Misery Loves Company

Phoenix Song, Chapter Twenty : Misery Loves Company

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Where dialogue from the original Harry Potter books is quoted by me, the relevant text is marked with an asterisk.

I want to thank my betas, LAxo and WriterMerrin, who never tire of pointing out the errors I make over, and over, and over again.

After a certain point, Severus couldn't bear to remain in his office. Gryffindor had booked the Quidditch pitch, yet she still hadn't come. Instead, he chose to stalk the hallways, silencing groups of chattering students as he swept past and deducting points for the most minor of infractions. With curfew fast approaching, Severus turned his feet towards Gryffindor tower. There were always a couple of students who thought five minutes late was soon enough.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, he ducked behind a handy suit of armour and Disillusioned himself with a nonverbal spell. In his extensive experience terrifying students, stepping out and surprising them from behind had proved the most satisfactory method. He checked his watch just as his wrist disappeared from sight. Whoever it was, they were thirty seconds late.

Yet when Hermione Granger wandered past his hiding place, he froze. She looked pensive. Her gaze was unfocussed, and she was chewing at the side of one thumb, several Arithmancy books held lightly to her chest with her other hand. Without entirely meaning to, Severus began to follow her, staying well back so that his footsteps would not be heard. When she turned the corner in front of him, he quickened his pace, unwilling to lose sight of her for any longer than strictly necessary. But from the corner, she was nowhere to be seen. His eyes narrowed in consternation. Keeping his footsteps light, he continued forward, his eyes raking the walls to either side, his senses on high alert for any sound or scent that might suggest the presence of Potter and his damned invisibility cloak. That's when he overheard the sounds of someone struggling and a man's voice, low and threatening:

"You and me, Granger, we've got unfinished business."

Without pausing to think through a plan of attack, Severus stepped into the adjacent alcove, simultaneously dropping his Disillusionment charm and filling the space with light. He assessed the scene before him in an instant: McLaggen held Hermione captive against the wall. At the sudden bright flare, McLaggen turned slightly, giving Hermione just enough purchase to knee him sharply in the upper torso and wrench her wand hand free. Jerking her head back and then quickly forwards, she rammed her forehead into the bridge of his nose; the impact made a sickening crunch. Seconds later, McLaggen was hit by a powerful Revulsion Jinx, unleashed by Severus. There was a flash of crimson, and the heavy-set young man was thrown bodily across the alcove, fetching up against the far wall. Hermione lost no time drawing her own wand, and McLaggen opened his eyes to the sight of two wandpoints, each pointing unwaveringly at his heart.

Severus took in Miss Granger's appearance. There was blood on the side of her face; she was obviously shaken and bruised in several places. He wanted to wrap her in his arms; he wanted to kill McLaggen. McLaggen. "Lovers' tiff?" he asked, dripping sarcasm.

"No, sir." Miss Granger's voice was as hard as steel, her attention focussed on the young man sprawled before her.

He turned his own attention towards her attacker, and the bile rose in his throat. "One hundred points from Gryffindor, McLaggen," he snapped. "I will leave Professor McGonagall to devise a suitable punishment; I warn you, she has little sympathy for abusive men."

McLaggen stared up at him groggily. His nose was clearly broken, and blood dripped from one nostril, running in rivulets down his chin.

Severus leant forward and grasped a handful of his robes. With a sharp tug he pulled McLaggen to his feet. "See you report to her office tomorrow morning before breakfast. Do I make myself clear?"

McLaggen nodded desperately, fear having penetrated his shocked state. When Severus threw him bodily from the alcove, his sense of self preservation asserted itself immediately, and even before Severus encouraged him, "Hospital Wing, now!" he was moving away. Severus turned back towards Miss Granger. She had sheathed her wand and was busy gathering up the books she had dropped.

"Come here." His voice was unnecessarily harsh. She faltered for a second with her fingers around the last book before turning towards him, her books held like a shield before her. "Hold still." With his wand outstretched, Severus cast a simple diagnostic charm. Bruising and the cut on her face. Without a salve, he could do nothing about the bruises, but he stepped closer and pressed his wand to the cut, holding his entire body stiff. Hermione flinched only barely at the touch of his wand, her face impassive. Once it healed, he stepped back immediately and gestured towards the exit. She preceded him out.

In the corridor he swept past her, heading for the entrance to Gryffindor tower. Neither one of them spoke, but he heard her footsteps behind him. At the Fat Lady's portrait, he stopped.

"If I catch you out after curfew again, Miss Granger, you will lose house points." He gestured rather gracelessly at the portrait.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Professor," she began.

"Silence!"

"I just..."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he snarled, clicking his fingers imperiously at the Fat Lady, who graced him with a rebellious look before swinging open. "Inside, now!"

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance. Without another glance, she stepped through the portrait hole, leaving only the Fat Lady to note the desolate expression on Snape's face and his fiercely clenched fists.

"You're welcome, Professor!" the Fat Lady called sarcastically to his retreating back, but the professor made no reply.

His first destination was McGonagall's office, where he threw open the door as if it were that of the Potions classroom. Minerva glanced up in surprise at his sudden arrival.

"Severus! What is the meaning of this?"

"Spare me the histrionics, Minerva. Tomorrow morning before breakfast, Cormac McLaggen is to report to you for punishment. You really should keep your students under better control, you know?"

"McLaggen? What has he done now?"

Severus sneered. "Apparently he's graduated from self-destructive behaviour to domestic abuse."

"For goodness sake, Severus! Stop looming, sit down, and tell me what happened."

Severus chose to ignore her instructions. Instead of sitting, he leant over her desk towards her, his hands pressed to the wooden surface. "I caught him in an alcove close to Gryffindor tower engaged in the act of bashing Miss Granger's head against the wall." Minerva gasped and pressed one hand against her heart. "While you are obviously incapable of policing his behaviour, Minerva, I do hope you can be trusted to punish him." With that, Severus turned and left, leaving Minerva spluttering to herself.

Once he arrived in his own office, it took only moments to locate a bruise salve. Calling a house elf, he gave instructions for it to be delivered to Miss Granger immediately. That done, he returned to the corridors, where he traced a lonely and peripatetic path to while away the hours in which sleep was unlikely to come.

The next few days saw little improvement in Severus' mood. He slept little and quarrelled with anyone who came close enough to engage in conversation. He refused to go flying with Hooch though she asked several times and was even rude to Minerva in her Animagus form, chasing her from his presence with a shower of green sparks.

On Saturday evening, having pushed his meal around his plate for just long enough to count as present during dinner, Severus rose to leave. He was held back by Dumbledore's hand on his arm.

"My dear boy, I had hoped we might take an evening constitutional together."

Severus re-seated himself reluctantly. The headmaster had a talent for issuing invitations that were impossible to wriggle out of. "Very well, Albus, though I can't imagine the health benefit to be gained from the February air in Scotland."

Dumbledore smiled benignly and patted his arm in a distracted way. "Have some chocolate pudding before we go," he suggested. Severus crossed his arms and scowled.

Once they began their walk, Dumbledore seemed oddly reluctant to begin the conversation, and they were well away from the castle walls before he spoke.

"I was grateful, Severus, for your prompt action with regard to Miss Granger this week."

Severus stiffened, his hands clenching reflexively. "I have no desire to speak of Miss Granger, Albus."

"Ah, I understand that you haven't yet recommenced your lessons."

Severus chose to lurch off on a tangent rather than answer the implied question. "What are you doing with Potter, all these evenings you are closeted together?"*

Dumbledore sighed. "Why? You aren't trying to give him more detentions, Severus? That boy will soon have spent more time in detention than out."*

"He is his father over again..."*

"In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother's. I spend time with Harry because I have things to discuss with him, information I must give him before it is too late."*

Severus heard the implied criticism. There were things he should be teaching Hermione Granger, but for that it was already too late. A wave of despair threatened to undo him. No. Taking a leaf from Granger's own book, he folded flat every memory he had of her from the last three years and tucked them within the library books of his mind. He was a spy. He had a job to do. He turned over Dumbledore's comments carefully, calling up those of the other night as well. "Information I must give him,". . . "If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort."

"Information. You trust him . . . you do not trust me."*

"It is not a question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do."*

"And why may I not have the same information?"* I am supposed to tell Potter when to die, without knowing any details of the essential secret plan he must complete first. Am I really supposed to determine the correct moment from the Dark Lord's behaviour towards Nagini? The plan was riddled with holes large enough to admit the Hogwarts' Express.

"I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."*

"Which I do on your orders!"*

"And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."*

"Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!"*

"Voldemort fears that connection. Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way."*

"I don't understand."* Severus knew he sounded petulant and it only made him feel grumpier.

"Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's. Like a tongue on frozen steel, like flesh in flame..."*

"Souls?" Severus spat the word at the older man. "We were talking of minds!"*

"In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other."* Dumbledore scanned the grounds around them carefully, then continued in a whisper. "After you have killed me, Severus..."*

"You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!" With Dumbledore dead, no-one will know the whole story, no-one will be there to ensure everything turns out alright in the end...Gods, who will swoop down and shower Potter with enough house points to take home the metaphorical House Cup? "You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!"*

"You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?"* Dumbledore sighed at the naked anger on the thin face before him. "Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you . . ."*

As far as Dumbledore was concerned, the conversation was over. Severus crossed his arms mutinously, but turned back towards the castle without another word.

Eleven p.m. turned out to be a meeting with Vector about the Arithmancy calculations. Dumbledore was particularly thrilled with the changes that Krum's addition had made to the matrix, repeatedly reviewing the probability outcomes for Muggle-born wizards and witches. Severus understood the gesture of trust implied by his presence in the room. The hopes and plans of the entire Order were spread before him in formulaic garb. Were any hint of this information to reach Voldemort's attention, the consequences would be nothing short of monstrous. Yet, he wasn't happy to be there.

Vector always made Severus uncomfortable. He didn't like the fact that the woman knew so much about him; he couldn't stand her permanent smile. He had no doubt that she had plotted out and abstracted his earlier career as a Death Eater with Arithmantic accuracy, even as he sat in her classes as a sulky teenager. He hadn't seen the equations themselves until the year before Potter started at Hogwarts, but even now, Vector's presence reminded him of the sickening sensation of seeing the stark inscription of his life and motivations in numerical form. It left him exposed and touchy, as if this smiling, inscrutable woman saw through to the raw edges of his soul.

With his memories of Hermione Granger safely packed away, the frequent mentions of her name were nothing but a minor irritation. Although, later . . . He pushed that thought to one side and concentrated on the conversation.

"Her work is extraordinary, as always," remarked Vector. "Severus," she continued, "I've been meaning to ask whether you've looked at Tracey Davis' Arithmancy project?"

"Being Head of Slytherin House does not entail working as Homework Help." He didn't bother to keep the sneer out of his voice, but Vector smiled at him regardless.

"If you get a chance, you should take a look. I think you would find it interesting. I don't think she will solve the problem she's set herself, but it's a commendable effort nonetheless." Vector had begun to gather up the various sheets of equation-covered parchment that were scattered over Dumbledore's desk. It looked like this interminable evening was finally coming to a close.

"Indeed. If there is no further need of my presence?" Severus turned towards Albus, one eyebrow raised.

Dumbledore waved one limp wrist in a well-intentioned gesture of dismissal. "Go ahead, Severus. Good night."

Severus nodded coldly at both Vector and Dumbledore and gratefully slipped out of the office, down the moving stairway and into the corridors. He ran into Peeves only a few moments later, but the poltergeist had the sense to flee at the sight of his drawn wand. The cat, Minerva, hissed at him from a dark corner, but given the violence of their last encounter, there was little chance that she might approach him; he returned to his quarters unimpeded. Once inside, he shut the door carefully and added several additional wards to the already-paranoid level of protection that was always in place. Then he shucked his teaching robes and his boots and sat himself in front of the fire.

From his experience shielding memories of Lily from Lord Voldemort, he knew that unpacking those that he had shut away was to relive them. It was to re-experience each memory in the oddly distended yet simultaneous temporality of recollection, a supersaturated rush of telescoped intensity; exquisitely agonising, unbearably real. It had served to keep the guilt he felt at the loss of Lily's friendship and her eventual death burning fiercely despite the passage of time. Now he had to do the same with his memories of Hermione, and the longer he left it, the worse it would be. He wasn't looking forward to the rest of his night.

Tuesday evening found Severus alone in his office once again. Hermione Granger's last two essays lay before him, and he stared at them in despair. Having measured the length of them against his wand, he knew, as he had at first glance, that both essays were precisely the assigned length and not an inch longer. Having read them through, he knew that they dealt competently and concisely with the topic at hand. The information therein was confined to that given in the text book. There were no references to recent research or interesting developments in the field, no tangential information from other disciplines, no hypotheses about future directions the work might take. There was no escaping it: these essays were bland and Severus felt robbed.

He glanced up at the wall clock: three minutes to eight. His left hand was balled into an uncomfortably tight fist, and he consciously relaxed it, shaking his lower arm gently. From the timetable posted in the staff room, he knew that the Gryffindor team had booked the Quidditch pitch. Resolutely, he returned his attention to the papers in front of him, dipping his quill into the pot of scarlet ink. With the tip of his quill poised to write though, he hesitated, unsure what to say. The seconds lengthened as a drip of red ink bulged, stretched and then fell onto the page, the blotch an unsightly wound against the cream parchment. Severus snarled with irritation and pulled out his wand, siphoning off the splash of ink. He glanced at the clock again: one minute to eight. His left hand was a fist once more, and the tension across the back of his neck was almost unbearable.

When the knock at the door came, he froze. Hope, despair and fury vied for supremacy. Who dared to interrupt him at this particular time? Only belatedly did he remember to speak: "Enter."

"Good evening, Professor," said Hermione Granger, her chin raised slightly under the force of his gaze. She crossed the room almost immediately and settled in the chair opposite his desk.

"What are you doing?" he growled the question, his stomach curdling with anxiety.

Hermione wasted several seconds arranging her satchel by her chair before she replied. "After much deliberation," she said in a clear voice, "I have decided to forgive you."

Severus blinked. This can't be happening. "Indeed," he managed finally, both eyebrows raised.

"Yes." Hermione paused, her lips pressed together in a thin line that reminded him inescapably of Minerva. "I would like to continue our lessons. There is still much that I need to learn."

Severus gripped the edge of his desk, hard. At her words, the room tilted under him, he felt like he was falling. He said nothing.

Noting his silence, Hermione pressed onwards. "After talking with Professor Dumbledore the other evening . . ."

Dumbledore. Sudden clarity solidified his surroundings with a clunk. He swallowed in an attempt to remove the bad taste from his mouth. "Ah, yes, the headmaster does like to interfere. Did he appeal to your good nature? Did he point out your responsibilities to Potter? Everyone has a disagreeable task in this war, and I am yours." The nasty tone of voice was a familiar and reassuring defence.

"You certainly know how to make yourself disagreeable," Hermione snapped back, anger blazing in her eyes, "but the headmaster said nothing of the sort. I chose to come here tonight because I wanted to." She faltered slightly, her anger seeping quickly away. "I came because I missed this, I missed you." She threw up her hands. "God knows why."

"Liar," he whispered.

She leaned forward, her arms crossed and her face hard. "You know I'm not lying." She pushed back into the chair again and crossed one leg over the other decisively. "As I was saying," she continued with a huff of irritation, "after talking with Professor Dumbledore the other evening, I realised that it wasn't worth waiting for an apology."

"You were waiting for an apology?" It was unlike Severus to seek clarification, and she looked at him curiously.

"Yes." She ran one hand through her curls. "I thought I deserved one." Glancing briefly at his rather dazed expression, she continued. "I would have forgiven you sooner had you only stuck to the standard Slytherin insult, 'Mudblood'..."

He found his voice at that. "Don't use that word! I would never..."

"Why not?" Hermione shrugged, a bitter expression on her face. "I am one. Although, it seems that only my enemies call me 'Mudblood.' My friends,"...her face twisted..."tend to favour 'whore.'"

Severus didn't know whether to believe his ears. She would have forgiven him "Mudblood"? She had missed him? She wanted an apology? In one swift movement, he rose from his chair. He stepped around the table and stood before her, drawing his wand and holding it up like a dagger, point down.

"I, Severus Tobias Snape, apologise for my words and my actions..."

Hermione leapt up, her consternation visible. "No!" she exclaimed, but Severus ignored the interruption.

"For the wrong I have done thee, Hermione Jean Granger, I will make retribution, offering of myself and my talents until your honour is appeased." Though he'd never spoken them before, the formal words rolled off his tongue like poetry and his wand glowed with a bright white light that was painful to look at.

Hermione looked shaken, but she gripped hold of his wand just below his own hand and spoke with a steady voice. "I, Hermione Jean Granger, absolve you of all guilt, of the shame of your words and the mortifications of your actions. From this day forward, you shall stand as a man forgiven. Go forth in peace." As she spoke, the light emanating from his wand silvered gradually till everything in the room glistened like quicksilver. As she gave the final benediction, the light drained away, leaving Severus and Hermione staring into each others' faces, their bodies joined by the touch of their hands on his wand and the traces of magic that could still be felt in the tingle of their skin.

Hermione was panting slightly, and Severus was aware of the rapid rise and fall of his own chest.

"What was that for?" she demanded, her voice slightly shrill. "Did you think I wanted you bound to me by magical compulsion?"

He shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "You wanted an apology."

"Sorry would have been perfectly adequate." She let go of his wand, suddenly awkward at the proximity of their bodies. He tucked his wand away inside his sleeve and stepped back behind his desk, gesturing for her to sit and doing so himself.

"Miss Granger," he said heavily. The difficulty of the situation swept over him. Had Hermione not absolved him so readily, the consequences of his impulsive apology might have been disastrous. What with Voldemort and Dumbledore, he could ill afford another taskmaster.

"Professor?" she interrupted his silence tentatively. "I, er, I'd really like it if you called me Granger." She paused and a ghost of a smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Perhaps I should have asked before I absolved you?"

Relief washed over him at the smile in her voice. "Very well, Granger." He gave her an appraising look. "I understand you wish to continue your lessons."

"Yes, sir." She sat up a little straighter with anticipation.

"Come along, then," he said, with sudden purpose. Severus rose and opened a door concealed within the bookshelf behind his desk. He sketched a mock bow and waved her through. The look she gave him as she passed was only mildly apprehensive.

"Oh," she breathed, staring around the lab with open curiosity.

"Professor Slughorn was a little disappointed when he learnt that he wasn't to re-inherit the Potion Master's private lab, although I understand that the size of his current quarters made up for the disappointment somewhat." Severus smirked at Granger's appreciative grin. "I think it's time you started brewing some potions. We'll start with Polyjuice."

The delight on her face slipped a fraction. "But, sir, wouldn't it be best to do something that I haven't made before?"

He raised one eyebrow, mocking her impertinence. She had the grace to blush and bit down on her lower lip, though she didn't drop her gaze. "This," he said, tapping the blackboard on one wall with his wand so that silvery letters spelled out the ingredients and directions, "is a recipe that I modified myself."

"Oh." Granger's brow creased as she scanned the information on the board. "Sir?" she inquired. "How come the recipes in the Potions book are wrong?"

"They're not wrong," he replied, pulling down an appropriately sized cauldron from the rack. "They provide the minimal information to brew a particular potion. It's up to the potioneer to adapt and modify the potion according to their own taste and specifications. I like to ensure that the students learn the most effective and efficient modifications. Slughorn however," he sniffed a little derisively, "follows the book very closely."

"Huh." He could practically hear the wheels turning in Granger's head as she processed this information. "How come nobody ever told me that before?" she persisted.

"Granger!" Severus imbibed the word with six years worth of exasperation. "I've been telling you to stop parroting back the textbook and think for yourself since the day you arrived at Hogwarts!" Her mouth formed a small, silent 'oh' of surprise, and he shook his head in not-entirely-mock despair. "Through the far door, you'll find the supply cupboard. Go and get enough ingredients for a double batch."

She was stepping through to the cupboard, fingers trailing against the doorframe, when he overheard her muttered response, "I thought you were just being cruel."

Severus was glad that she wasn't there to note the way he flinched in response to her words. He had to get a grip.

By the time that the potion was at a state in which it could be left to simmer, it was well past curfew, and Severus insisted on walking Granger back to Gryffindor tower. Although neither one spoke as they wandered through the corridors, Severus marvelled at the difference between this walk and that of the previous Thursday. In sight of the Fat Lady, he stopped. "I'm sure you can find the way from here," he drawled.

Granger graced him with a broad smile. "Thank you, Professor," she said. For a moment she hovered, the tilt of her body teetering towards him as if she wanted to hug him. Then she held out her hand. Severus took it, his large hand folding around her smaller one, every nerve aware of the warmth of her palm against his and the firm grip of her fingers on his flesh. "Thank you," she said again.

"You have nothing to thank me for," he replied, his voice slightly harsher than he had intended. "Now go to bed . . . before I deduct house points."

She grinned and turned away, breaking into a jog within a few steps and hurrying to the portrait.

"No running in the halls!" he called after her, scowling to conceal the delight bubbling through his veins. She waved before disappearing behind the Fat Lady, who gave Severus a look that was clearly disapproving, even at a hundred paces.

As he retraced his steps, an aggressive hissing in the third-floor corridor alerted him to the presence of the grey tabby cat. Severus paused, then squatted with one hand extended towards the furious noises, though the cat herself was hidden in the shadows and impossible to discern by sight. "I owe you an apology," he said softly into the darkness.

It took an impossibly long moment, but eventually she stepped out, her tail held out stiffly from her body. Severus remained completely still as she regarded him warily just out of arm's reach. "Mrraaawwhh," she mewed, tilting her head to one side. He wiggled his outstretched fingers in reply. Stepping daintily, the cat stepped under his hand, lifting her back as she passed to rub up against him. She wound once around his legs, then stalked off into the distance.

"Goodnight, Minerva," he called after her retreating figure. As he continued on towards his office, a small smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

Granger's essays remained on the desk where he had left them. He smirked when he saw them, and drew his inkpot towards him without bothering to sit down. Dipping the quill firmly into the red ink, he leant over the desk. In his distinctively spiky script, he wrote firmly across the bottom of the scroll: "This essay is vastly inferior to your usual standard and barely worth the effort it would take to comment upon it. I suggest that you make more of an effort with the next one. A."

A / N : An extra special thanks to sinbad who researched Hermione's self defence moves against McLaggen. Thank you, thank you!