating the task of carrying you all the way from the Ministry to the Hospital Wing to much younger wizards than me when it turned out that using the magic of a levitation spell was neither advisable nor quick enough in your condition."

"Uh–hello, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly.

"However, I take it that you must be feeling better when you are already back to asking questions, Miss Granger?" The Headmaster smiled brightly.

"A lot, actually."

"Well, that's wonderful news. Especially, as I know there are some people waiting at the other end of the Hospital Wing who are quite anxious to see you," the Headmaster said before he turned to the mediwitch. "Poppy, would you please give Miss Granger and me a moment?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded briefly, and Professor Dumbledore sat down on the edge of the bed and waited until she had left the Hospital niche before he turned and searched Hermione's gaze.

His blue eyes, that had twinkled merrily beneath the thick silvery brows only moments ago, held, suddenly, a grave expression, and she felt her fingers instinctively curl a bit deeper into the fabric of the bed sheet.

"You are probably wondering why I asked Madam Pomfrey to leave us alone, Miss Granger," said the Headmaster calmly. "Unfortunately, there are things you need to know–things I need to prepare you for before I can allow you to finally reunite with your friends again. As it is, we all suffered a great loss during your rescue from the Ministry, Miss Granger."

For a moment, Hermione stared in silent horror at the elderly wizard in front of her while the implications behind those carefully chosen words sank in.

It couldn't be.

She shook her head in denial.

"I–I don't understand, Headmaster. Last night, he–he said Harry, Ron– that my friends are safe... and he would not lie about that," she whispered, her gaze straying to her hands that held tightly onto a laboured part of her bed sheet as if it could protect her heart from shattering, should the Headmaster's answer prove Professor Snape's words wrong, should something have happened to Harry or...

...Ron.

"No, he would not, my dear girl. And your friends are safe, indeed." Dumbledore patted her hand gently, and for the instant of a heartbeat, Hermione wondered as she looked up and met the pair of blue eyes, that gazed so kindly at her, how he had known whom she had meant, but the thought was lost when the Headmaster continued.

"However, Professor Snape, like myself, falls sometimes victim to the habit of not answering questions to their full extent if the terrible truth would hurt the ones–" Dumbledore paused for a moment and regarded her thoughtfully as if he had just realized something and needed to decide how to weigh his words. "Well, if it is in the best interest of the ones we wish to protect to leave some truths untold for a while. Knowing Severus as I do, Miss Granger, I would presume he did not want to risk upsetting you, when you needed nothing more than rest after being so severely injured. As your professor he cared more for your well being than your knowing of the full turn of events, dear girl."

Hermione only managed a nod in response, her mind whirling with the different pieces of information as she tried desperately to put them together.

If not one of her friends... who then?

Meanwhile, the Headmaster removed his glasses for a moment, pinching the bridge of his wrinkled nose. He drew a deep breath before he continued. "Unfortunately, however, the outcome of the events at the Ministry has been grim and grievous for all of us. And Professor Snape and I agreed this morning that it would be better if you learned about them from me rather than from your friends..."

In the following hour, most of Dumbledore's account of the happenings at the Department of Mysteries seemed to pass in a blur for Hermione, and she only sensed the silent tears for Sirius on her cheeks when the Headmaster proffered her a sparkling blue hanky.

However, later that day, when she met the broken look in Harry's green eyes for the first time, she felt deeply grateful that Dumbledore had chosen to prepare her for the terrible fact that her friend had lost the last remaining member of his family.

Harry never mentioned Sirius by name, not once while they spoke about the events at the Ministry, and Hermione merely brushed the angry tears away and squeezed his hand tightly when he told her that everything was just Professor Snape's fault. Simply everything.

She wished she could have told him he was right. She wished she could have–for all the sadness she felt for her friend's loss–eased his pain with such a simple lie cloaked in a few gentle words.

But she couldn't.

Not when she knew how the events of the night had unfolded, and it had been Bellatrix's curse that had hit Sirius and caused him to fall through the deathly archway.

Not when she knew that it had been their foolish decision to go to the Ministry on their own that had caused Sirius to leave the safety of Grimmauld Place in fear for his godson.

And not with that bitter feeling of guilt tying her tongue because she knew, in a treacherous corner of her heart, something was contemptibly relieved that someone else hadn't even come close to the Veil that night.

---

Snape melted into the shadows behind a knight's armour in the dungeons when he spotted Draco in front of the Slytherin common room during his morning patrol. The boy was having a heated discussion with Crabbe and Goyle, and they were obviously about to part ways.

Snape had already planned to talk to the boy sometime today. He needed to know how the young Malfoy was dealing with the fallout of the events of the Ministry, and here was his chance to catch him alone.

When Draco's sidekicks eventually vanished behind the door to the common room, and the boy approached the dungeon hallway, Snape stepped out from behind the armour.

A moment later, Draco saw him and acknowledged his presence merely with a cold and half-heartedly spoken, "Professor."

Snape decided to let the unusual, unfriendly act pass and gave the boy a curt nod. "Draco, I'd ask you to follow me: I'd like to have a word in my office."

"Really, I don't see why–" Draco tried to protest, but Snape silenced him with a sharp look.

"Mr. Malfoy, for your sake, don't try me, and let me remind you that you are talking to your Head of House. Now, follow me," he ordered with a snarl, and the boy's pale face flushed with barely suppressed anger.

Snape threw him another warning glance before he turned around and strode ahead, and after a second, he heard Draco's footsteps following him through the dungeons.

A heavy silence hung between them when they entered his office a few minutes later. Snape walked to stand behind his desk, placing his fingertips against the cool wood, and more seconds trickled by while he regarded the boy, waiting for him to meet his eye.

Draco stood in the middle of his office, holding himself decidedly upright while he chose to look everywhere but at his Head of House. He looked sallow and tired... and lost; an unhappy, angry young man, who despite his distinguished and far more handsome appearance, reminded Snape painfully of his younger self in this very moment.

He was all too familiar with the whirlwind of emotions raging in a young man's head whose father had been imprisoned.

In those long-gone moments when the mixture of wrath and shame had taken hold of his younger self, he had been prepared to take down the world with bare hands. And unlike Draco, he had never held any respect for Tobias Snape, and he had been safe from the experience of having the esteemed family name thrown into the foul abyss that lingered behind the headlines of the Daily Prophet. The name of Snape had never been a respectable one–not even in the Muggle world.

Nevertheless, he couldn't spare the boy the discussion that lay ahead and that would place another weight on those narrow shoulders, not when he suspected what choice the Dark Lord had already waiting in the shadows for Draco.

"I know this is a difficult time, Draco–" he said carefully, but at the first sound of his voice, the boy's head snapped towards him and the young Malfoy cut him off.

"Where have you been, sir?" he demanded, his hands fisted and white-knuckled. "Why haven't you been there to help Father?"

Because I am the false friend you shouldn't trust, the traitor.

The thought combined with the boy's implied accusation stung like a knife, but Snape forced himself to hold Draco's gaze.

He only allowed himself to swallow imperceptibly against the mouldy taste with which guilt seemed suddenly to flood his mouth before he said calmly, "Draco, the Dark Lord ordered me not to leave my position here at Hogwarts. Surely, your father has told you that one doesn't question his Lordship's decisions."

The boy snorted, his pale lips trembling with anger and desperation.

"No, he hasn't told me that, sir. But do you–do you know what Father always told my mother when he was summoned? What he said when she asked him not to go, sir? No?!"

Draco laughed short and cheerless, and Snape felt something cold curl around his soul at the sound. "Oh, of course not. He told my mother that she didn't have to worry because if things turned bad you would have his back."

Snape squeezed his eyes briefly shut before he left his position behind the desk and approached the boy, trying to place his hands on the narrow shoulders, but Draco backed away.

"Draco, I know you are angry. But you must know that I would never willingly fail your father. Not if I have a choice. Yet, whatever it is you wish to think of me, I want you–I need you to understand something," he said insistently, searching the boy's gaze, and the broken look in those gray eyes closed the icy vice around his soul, so tight it ached to breath.

"There will be the expectation by some, even pressure maybe, that you take your father's place in the ranks of the Dark Lord. But his Lordship will not force you to take the Mark. He cannot. The Mark must be taken of your own free will for the binding magic to unfold, and not even your father chose to join the Dark Lord before graduation."

"You did, sir."

"I did."

Because I was young and foolish.

Because I had lost her. Lost Lily.

"So, why are you trying to advise me against it?" Once more, the accusation was plain in the boy's words, and it seemed to settle with the weight of a whole ocean of sorrow on his chest.

Because it was an unforgivable error... and it led to the worst mistake in my miserable life.

Taking the Dark Lord's Mark hadn't been the solution to a world that wasn't fair, and in the end, it had been the one he loved the most, the Dark Lord had forced to pay ...

Lily. Dead. Gone.

My fault alone.

But he couldn't tell that to Draco. He had already spoken too freely, said too much for it not to cause any damage should the Dark Lord choose to look into the boy's mind.

He couldn't risk telling the boy more, couldn't tell Draco what he needed to hear most in this very moment: the truth.

"Really? Did I, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape sneered coldly, escaping from the boy's proofing gaze by walking back to his desk. "Well, if you think that to be my intention, it would be better if you choose to carefully reconsider my words. Furthermore, I would advise you to try and pay closer attention than you have apparently done right now should you ever be in the Dark Lord's presence in the near future. Like me, his Lordship does not appreciate being misunderstood."

He hated himself more with every spoken word, hated the greater cause that tied his tongue.

How could any good come from him being a spy for the Order when it forced him to fail a young man like Draco by leaving the truth untold?

He had barely reached the solid security of his desk when the boy spoke again.

"I shall do that, Professor. If you'll excuse me now, Mother is waiting at the front gate."

"Of course." He never turned back to watch the boy leave: only when the door fell shut behind Draco, he sank into his chair, burying his head in his hands.

---

Somehow, Hermione knew she was walking through a dream as she approached the beech tree at the lake, leaving Hogwarts behind her. She was barefooted and still wearing her hospital nightgown, but the summer sun seemed to warm every inch of her body.

Even from afar, she could already see Ron and Harry under the tree. Harry was sleeping with his head rested against the trunk while Ron was leaning backwards in the grass, propped up on his elbows. He was smiling about something.

She felt how her heart sped up at the sight and allowed her feet to walk a little faster, already waving to him. But after a moment, she realized something was odd. Very odd. No matter how far she went, she never reached him, and no matter how much she waved, he never waved back. He never saw her.

Ron doesn't see me...

Anxious, she tried to call for him, but no sound came from her mouth. And she was left to stand and watch how Neville, Ginny and Luna appeared and joined her two friends, how they talked with them, laughed with them while she was all alone, and suddenly, a fresh wind sprang up, and she felt cold and the dream changed...

She was standing in the Hall of Prophecies again. But this time she was alone, all alone in the gloomy room.

The only light left was the soft white glow of a single crystal ball in front of her, a small glimmer of hope in the endless darkness.

There was no label, no caption on the shelf, but with a literally dreamlike certainty, she somehow knew that this particular sphere–and whatever it might contain–concerned her. Without hesitation, she reached for it. However, the moment her fingertips made contact with the cool glass, the ball rolled away. In doing so, it seemed to shrink to a size even smaller than a Snitch and flew from the shelf when she made another attempt to seize it, hovering in the air like a firefly.

Undeterred, she tried once more to catch the tiny, gleaming object, but again, her hands found nothing but thin air. For a moment, she stood and watched how the flicker of light danced mockingly around her and felt her heart sink. But then, its dance stopped, and the gleam of light landed in the open palm of a large, pale hand that had emerged next to her out of the darkness. She spun around and met Professor Snape's unfathomable gaze.

She smiled at him and found the smile returned, ever so slightly, as he extended his hand with the grain of light to her, the warm glow reflecting in the endless black of his eyes.

An offer. An invitation. Touch it. Take it. It's yours.

Her heart leaped, and her gaze strayed to his palm. But the moment she reached out for it, she felt a breath of cold air and a drawling voice tore through her.

"Such a curious, little Mudblood. Has nobody taught you not to touch what isn't yours?"

She looked up, and her professor was gone. In his place stood now a masked Death Eater, holding the small light in his gloved hand.

She backed away, trying to protest, trying to explain that he was wrong, that the light did belong to her, but again no sound formed on her tongue.

For a moment, the Death Eater assessed her through the slits of his iron mask before he closed his hand, crushing the gleaming piece of crystal with the mere strength of his fingers. And as the last glimmer of light was extinguished, an abyss of darkness opened beneath her and she fell...

Hermione woke up with a start. From somewhere she heard a sob and realized it had to be her own as she sat up in her bed. The moon was casting a bluish twilight through the windows of the Hospital Wing, and like so often in the last months, everybody beside herself seemed to be fast asleep.

Hermione sighed, and her eyes fell on the open edition of Doyle's The Sign of the Four, she had been reading earlier and that now lay broad on her blanket. She reached for it and threw a glance at her bedside cabinet.

The bottle of Dreamless Sleep Madam Pomfrey had left there earlier for her stood still untouched on the wooden furniture, and it was easy to put the course of events together.

She had thought the reading would banish her memory of the Department of Mysteries from her mind, at least for a while, but she had become so absorbed in the book that she had forgotten to take the potion before sleep had claimed her.

With a forceful push, Hermione placed the book in the drawer of her bedside cabinet, angry that her own thoughtlessness had cost her a much needed night of undisturbed sleep, and reached for the potion bottle.

Once more, the white label held Professor Snape's well-known handwriting.

Lost in thoughts, she traced the neat black line with her fingertips, remembering how the dream-version of Professor Snape had been able to catch the light instead of her. And she wondered why the light–whatever it had been–had chosen to come to her professor.

Maybe because it was only for him to give...

The moment the thought entered her mind, Hermione dismissed the idea, shaking her head with a quiet snort.

She wouldn't even start with ridiculous nonsense of trying to analyze her dreams as if she were Lavender or Parvati.

It had been a nightmare. Period. Nothing more.

She emptied the potion bottle with a determined gulp and rested her head on her pillow, regarding the infirmary ceiling while she waited for Morpheus' arms to enfold her again.

---

The descending moon cast a cold twilight into the sumptuous bedroom, illuminating the mediocre copy of an Italian fresco that covered the ceiling, giving the figures an even more grotesque appearance.

Snape's gaze lingered for another moment on the tawdry painting he had been watching for the last hour before he sat up and rose from the bed, his right hand grasping his clothing from the floor on the way.

He heard a soft moan of protest accompanied with the rustling of satin sheets from the bed, but continued to button up his white shirt in silence. He was halfway through the row of buttons when he felt a presence behind him and tensed, smelling, once again, the faint scent of the poorly concocted Polyjuice Potion that had assaulted his senses during the whole evening.

"You know, you don't have to leave already," a saccharine voice told him while well-versed fingers sneaked beneath his shirt. "Ivy said you paid for the whole night."

An unpleasant frisson ran down his spine, and he focussed on the task of closing the last button.

"I don't have time for a whole night," he said stiffly, already donning the first sleeve of his frock coat.

At that, the hands were withdrawn, and the witch turned to stand before him, sneaking her arms around his neck. Soft waves of blonde hair framed her face when she graced him with a feigned hopeful look in her dark blue eyes that appeared to be as deep as the sea.

Snape remained unmoved in the embrace of her arms. Only for a moment, he allowed himself to wonder how this supposed perfect face would look without the disguise of a potion.

"But you are coming back, are you?" she asked, her lips brushing along his jaw line, the closest she would ever get to kissing him.

"It's been nice, you know." A lie whispered against his skin, and he had to suppress a snort.

Their coupling had been anything but nice. It had been short and awkward, as he had been unable to allow himself to indulge in the pleasure she had so freely offered. Oh, there had been a time he would have lost himself in her ministrations, drowned in the sea of those enticing, false kisses.

But not tonight. Not when he knew it was all a charade for the Dark Lord, and not even his body's desires were of his own choosing anymore.

However, it would be enough – enough to set at rest the dark wizard's doubts. The mad man would never threaten another life because of him.

"I suppose."

His response earned him another one of those smiles that never reached her eyes, and he gave her a curt nod as a goodbye before he turned and headed for the door.

He exhaled briefly when he stepped into the hallway and walked towards the atrium of the large house Ivy had chosen for her business: the interior of the whole establishment with its dark marble floors, flamboyant frescoes and velvet curtains reminded him more of the caricature of a Roman estate than of the Wizarding brothel it was.

When he entered the hall-like room, it was dim-lit and seething with wizards who were, in one way or another, making arrangements for the night with one of the young witches. From the corner of his eyes, he recognized an all-too familiar face in the crowd. Yaxley was leaning against the marble pillar in a corner. He appeared to be talking to a voluptuous, dark-haired witch, but his gaze followed Snape as he crossed the room, and for an instant, Snape had to resist the urge of letting a triumphant smirk curl his lips. Tonight's mission was accomplished. The Dark Lord would soon learn of his follower's nightly desires.

He had nearly reached the exit door when he caught the gaze of the witch who had introduced herself as Ivy.

The moment she saw him, she cast him a smile over her shoulder, a smile so intimate that it would give everybody watching their exchange the impression they were old acquaintances.

He slowed his steps and waited for her to end the conversation with one of the guests. A few seconds later, she approached him.

Ivy's appearance was of the same potion-induced ageless beauty he had seen in all the witches she employed. Short black hair framed a fine-cut face that was graced with the same deep blue eyes he had seen before and a sensual mouth. A slender, cream-skinned leg showed through the long slit of her elegant, black robe.

Well, she must have an excellent source of Veela hair for her Polyjuice Potion, he thought, forcing an appreciative smirk to curl his lips.

It was one of the first lessons Master Canterbury had taught him during his Potions apprenticeship: the art of potion making was as well an art of creating illusions.

Of fame. Of beauty. And, of course, of love.

Oh, how easy it would once have been to end his agony and make Lily forget Potter with the help of a potion; how easy to let her believe she loved him instead.

But it would have never been real, never been true.

And he could have never done that to her. Not even in his darkest, selfish moments after he had rendered his soul to the Dark Lord.

Not to Lily.

Snape snapped out of his musing when he felt a hand being placed on the sleeve of his right forearm and met Ivy's deep blue eyes.

"Sev, you can't already be leaving us. We didn't even get the chance to share a glass," she said, just loud enough for anybody who took an interest in their conversation to hear it, unmistakable affection and familiarity resonating in her soft voice.

It was a flawless performance; it had been one from the moment he had stepped into her Wizarding brothel, and she had recognized him. Not for one second could somebody have assumed they had seen each other for the first time tonight. He would have to thank Lucius for that.

Snape bent down slightly and brought his mouth close to her ear, playing along with her act, well aware of the puckish eyes watching them from the nearby corner.

"Unfortunately, I have to, my dear. But I promise to make it up to you the next time," he said in a silky whisper while his nose was once more assaulted by the already familiar scent of mediocre Polyjuice Potion that lingered on her skin as well.

If he was lucky, there needn't be a next time.

She laughed delicately, the sound still floating through the air when she took his arm and accompanied him to the door.

It was only several, surreal minutes later that he Apparated in the shadows, close to the front gate of Hogwarts, and entered the secret passage that led him unseen into the castle.

When he reached the tunnel branch to the dungeons, his steps faltered for a moment. He felt in dire need for an extended shower to rid himself of the mixture of sweat, potions and falseness that seemed to cover every inch of his skin. And then, there was the report he had to give to the old man. Not immediately, but nonetheless before he had even a chance to catch an hour of sleep.

However, his eyes strayed from the tunnel entrance to the dungeons to the main passage leading upstairs.

The day had been long and busy and had tied him mostly, besides his morning patrol in the dungeons and the following unfortunate talk with Draco, to his lab, until he had left for Knockturn Alley in the late evening.

With the heralds of war nearing, he had needed to fill his stores for the Order with all kinds of ingredients and potions, but first he had prepared over ten different healing draughts to ensure that the foolish girl in the Hospital Wing was safe from any kind of lingering effects the curse could have on her magic.

The foolish girl...

Poppy had assured him that Miss Granger was recovering greatly when she had picked the bottles up in his lab, but he hadn't had the chance to check on her himself during the day.

And now, standing at the crossway of the tunnel, he felt the peculiar something behind his sternum surge, urging him to go to the infirmary... to see her.

He knew it was a ridiculous sentiment, but somehow he wanted – no, needed – to see with his own eyes that she had remained safe and well after he had left her bedside around dawn. And while reason still wrestled with the foolish notion in chest, his long legs moved already, taking him up the stairs to the passage that ended close to the Hospital Wing.

Without so much as a sound, he slipped through the large, oak doors into the infirmary, his eyes adjusting easily to the moonlit room. When his gaze travelled through the semi-darkness, he noticed that the girl's bed had been moved so that it stood next to the one Weasley occupied.

Snape had to suppress a snort at the sight.

Of course, it wouldn't do for the two-thirds of Gryffindor's Golden Trio that resided in the infirmary to stay apart. At least, Potter hadn't demanded to camp in the Hospital Wing as well while his friends stayed here.

Brushing his unreasonable irritation at the thought aside, he moved to the girl's bedside and felt the last, persistent flicker of annoyance abate when he beheld her in the pale moonlight, snuggled deep into her covers, sleeping peacefully.

However, a short glance at the open bottle on her bedside cabinet, and the fresh smell of Dreamless Sleep it emitted, told him that she wasn't as safe from the nightmares as he would have wished.

Nevertheless, now there was the inkling of a smile playing around her mouth while the soft braid he knew so well from his memory of Grimmauld Place tamed, once again, her hair. The dark bruises that had marred her features only twenty-four hours ago had vanished completely.

Snape let his wand hover briefly in the air above her body, casting several necessary diagnostic spells to receive a final confirmation of her healing process.

The results proved far better than expected, and he put his wand away and exhaled a sigh, giving way to the swell of contentment that spread through him, knowing that his potions had obviously worked.

For uncounted minutes, Snape simply stood motionless at her bedside.

He was well aware that his need for coming here tonight had been satisfied. He knew he should leave and finally return to his chambers, but somehow he felt unable to turn his gaze from Miss Granger's sleeping face.

In all those years as a teacher, he had perfected his ability to simply overlook the visual appearance of his female students.

However, after all the exuberant and deceptive beauty he had been submitted to in the last hours, he couldn't help but recognize the grace of Miss Granger's slightly irregular features for the first time.

He hadn't seen it in all those hours he had spent in vigil at her bedside, but now, as if a veil had been lifted, there was no chance for his gaze not to be held captive by the dainty swing of her lips or those long brown lashes that cast soft shadows on her skin in the bluish twilight.

And his eyes drank it all in, savouring the sight like the most exquisite form of solace.

The solace of knowing that the girl – his most unlikely protégée – would not only live but that she would live to become the remarkable and lovely young woman he saw in front of him, and after tonight, she was as safe as she could ever be, given the times, her closeness to Potter ...

...and her preposterous importance to me.

The moment the thought entered his mind, he forced himself to look away. He had neither the right nor a reason to stay at her beside for another night. He wasn't her Head of House. And even his short visit tonight had been foolish and dangerous, if he was honest with himself.

He would not return; he could not allow anybody to see him slipping into the infirmary night after night and find him at her bedside. Neither the old man nor the Dark Lord would be forgiving if they learned of it.

The way back down to the dungeons appeared unusually long to him, but when he finally entered his chambers, he found Dumbledore bent over his living room table, one hand holding back his long white beard while he poured tea from a silvery pot into a cup with the other.

Snape leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest as he regarded him silently.

Putting down the teapot, Dumbledore looked up, smiling. "Ah, Severus, Fawkes saw you return to the castle some time earlier, and I thought you might not be averse to a good cup of Earl Grey and some company. When you didn't show for a while, I already feared I would have to enjoy the tea without you."

Snape frowned, considering the possibility that the old man knew that he had chosen to check on Miss Granger, even before reporting to him. However, he quickly dismissed the thought as paranoia. The old man wasn't as omniscient as he always liked to pretend.

"Really touching, Albus," said Snape with a sneer. "But first of all, I might not be averse to a long shower."

"Well, what are you waiting for then, Severus? I'll put the cosy on the teapot," Dumbledore said cheerfully, settling into one of Snape's armchairs.

"Of course," the spy said, rolling his eyes.

However, when he headed to the bathroom, he felt oddly comforted by the thought he would find the old man and not merely the silence of his living room upon his return, even when he knew that Dumbledore would only wait for him to hear if his visit at Ivy's had achieved their aim of furthering his chances to get back into the Dark Lord's good books.

Of course.

It was all for the sake of the greater cause, after all.