forty-five ~ fifty-one

Hermione stared at the bedclothes, trying to contend with the emotions this confession inspired. Sympathy, yes. Empathy. And… envy. Did she have anything that meant that much to her? Had she ever? She'd fought from necessity— sheer survival instinct. And she'd seen the world in black and white. Gryffindor bravery…? Gryffindor gullibility.

Never questioning why children were sent to fight.

And she the 'smartest witch of her age'.

Ideals weren't enough. Especially when they proved impossibly hollow.

Her friends were a reason. They loved her. But… they hardly needed her. She'd only ever really been 'rather useful to have around'.

~~~

She'd nearly always known. After all, what did they ever talk about? It was Ron and Harry, Quidditch and pranks, all the time— until somebody needed help with his homework. Then, it was 'Hermione, be a pal, eh?' The same with life-threatening situations, if on a different scale. Hardly took a genius to solve that equation.

But she'd been so desperately lonely. Severed from the other bookworms by House divisions, there'd been no one to even chat with. So she'd snatched at the crumbs of affection like a woman starved.

She wondered, now, how deliberately created that situation had been.

~~~

For all her textbooks, Hermione knew she was a romantic, dreaming of that kind of love that would overwhelm and surround her. And gone through several painfully adolescent attempts she didn't want to think about. Even Ron…

He'd smothered her before she'd gone after Severus' corpse. Always hanging about, nattering on about something or other. She'd thought it sweet; he was so concerned. Until she realised that he never asked her how she was. Never confided, never offered to listen. She'd felt pressured to keep everything inside until he'd gone. Until she'd felt the need to scream like a madwoman.

~~~

She'd run. Pure and simple. Her worry for Snape had been genuine; there'd been a possibility, however remote, that he was alive. The others hadn't thought so; his retrieval was at the bottom of their list. She hadn't been able to feel the same. And so she'd gone after him.

And she'd been right, damn it.

And when she'd realised he didn't want to go back, she'd taken the opportunity for the excuse and fled, bringing him to her house to heal.

But he hadn't really needed her, either. It made her feel pathetic, to find that she needed him.

~~~

She started at the sound of his sigh. "Bloody, idiotic farce." She winced, positive he'd heard her thoughts. He had and hastened to explain. "This entire situation, Miss Granger. You never should have been tapped for this fight to begin with. Should've been left to those of us stupid enough to choose it. It should have been that damned mercenary bastard, Albus, in the front line." Hermione stared at the savagery in his voice. "And all of us puppets to his master. Does the end justify all means, Miss Granger? I hope he is rotting in hell, next to Voldemort."

~~~

Snape saw her gaping expression and knew Potter hadn't revealed all. "He manipulated us all, Hermione. Albus knew every nuance of personality, played on strengths and weaknesses. He decided who lived or died, who was important enough to save and who was expendable. We were pawns on his fucking human chessboard, unimportant unless we could further his ends."

"But—" Hermione protested weakly.

His smile was ghastly. "He'll be a martyr, celebrated by all for his noble sacrifice. For hubristic miscalculation, actually. He'd fully intended to ensure his own survival. Ruthless, but not quite so clever as you thought, you bastard."

~~~

He ranted on in that vein for some time, becoming almost insane in his bitterness. But Hermione listened and pieced details together with what she knew. Everything dovetailed. All those little incidents that seemed odd: Harry living with the Dursleys. Sirius locked in Azkaban, then Grimmauld Place. Things that even she could surely have done with better forethought and consideration.

She'd thought them mistakes. But would a man like Dumbledore— powerful, experienced, intelligent— make that many fundamental errors?

She didn't think so.

And as Snape revealed his own strings, she fully understood his impotent rage. For it matched her own.

_{an - As I will be journeying for the next two weeks, it's doubtful I'll be able to post for a while. I'm writing; I just won't be wired. Apologies for the delay, but I shall return!}