The Terror of Knowing

Disclaimer: All rights belong to JKR.

Author's note: Two lovely ladies granted this chapter their beta-magic. Thank you so much, potionsmistress23 and Sempra.

Sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, blue-jeans clad legs dangling in the air, Hermione suppressed an afflicted sigh when Madam Pomfrey set out to explain, for probably the third time now, how the different potions in her bag had to be taken after she finally left the Hospital Wing, something she hoped would happen soon as, mentally, Hermione was already on her way to the library.

It was Friday evening, and the week of bed rest she had been forced to endure in the infirmary had felt like a mind-numbing eternity, an eternity the Hogwarts' mediwitch had chosen to prolong countless times.

Even Ron had been discharged before her. He had been allowed to leave the Hospital Wing early this morning, and Hermione had fiercely hoped to accompany him, but Madam Pomfrey had insisted on one more day of bed rest. Hermione had had no choice but to submit herself to several more hours of torturous idleness while her mind once again mulled over a thought that had plagued her ever since the Headmaster's revelations regarding the night at the Ministry. At a certain point during Professor Dumbledore's narrative, while she had listened to him and had looked into those seemingly omniscient blue eyes, something in the back of her mind had clicked.

She hadn't dared to tell Harry, yet, about the theory that had occurred to her, nor would she while it was merely a working hypothesis, for which she had no proof, but deep down, she was already convinced that the initials on the labels attached to the glass spheres in the Hall of Prophecy indicated to whom a prediction had been made, and there were not many wizards whose names would correspond to the initials A.P.W.B.D. It was, therefore, only logical to assume that Professor Dumbledore not only knew what Harry's destroyed prophecy had contained, something that she had feared was lost forever, but that he knew about the other prediction that concerned Professor Snape as well.

But if Professor Dumbledore truly was the wizard who had heard those prophecies, why would he not mention, when he had recounted to her the events at the Ministry, that Harry's wasn't lost forever, as they all believed it? Or had he told Harry already? And what about Professor Snape?

Hermione bit her bottom lip.

It was pointless to dwell on these questions before she had been able to consult various books from the Divination section to find unquestionable evidence for her suspicion.

While she would never admit it to anyone, during the last days, she would have gladly traded an early glimpse of her OWL results for a single glance at a book on the magical theory of prophecies.

Unfortunately, anything even resembling schoolwork had been strictly forbidden by Madam Pomfrey over the past week and now, when she was so close to laying her hands on the desired tomes, the school clock was drawing closer and closer to curfew.

"… and don't forget, you'll need to fetch another dose of those potions before getting on the Hogwarts Express on Monday morning, Miss Granger. And I would kindly ask you not to overdo it once you are back in Gryffindor Tower." The mediwitch emphasized her demand with a stern look.

"I promise, I won't," Hermione assured, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the advice. After the last seven days, she felt as if she had rested enough for a lifetime.

"Very well."

"Can I leave now?" Hermione asked, the question somewhere between an impatient demand and a frustrated plea. The school clock indicated barely half an hour until curfew.

"Not yet, dear. The Headmaster has asked Professor Snape to have a look at you as well before we can finally discharge you," Madam Pomfrey declared with a sympathetic smile.

Hermione mouthed a silent "oh", and Madam Pomfrey patted her hand encouragingly in return.

"Don't worry, dear. It won't take long. You'll be back in your common room right before curfew," the mediwitch said before she retreated into her consulting room that adjoined the infirmary.

Hermione exhaled slowly, a warm puff of breath, but the effort to ease the sudden tightening of her stomach failed; her thwarted plan to visit the library tonight was long forgotten.

She hadn't seen Professor Snape since her first night in the infirmary, and every day, with every new, more alarming article in the Daily Prophet, the tide of worry in her chest had swelled. Catching a glimpse would have been enough to know he was alive. However, while his potions had always found their way onto her cabinet in the mornings, Professor Snape had not set a foot into the infirmary himself. After seven days of waiting, after seven days of gruesome newspaper reports, the worry for his well-being had solidified into an unpleasant tightness within her chest. Even more so, because his continuous absence had dispossessed her of the hope, one she had silently nourished, that a visit from him in the Hospital Wing would present her with the chance to apologize for her presumptuous behaviour during their last conversation.

It had taken nearly her entire first day in the infirmary to fully recollect the events of that night, and even though she had long known how the smallest of smiles was able to change Professor Snape's features, the memory of having such a shy yet honest smile directed at her, like the one he had given her when he had told her she would be well again, still sent a frisson of something warm and pleasant through her.

It was a feeling so different from the red-hot abashment that burnt high on her cheeks every time she dared to remember how, in one unthinkable act of Gryffindor boldness, she had given in to the need to take her professor's hand.

She still couldn't comprehend where the sentiment had come from. It had simply been there, foolhardy and true. It had been the only way to silence the evil imp of fear gnawing at her heart that night. Although Professor Snape had neither been outright appalled nor rejected the gesture, she couldn't help but be apprehensive that, so shortly after their already disastrous discussion regarding Harry's Occlumency lessons, she had finally overstepped her bounds with that uninvited gesture of familiarity.

Hermione was still considering that unpleasant possibility, her gaze lingering unseeing on the floor, when she heard the sound of the large doors to the infirmary being pushed open, and her stomach dropped with an edgy constriction as if she had missed a step on the stairs.

Her eyes flew up, and only a moment later, she saw Professor Snape step through the entrance. He approached her hospital bed with long, swift strides, looking tired and gaunt like he so often did these days, but even so, the sight of him, alive and breathing, loosened the small knot of worry in her chest considerably.

"Miss Granger." The Potions master greeted her with a curt nod as he stepped up to her hospital bed, his face masked by the familiar expression of indifference.

"Professor Snape." She tried a small smile.

"Madam Pomfrey has already told you why I am here?" he asked coolly and without preliminaries.

Hermione nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Good," he said, silently summoning his wand from his sleeve. "I need you to expose your right forearm, then, Miss Granger."

She rolled up the fabric of her dark blue t-shirt before proffering her forearm to him, pulse point turned to the ceiling.

Her professor's gaze drifted to the exposed piece of unblemished skin. Murmuring something, he pointed the tip of wand at her wrist while the long, slender fingers of his left hand came to rest on the lower side of her forearm, sending a warm and pleasant shudder through her that gave her heart a small twinge.

She barely heard herself draw in a sharp breath.

Immediately, the hand on her skin was withdrawn as if it had been burnt. Black eyes snapped up, and the already familiar ache in her chest made itself known when her gaze locked with Professor Snape's. A brief flicker of dismay in the dark depths betrayed the cold mask of indifference.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No! No, sir." She shook her head determinedly, hastily averting her face from him as she felt a treacherous blush rise in her cheeks. "Not at all."

It was mortifying.

She should have braced herself against the feel of his touch. But she hadn't, and once again, she had been defenceless against the sensation when he had placed his finger on her skin. Warm. Gentle. Caring. It had been a gesture so in contrast to the austere face he showed the world that it had left her breathless.

She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to regain her composure, and when she looked at her professor again, she found him regarding her carefully.

"I'm fine, sir. Really. Please continue," she assured again, only to sense, with a twinge of guilt, the hesitation with which Professor Snape turned his wand back towards the inner side of her arm.

The tip of the magical wood floated only a breath above her skin, and her eyes followed the invisible path Professor Snape drew along her forearm, silent and mesmerized. Only when he reached the crook of her elbow did her professor met her gaze again, probing her with his unfathomable, black eyes.

"Did you feel any pain during the examination, Miss Granger?"

"None, sir," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, then, I need to take a look at the area where the curse hit you, Miss Granger. Could you–" He faltered in voicing his request, and she saw a shadow of something uncertain, almost timid, cross his usually stern features as he gestured briefly with his wand towards her collarbone.

She realized the source of his unease immediately. The boat neck of her shirt was covering the scar the curse had left nearly completely, and it needed to be moved aside to allow him to examine the curse wound.

"Oh, of course," she said quickly, answering the request he had left unspoken. Turning her face slightly away, she pulled the neckline down about one or two inches, just enough to expose the region where the curse had marred her skin.

"You need to tell me immediately if you feel any discomfort, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said before he placed the tip of his wand close to the healed curse wound and leaned slightly down, in a posture not unlike that of a physician conducting an examination with a stethoscope.

She felt the magic of a non-verbal spell ghost briefly over her skin and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, forcing herself to remain still while her professor's wand followed the line of her scar from the area where her breastbone met her collarbone up to her shoulder.

After repeating the examination for a second time, Professor Snape removed his wand and cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes as he said, "It appears that all residues of Dark magic have been dissolved. Unfortunately, the slight scarring will remain. There was nothing I–" He paused, placing his wand back beneath the sleeve of his frock coat. "Anyway, you should not experience any lingering effects from the curse on your magic, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said softly as she sought his gaze, hoping her eyes could convey the depth of her gratitude better than mere words could. "And I know there was nothing you could have done about the scarring, sir," she added carefully, and the smile playing around her mouth brightened when she saw how the harsh lines around his eyes softened in response. "I am aware that an injury caused by Dark magic always leaves a mark."

Professor Snape nodded, a wistful expression curling his lips. "Indeed, and one would wish that it remains the only–"

A sharp hiss disrupted his sentence suddenly, and he winced, clutching the wrist of his left forearm in front of his chest.

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, one hand already reaching out to him, but the movement came to an abrupt halt and her hand hovered undecided above his left shoulder as she realized that she couldn't be sure if a touch would not increase the pain he experienced.

Slowly, Hermione drew her hand back, her fingers straying involuntarily to cover the mark on her breastbone as her gaze drifted from the agonized look on his face to the fabric-covered wrist he was holding.

She had known since last summer what was hidden beneath the layers of his frock coat; she had seen the brief outlines of the snake and the skull carved into his skin, but until now, she had never truly understood what it meant when the Dark Mark on Professor Snape's forearm burned.

It literally seared his skin – and his soul.

"It's all right."

Her eyes flew back to her professor's face when she heard him gasp the reassurance. A lie, of course, told only to ease her worry, and they both knew it.

How could anything be all right when he was in front of her, squeezing his eyes shut in pain because Voldemort had just called him? When he had to obey and follow the dark wizard's Summoning to keep Harry, to keep them all safe? When he wasn't safe?

But like Harry, her professor would never be safe again, as long as Voldemort remained undefeated.

And maybe not even then... The realization sent a cold shiver down her spine, and in a spark of rational thought, she wondered if those cold claws of cognition that seemed to seize her more and more often were merely signs of growing up too fast and too early, as they all did these days, or if crossing the line into adulthood was always marked by that strange terror of knowing what the world was about.

But as quickly as the thought had come, it was gone when her professor opened his eyes again, and her hazel ones met the dark abyss of his gaze in silent understanding.

"I have to go."

"I know." And I wish you wouldn't.

"The Headmaster needs to be informed immediately about my departure, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, the urgency plain in his voice. "The password to his office is chocolate fairy cakes. I need you to do that for me, Miss Granger."

"Of course, sir."

There was an inkling of a nod from her professor, but when he turned to leave, her heart constricted at the thought of whom he was going to face.

"Professor?" she said quietly, his title only a whisper in the large the Hospital Wing, but it was enough for him to halt in his steps and search her gaze again.

"Please, be careful, Professor." It was a soft but insistent request, and she didn't even try to disguise the concern she knew must be clearly visibly on her face, and in the short moment her professor regarded her with an inscrutable expression in his night-dark gaze, time stood still, until one corner of his mouth quirked up in response.

"I shall try, Miss Granger."

A second later, he headed towards the large doors of the Hospital Wing, and when heavy oak eventually clunk shut behind him, Hermione drew an unsteady breath and slid from the edge of her bed onto the floor. She hastened from the infirmary and through the silent hallways of the castle up to the seventh floor, and it was mere minutes before she used the brass knocker on the Headmaster's office door and waited for Professor Dumbledore to call her in.

At his command, she opened the door and stepped through, and the familiar pair of benign blue eyes looked up from the paper-filled desk greeted her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," said the Headmaster. "Please, come on in and close the door tightly. Unfortunately, Peeves has found himself a new avocation and has taken up eavesdropping from time to time."

Closing the door, she turned to find the Headmaster gazed at her.

"Miss Granger, is everything alright? You look quite pale, my dear girl. Please sit down and tell me what brings you to me."

"I-I am here because–" She trailed off, struggling for words, but every answer that began to form on her tongue appeared inadequate… wrong.

Behind the ancient desk, there no longer sat a benevolent, elderly wizard who watched over a school full of adolescents but the leader in a coming war, and now she was here to tell him that his spy, his soldier, had once more left for his dangerous mission deep behind hostile lines.

She swallowed, hard.

"Professor Dumbledore, I… Professor Snape… he has been summoned, sir. He asked me to inform you before he left."

The Headmaster sighed, stroking his silver beard. "Well, we knew it would have to happen soon. Thank you, Miss Granger. Please, do sit down. Would you care for a lemon drop – or maybe a tea?"

"Tea would be wonderful, sir," Hermione replied. Realizing she hadn't moved since stepping through the door, she sat down in one of the large, velvet armchairs in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk while the Headmaster called for Dobby.

"So, I take it you were present when Professor Snape was called?" the Headmaster asked once the house-elf had brought the tea set, his tone more curious than concerned while he poured steaming liquid into two cups and handed her one.

"Thank you, Headmaster. Yes, I was there, actually. Professor Snape was conducting a final check on my curse wound when it happened."

Dumbledore took the teacup from its saucer. "Ah, of course, he had told me he intended to do that before you were allowed to leave the Hospital Wing tonight."

And then Voldemort had called him... She could have laughed at the bitter absurdity of the situation. One moment, he was her professor, looking after an injury a Death Eater had given her, and in the other, he had to pose as one of them. Like he had been on the night at Grimmauld Place...

Hermione shivered, and her gaze dropped to the china cup in her hands, swirling with the golden-brown liquid.

It was futile. Not even the warmth from all the tea in the world could melt away the frosty numbness in her chest now that memories of her professor lying cursed – hurt over the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place – flooded her mind again.

Don't leave me…

... I won't. All is well.

But again, nothing was well, and suddenly a thought, a possibility, formed on her tongue, so foul that she feared she would suffocate if she tried to choke down the words.

"Is... is it possible that V-Voldemort will punish Professor Snape, I mean, for the failure at the Ministry?"

"No, Miss Granger. That is rather unlikely," Professor Dumbledore stated firmly.

There was an irritatingly calm, detached note in the Headmaster's voice that made Hermione look up sharply, and she felt a sudden anger crack through the walls of her composure.

Professor Dumbledore regarded her with what appeared to be curiosity as he took another sip from his teacup.

Not breaking away from those piercing blue eyes in front of her, Hermione placed her own cup aside, maybe a little more forcefully than necessary, the mere scent of tea suddenly unbearable to her.

"But Voldemort does it sometimes, doesn't he?" she pressed on, unwilling to let the topic go.

"Yes, unfortunately," the Headmaster conceded, and something akin to grief played across his features.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "But then, why... why do you allow Professor Snape to go back when each time he could be hurt or even… even worse..." She trailed off, realizing how foolish and even childish her question sounded.

If she was honest with herself, it was painfully obvious why Professor Dumbledore had asked Professor Snape to return to Voldemort's side a year ago. The Order needed the information her professor obtained. In an abstract way, she had long known that it was his spying that kept Harry, and all them, as safe as possible, but over the course of the last months, she had seen glimpses of what this spying entailed for her professor, and somehow, in this very moment, she simply wished that the elderly wizard behind the Headmaster's desk would tell her it was no longer necessary, that with all his experience and wisdom, he had found a way to keep Professor Snape safe as well.

But that wouldn't happen. That wasn't the way of the world she had come to know as dark and difficult.

Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore had risen from behind his desk and walked towards Fawkes' golden perch, his wrinkled right hand stroking the feathers of the phoenix silently.

Minutes passed, in which her question hung unanswered and heavy between them, before Professor Dumbledore bent down to murmur something to Fawkes, causing the phoenix to raise himself in the air and fly out into the night through an opening in one of the large windows.

"Miss Granger, the decision to allow Professor Snape to fulfill his task is not one I make lightly," Professor Dumbledore said a moment later, looking at her with an earnest expression. "However, his spying is the only thing that stands between us and the soulless evil that is Lord Voldemort. That's why I have to ask it of him, and he knows that."

"I understand that, but I simply wish it wasn't be necessary," she murmured, heaving her shoulders.

The Headmaster nodded. "That, dear girl, I wish as well, and I do understand that this troubles you, given that you were present tonight when Professor Snape was called. However, as his position has become even more perilous, now that Tom has revealed himself, I have a request of you tonight, Miss Granger: if there is anything else in relation to Professor Snape's task on your mind besides concern for his well-being – and knowing you, I am sure there is – please, don't take those questions outside the safety of this office."

... because Voldemort has his eyes and ears even within the walls of Hogwarts, Hermione thought, frowning. It wasn't necessary for the Headmaster to acknowledge the bitter truth. She caught it between the lines, nonetheless. Even Hogwarts wasn't completely safe anymore, neither for Harry nor for Professor Snape.

"I won't, sir."

"Thank you, Miss Granger. It might not be possible for me to answer every question you ask to your full satisfaction, but I, in return, promise to try." The elderly wizard smiled at her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, trying to decide which of all the questions the Headmaster's proposition had sent swirling through her mind she should ask first.

The prospect of Professor Dumbledore providing her with certain, important pieces of knowledge felt exciting… special even, and suddenly, she realized that this must be how Harry felt when he discussed things with the Headmaster alone.

"Well, Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore gazed kindly at her as he sat down behind his desk again, placing in his hands in his lap while he waited for her, but it took several more moments before she was finally able to decide on the first question.

"Professor Dumbledore, would you mind explaining what happens afterwards… I mean, after Professor Snape returns from a Summoning. How do you even know if he returns safely?"

"Well, on most occasions, Fawkes keeps watch for Severus, as he is right now. And for the rest, that depends, Miss Granger," the Headmaster explained. "In the preferable case, when Professor Snape returns early and unscathed, he gives me a basic report before we evaluate his memory of the events together in the Pensieve. But mostly, he returns just before dawn and gives me a brief report on everything of importance and the detailed evaluation of his memories is done as soon as our two schedules allow it. And of course, as you will quite remember from Christmas, dear girl, there are those unfortunate times when he returns in no shape to give me a report at all. Those are the times when I am forced to remove his memories and view them on my own to learn what has happened during the night."

"I understand." Hermione nodded, kneading her hands tightly as she tried to brush aside the images the Headmaster's answer evoked, concentrating on something else, something she had wanted to know for months now. "As you have already mentioned Christmas, Headmaster," she began, amazed at how calm her voice sounded when she felt so far from it. "Why did Voldemort… what was his reason for using the Cruciatus Curse on Professor Snape?"

"Well, Miss Granger, you will, of course, remember, because of Harry's dream, we were able to save Arthur Weasley's life just in time after he prevented another one of Tom's attempts to seize the prophecy before Christmas. Tom was, as you can probably imagine, most displeased about that and chose to blame Professor Snape for the failure."

"But if he blamed Professor Snape then, how can you be so sure that he won't blame him this time for the events at the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione countered, her earlier anger at the Headmaster flaring again.

"That is, Miss Granger, because this time it is undeniably Lucius Malfoy who failed Tom. Not only did he fail to seize the prophecy, but he also allowed it to be destroyed. Its desired content presumably forever lost to his master."

Presumably... How a single word can make such a difference, Hermione thought, remembering her earlier theory about the listener of the prophecy with the initials A.W.P.B.D. The Headmaster would not have worded his answer as carefully as he had, were he not the person who hid behind those letters. While the contents of Harry's prophecy did not fall under the topic Professor Dumbledore had offered to discuss, there was something she needed to know to confirm her suspicion beyond any doubt, something of equal importance to her.

"Miss Granger, I can see there is something else you wish to discuss. Please continue."

"Does Voldemort know there is also a prophecy about Professor Snape in the Department of Mysteries and that it was made to you, sir?"

The moment the words passed her lips, she realized voicing her suspicions might be a mistake. The pit of her stomach fell as Professor Dumbledore's face darkened, and she waited for his reaction.

The Headmaster bided his time by regarding her thoughtfully before he finally answered. "I would presume, Miss Granger, even if Tom had knowledge of a prophecy concerning one of his followers, he wouldn't deem it worth his time. In Tom's hubris, he believes none of his Death Eaters capable of defying him."

"But the prediction… it's relevant, isn't it, Professor?" she asked, her heart beating far too high in her throat. She had been right about the initials. Merlin, she had been right.

"Well, Miss Granger, that has yet to be seen. There is something that still needs to be decided, and I am convinced, for everything to play out in the most favourable way for our cause, this decision has to be made… without foreknowledge of the existence of a prophecy. In that light, it is an absolute imperative that no one else learns of the prophecy, Miss Granger. I won't deny I am displeased with the little discovery you made in the Department of Mysteries but now that you know, I ask that you not speak of this with anyone. Do I have your word that you will tell no one?"

Uninvited, the Headmaster's words summoned the image of two familiar, yellowish labels to the front of Hermione's mind: the first, the one with Voldemort's and Harry's names on it, her friend's merely added after a question mark in brackets, the other with only her professor's name followed by a question mark; it was easy to imagine what the undecided thing was to which Professor Dumbledore had alluded.

The second person of concern was still unknown, and until the fates had thrown the dice, Professor Dumbledore had apparently decided that Professor Snape should remain in the dark about the prophecy's existence as well as its content, and now, he wanted her to comply with that decision.

Hermione's brow knitted at the thought. Why would the Headmaster keep such a crucial piece of knowledge from the Potions master, something that may affect his life most directly?

Because sometimes it is in the best interest of the ones we wish to protect to leave some truths untold for a while, Professor Dumbledore's voice echoed in a distant part of her mind, and Hermione realized that the Headmaster, displeased as he was by her knowledge, could have easily asked her to take a Wand Oath to ensure his wish, but he hadn't.

Deciding that if he trusted her enough to merely ask for her word on the matter, she should trust his decision in return, for the time being.

"You have my word, Professor."

"Good," Professor Dumbledore exclaimed before his face became serious again. "One more thing, Miss Granger: I dare assume that you have deduced by now that I was the recipient of Harry's as well?"

Hermione nodded.

"I think you should know, then, that I have already relayed the prophecy's full content to Harry, but would advise you, my dear girl, to wait for him to come to you on his own to share this knowledge. I take it, he hasn't done that yet?"

"No, Headmaster, not yet."

"I thought not." Professor Dumbledore sighed. "The prophecy's content isn't the easiest knowledge to bear, and all the more, I'd ask you to be patient and let Harry decide for himself when he is prepared to reveal it to you, Miss Granger. And now, allow me to walk you back to your common room. It's already long past your curfew."

The Headmaster rose from his chair, and Hermione did so as well, realizing that her short moment of answers had come to a rather sudden end.

A few moments later, she was silently walking beside Professor Dumbledore to Gryffindor Tower, lost in thought. Once inside her common room, she quickly excused herself from her friends, unable to face a night of listening to the latest Quidditch news when her own evening had been so far from normality.

Once inside her dormitory, she curled into the niche of the large tower window beside her bed, from where she could see the front gate, and leaned her temple against the cool glass.

Before they had left his office, she had asked the Headmaster to inform her of Professor Snape's return. Professor Dumbledore had assured her–his anger with her obviously already diminishing–that he would let her know about the Potions master's well-being first thing in the morning. But now that she was all by herself, and a long night of uncertainty lay ahead, the prospect of being informed in the morning wasn't good enough.

Not anymore.

Not when she had seen her professor leave, and in a way, it felt as if she had been the one to allow him to walk straight into danger.

She would wait. Even if it wasn't very likely that Professor Snape would return through the front gate, it was worth a try. She simply had to see with her own eyes that he was safe. No matter how long it took. It was the closest she could come to being there for him tonight.

Somehow.

Somewhere in Scotland, thunder rolled. The sound tore through the silence hanging between the late gothic stonewalls in the spacious assembly room like a knife as Draco Malfoy kneeled in front of the Dark Lord.

The boy placed his exposed left forearm into the skeletal claw waiting for him, and the madman placed the tip of his wand against the untainted, pale skin; immediately, a snake of green light flashed forward and curled around Draco's forearm.

Standing among the circle of Death Eaters witnessing the scene, Snape drew a steadying breath. He didn't know how the boy had managed to sneak out of the castle unnoticed to attend the Summoning, but about one thing he was absolutely certain: Narcissa had no idea about the decision her son was making tonight.

Draco had appeared only moments after he in front of the Scottish estate, his face grey and fear-stricken as if looking into an endless abyss as he had held on to the arm of his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. She had Apparated them both to the gathering, leading her nephew with unconcealed pride before the Dark Lord, like the literal lamb to slaughter.

The son's soul for the sins of the father…

Snape closed his eyes behind his iron mask. Bile rose in his stomach, and he thought the acid would burn a hole in his soul when the initiation began and he heard the boy seal his fate.

"Tell me, young Malfoy," asked the Dark Lord with obvious delight, "are you here of your own free will?"

"I-I am."

"And do you wish to serve me and only me… above all others?"

"I do."

"Then swear…"

"With… with this magical oath, I bind myself of my own free will under the Dark Mark as a faithful servant, and I swear that I shall render my unconditional obedience to Lord Voldemort."

Even through his closed eyelids, Snape could see the flash of light that would engrave the binding magic deep into the boy's skin… would end Draco's childhood, his innocence, once and forever.

He felt like screaming.

"Rise, Death Eater," ordered the quiet, hissing voice of his supposed master, and Snape forced his eyes open.

Draco was now standing in front of the Dark Lord. He was already clad in the heavy, black Death Eater robe when the madman pressed the iron mask onto his face, completing the initiation.

"Take your place beside your Aunt Bellatrix, Draco. She will teach you well."

When the boy turned around and walked towards his designated place, the Death Eater mask concealed the emotions on his face. But to someone who had known Draco since he was a small child, the unusual stiffness in his posture and the well-concealed clenching of his hands spoke of the young man's fear.

Once Draco had joined the circle of hooded figures assembled in the Scottish estate, the Dark Lord moved into the centre of the room and addressed his followers again.

"Death Eaters, the events at Ministry were a disappointing set-back, a failure caused by a few. But we will not waver; we will not slow down in our efforts. Our enemies will be crushed. Those within the Ministry who choose to defy us will be crushed. And those who poison our world with their tainted blood will be erased forever from our midst. The day is within our reach when the greatness of Lord Voldemort will decide the future of Wizarding Britain and of the Wizarding world. The Dementors, our natural allies, left the walls of Azkaban only hours ago. They will soon join us. My friends, some of you have already received your tasks, others will within the next days. I count on you to fulfil them well. My victory will be our victory. Now, leave, Death Eaters, leave to live up to your master's name."

Mere moments later, the gathering dissolved, and the first sounds of Death Eaters Disapparating from the grounds outside could be heard through the opening in the front door as Snape approached the large door.

It was then that he heard his name being called in a quiet, nearly affectionate tone. He paused, and something in his gut twisted nauseatingly as he turned around.

The Dark Lord was sitting on an ornate, oak chair on the other side of the room, large and heavy, resembling a throne, his bony fingers resting on the empty seat next to him.

On the right hand of the Dark Lord…

"Severus. My faithful Severus," his supposed master cooed in his high, clear voice.

Snape slowly removed his mask. "My Lord?"

"Come. Sit with me for a while."

"Gladly, my Lord."

The moment the madman voiced the request, he knew this was the chance the old man and he had waited for: the chance for him to claim Lucius' place in the inner circle. But still, between him and their goal lay the invisible abyss of the Dark Lord's distrust which he had to bridge with the coming conversation. He would have to tread with utmost caution.

Snape was about to take the first step towards his master when, in a moment beyond his control, Miss Granger's voice echoed in his mind.

Please, be careful, Professor...

... I shall try.

For an instant, his heart clenched with an elusive ache like it had hours ago in the Hospital wing, yet he accomplished the impossible and kept his face blank under the scrutiny of those glowing, red eyes, watching his every step as he crossed the room. Emptying himself of every emotion as he approached the Dark Lord, he pushed the memory behind his Occlumency shields where it was safe from the madman.

When Snape reached the spot where Draco had kneeled not even half an hour ago, he paused and searched the Dark Lord's gaze, silently confirming his permission to take the place beside the dark wizard.

His supposed master graced him with the inkling of a nod and removed his hand from the chair, placing it in his lap.

Snape sat down and waited, silent, for the Dark Lord to proceed and begin his interrogation.

"I am aware that the months since your belated return to my side have been difficult for you, Severus," the wizard said softly, not looking at Snape but at some unknown point ahead of him. "And I haven't always been even-handed in my decisions regarding you, Severus, I admit it."

Snape snorted inwardly but refrained from any outward response to the other wizard's admission.

"I regret that. I really do, Severus. You wouldn't have failed me like Lucius did, not my faithful and clever Severus."

"My Lord is too generous. It is merely my constant intent and my utmost desire to serve you–to please you, my Lord."

"Oh, I know that, Severus. You always did, except for… well, we shall not speak of it again."

"As you wish, my Lord," replied Snape, his face an impassive mask while the pain at the madman's nonchalant reference to the one he loved the most coiled cold and unbearable around his heart like a poisonous snake, and for a mere moment, he wished it would simply cease its beating.

Lily. Dead. Gone.

My fault alone.

"As I wish, indeed," the Dark Lord said, the travesty of a smile curling the pale, lipless mouth. "And what I wish is for you to take your rightful place at my side, Severus. What do you say? Will you accept the place in our circle as my most trusted servant?"

Immediately, when he had posed the question, the hairless skull next to Snape snapped around, and the Dark Lord's scarlet gaze fastened on him.

"With honour, my Lord," Snape said, bowing his head slightly.

A long, white finger was placed beneath his chin, lifting his face to his supposed master, and the blood-red eyes in front of him flashed for a moment.

"Than you shall have it, Severus. But remember well, I do not appreciate being disappointed."

Without any prior warning, Snape felt a sudden rush of magic behind his brow, strong, demanding, and he knew that any sign of resistance at the Dark Lord's invasion of his mind would be his death-knell.

The assembly room dissolved from his view, and he drowned in a surge of images and emotions as the madman took control of his mind, trusting silently that his mental shields would hold while he concentrated on the memories he knew would please the Dark Lord.

He was at Grimmauld Place... Black was telling him again that he would never believe him reformed, no matter how much the old fool insisted on it... Dumbledore was placing a hand on his shoulder, telling him he trusted him… and then the scene changed, and Potter was throwing him an accusing glance in the hospital wing after the events at the Ministry, the anguish of losing his godfather written plainly across his features...

He could sense how the Dark Lord relished in finding a memory of the old man, dried traces of tears on his face... the werewolf crying quietly against Tonk's shoulder, devastated beyond consolation at Black's demise… Molly and Shacklebolt shouting about something at each other while the old man tried to achieve silence… The flickers of lust on the night at Ivy's brothel were quickly dismissed.

He forced himself to remain calm as he felt how the madman was pushing deeper into his mind, searching for memories linked to stronger emotions, memories that were not so freely displayed, and something like a raw chuckle vibrated through the mental connection of their minds when a memory of Dumbledore came into view, looking tired and oh-so old... and then the memory of Lucius telling him not to answer his master's call was pulled forward, and he felt the Dark Lord linger on the scene and concentrated on the feigned feeling of confusion and disappointment... A moment later, he was in his office again, advising Draco not to question the Dark Lord's decisions when the boy accused him of failing his father. There was no chance to mask the guilt he had felt in this moment, but the Dark Lord brushed the scene aside... And then somehow, he was looking into Miss Granger's eyes once more, her hazel eyes glistening with tears as she stood in his office…

For a single heartbeat, the air in his lungs solidified. He had chosen not to hide the complete memory of his outburst with her behind his Occlumency shields. In fact, the exchange and his wild wave of rage towards the girl would appear useful if his supposed master inquired into his treatment of Potter's little friends.

But now that he was once more confronted with the intensity of emotion with which she had looked at him, he realized his mistake. His own emotions connected to the memory were unreasonably strong–Merlin, of course, they were–and in front of the Dark Lord, there was no justifiable explanation he could give for why Potter's Muggleborn friend should ever regard him with her heart literally shining in those damnable hazel eyes of hers.

Immediately, and before the madman had the chance to see the flaw in the scene before him, Snape forced another memory to spill forward from the depths of his mind, one he had been holding back, one he had prepared and hoped would be strong enough to lure the Dark Lord's attention away: He was in Dumbledore's office, standing in front of portrait of Phineas Nigellus, and the Slytherin was addressing him once more as Headmaster Snape… He focussed with all his strength on the feigned rush of greed and desire connected with the scene... Headmaster Snape... Headmaster of Hogwarts... Headmaster...

The mental connection broke.

"So, Headmaster of Hogwarts, is it, Severus?" The Dark Lord gave a malicious chuckle. "Well, then it should please you that I will soon be able to grant you your heart's desire."

Snape inclined his head with an appearance of detached curiosity. "My Lord?"

"Dumbledore will not, again, have the chance to stand before Potter, to protect the boy when I next face him. The old fool has to fall, as does Hogwarts. And once the school is under my command, the Ministry will soon follow."

"My Lord, as much as I support your reasoning," said Snape carefully, "Dumbledore is still a powerful wizard, and he is currently also the most highly protected person in the Wizarding world, besides Potter and the Minister himself. I dare assume, my Lord, you already have a plan of how to achieve–"

"It is not about how to do it, Severus," the madman interrupted him. "It is about who will do it, Severus. Yet, that is something we shall discuss at another time." The madman emitted something like a sigh and waved his hand dismissively. "That will be all for tonight, then, Severus."

"Of course." Snape rose from his chair and bowed slightly. "My Lord."

He had nearly crossed the assembly room when he heard his supposed master's voice again.

"Oh, and Severus?"

Snape turned around once more. "Yes, my Lord?"

"It would please me if you could take Wormtail with you to your home, at least while you are away from Hogwarts. I know he isn't the most capable fellow, but maybe he can prove useful with some minor tasks of your brewing. I will have no need of him, once I join Bellatrix at the Manor," his supposed master said, elbow resting on the arm of the oak chair as he regarded the sharp fingernails of his right hand.

"Of course, my Lord. I am sure I'll find something at my house to keep him occupied." Snape bowed once more before he finally stepped over the threshold of the Scottish estate and into the breaking dawn. He Disapparated mere seconds later.

Almost immediately as his feet touched the safe ground close to the front gate of Hogwarts, his legs failed him, his general state of exhaustion and the rush of emotion he had suppressed during the last hours bringing him to his knees, as though the hand of an invisible giant were forcing him down. He collapsed forward, into the tall grass that was still well concealed by the last, lingering shadows of the night, squeezing his eyes shut and heaving deep, shuddering breaths.

Snape only became aware of his surroundings again when he felt a slight nudge at his upper arm followed by a soft "Ca–aw?"

He looked up and found the old man's phoenix sitting next to him in the grass. Fawkes had inclined his bright-red head and was regarding him thoughtfully.

"Ca-aw?"

Snape reached out and buried, with a gentle caress, his still trembling hand in the soft feathers of the phoenix.

"Persistent like the old man, aren't you, Fawkes? Give me just another moment, and I'll be able to follow you back into the castle," he assured more confidently than he felt.

Fawkes nuzzled his palm with his head in return, and an instant later, a melodious sound filled the air around him, causing a strange, powerful sensation to swell in his weary heart.

Snape blinked, and it took lengthy moments for comprehension to take form, that the phoenix had chosen to sing for him.

"Thank you, my friend," Snape said, his hand caressing the phoenix's head once more when Fawkes ended his song.

With revived strength, he rose from the ground and walked past the winged boars of the front gate and strode towards the main entrance to the castle in the cool morning air. When Fawkes passed in the air above him, Snape allowed his gaze to follow the phoenix's graceful journey through the twilight of the dawn.

To his surprise, Fawkes didn't fly straight towards the Headmaster's office but circled around Gryffindor Tower several times, cawing quietly, before eventually heading for Dumbledore's residence, where he vanished through an opening in one of the large windows.

Absently, Snape halted in his steps as his eyes strayed back to Gryffindor Tower. For a moment, it had appeared as if Fawkes had wanted to alert somebody else besides the old man of his return.

He frowned when the thought caused that nameless but already familiar something in his chest to stir. There had been a kind of understanding in those hazel eyes, so far beyond the girl's years.

Something tender and caring... Shaking his head, Snape forced himself to resume his way to the castle.

There were important things that required his attention tonight. Quickening his steps, he crossed the threshold of Hogwarts, and it wasn't long until Snape entered the Headmaster's office for a lengthy report.

Hermione's right hand lingered on the cool glass of the windowpane as she watched how the dark figure of Hogwarts' Potions master vanished through the entrance door of the castle.

He had returned, and from what she could see, he was at least physically well.

And for a short, absurd moment, when he had paused and looked up towards Gryffindor Tower, she had almost dared to believe that he somehow knew she had waited for him to return.

It had been a fatuous thought, of course.

Slowly, her fingers slid down the windowpane, and Hermione stifled a yawn, a tired, wistful smile curving her mouth.

"Welcome home, Professor."

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