Sectumsempra

Phoenix Song, Chapter Twenty-Four : Sectumsempra

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. Dialogue quoted from the original HP books is marked with an asterisk.

Without the help of my betas, LAxo and WriterMerrin, reading this story would be a far-less-pleasant experience for everyone concerned. They have my eternal gratitude.

When Hermione Granger left his office that evening, Severus barely made it into the privacy of his chambers before he lost it. He curled up on the floor just inside the door and wept: heaving, snotty, ridiculous tears. He cried about having to kill Albus. He cried about joining the Death Eaters. He cried about the atrocities he'd witnessed, and those he had perpetrated. He cried imagining Hooch and Minerva and Poppy thinking him a traitor. He cried about the miserable waste of his childhood and the dreadful tension of the years between the wars. He cried about the way the Dark Lord lusted after him, and he cried about being in love with his student. By the time he finished, he was exhausted.

Too tired to get up, he lay flat on the floor and stared at the ceiling. Granger never ceased to surprise him.

Severus had given up comparing her to Lily when she forgave him for his ridiculous outburst over Krum. There was no comparison: Granger was smarter, tougher, and infinitely more generous. Granger, he reflected, had been fighting an adult's fight from her first year at Hogwarts; Lily, on the other hand, had led a charmed existence...up until the moment of Pettigrew's betrayal, that is...laughing at danger, playing at fighting, making light of narrow escapes. Severus couldn't imagine Granger getting herself pregnant and starting a family in the middle of a war. He snorted at the idea. Even if she did, she'd manage somehow to control everything, protect everyone and still knit a set of coloured booties for every day of the week. Under no circumstances would she retire to the "wives and mothers" corner and abdicate all decisions to whomever provided the sperm; no-one would bundle Granger away for her own safety.

Now that she had figured out the details of Dumbledore's plan, Hermione had surprised him once again. Firstly, he was astounded that she'd put the pieces together so neatly. Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate, indeed. Secondly, and more importantly, Severus was overwhelmed by her response. She hadn't looked disgusted, or sickened, or repulsed. On the contrary, she'd seemed . . . sympathetic, worried about him. And she hadn't doubted his intentions. Not once. Though the improbability fold she'd uncovered and the logical puzzle she'd solved both pointed towards two possible outcomes, Granger had unerringly chosen "spy" over "traitor."

It unnerved him. Somehow, since their Legilimency session in the Hospital Wing only nine-and-a-half months ago, she'd changed him. Where previously, Severus had felt smug in his moral superiority to those around him, he was now worried that he couldn't live up to the expectations of one particular woman.

While Dumbledore trusted him, the old man was a manipulative bastard. Severus loved him, but he knew the guilt was carefully calculated, the evasions deliberate. He knew that Dumbledore would always make the same mistakes: some young men were more important than others, and almost always more important than the women of any age. Granger, on the other hand, left aside all pretence at manipulation and just looked at him. Looked at him as though he were real. As if he were a real person in a difficult situation who was going to make the right choice. "Unnerved" was an understatement.

At precisely eight o'clock that Thursday evening, Hermione Granger knocked on his door.

"Enter," he called.

He recognised the mulish set of her mouth at once: she had a question and she wasn't going to let it slide. "Go ahead, Granger," he instructed with a resigned sigh.

"What?" she asked warily.

"Ask your question, I can tell you're bursting at the seams."

"Oh," she said, thrown off-kilter by his encouragement. "Okay then. Is there a way to modify someone's memories and then reverse them later?"

He raised one eyebrow. "You'll need to be a little more specific."

"Well, I know that an Obliviate removes a specific memory, or set of memories, but what if you wanted to convince someone that they were someone else entirely for a specific period of time?"

"For how long?"

"A year, maybe two."

"You do know that what you are proposing is completely illegal?"

She nodded apprehensively. "I'm looking for something that will restore the person entirely to themselves afterwards."

Severus blinked. Granger looked tired. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her face was drawn. Where is this headed? "Before I answer your question, Granger, I need to know just whose memories you intend to modify."

Her eyes slid sideways before she answered, not as if she were lying, but as if the answer made her uncomfortable. "My parents," she said at last.

Severus was surprised. "Why?"

Granger let out the breath she'd been holding with a huff of worry. "Since Tuesday night I've been working on the calculations. Mostly just clarifying elements by virtue of the new data, but also adding some new sections. One of the things I added was an equation for my parents, and their futures don't look particularly good. I fiddled around with a few options without much luck, until...almost in desperation...I coded for modifying their memories and sending them to Australia. It was the only thing that gives a really good projection. I'd rather not condemn them to a life they haven't chosen and ignorance of their previous existence, but if it comes to a choice between that and certain death, I will."

Severus absorbed the edge of grim determination that underlay her words. "What about sending them off with Krum?"

"I calculated for that, of course. It didn't look very promising."

"Show me the calculations," he demanded, holding out his hand. Granger pulled them readily from her satchel and passed them to him. "What assumptions have you made?"

"Dumbledore's death, the fall of the Ministry, and me being on the run with Harry and Ron."

The figures were devastating. If Granger did nothing, there was a 98.9% chance of death; if she sent them to Krum, 76%; if she sent them to Australia with their memories modified, 1.4%. She'd tried an inordinately high number of other options...going to Australia as they were, modifying their memories and staying in Britain, going to Europe, etc....but without anywhere near the same result. Severus ran one finger along his lower lip, considering the options.

"There is a way," he said at last, "but you don't have the skill to do it." The hope that had blossomed on her face folded. "It requires Legilimency techniques far more complicated than those we have studied, and merely to teach them to you would be illegal."

Granger's face was blank, her emotions shuttered away. "But you know how to do them?" she asked, her voice neutral.

"Yes," he confirmed.

Her lips thinned as she pressed them firmly together, before Granger dropped her gaze to her lap. He knew that she wouldn't ask.

Severus heard his own voice as if it came from far away. "I could do it for you, if you wanted." The gratitude on her face as she gazed up at him was like a fishhook lodged painfully in his chest, inexorably pulling him into her plans. "I will need your help. The procedure is extraordinarily complex: it takes one Legilimens to conceal the original memories somewhere within the subject's brain, the other to concoct a new narrative to cover up the gaps. The hidden memories can be tied to a trigger...a phrase, or situation...that will release them from their place of concealment."

Granger beamed at him. "Thank you! Oh, Professor Snape, thank you so much!" She bit her lower lip briefly. "Should we arrange a time? I had thought, perhaps the first weekend of the summer holidays?"

"In theory, that would work. I cannot be sure of my movements once the school year ends." He didn't need to explain why to her.

"Hmm." She looked thoughtful. "What should we do, then?"

"Let's say 11a.m. on the first Saturday."

"And if you can't make it for some reason?" asked Granger.

"The same time the following day."

"Thank you, sir," said Granger, quietly confident and smiling up at him. His throat felt tight and he didn't think he could speak. He nodded instead.

After this . . . thing happens, he wondered, how many people will there be who would trust me at all, let alone ask me to modify their parents' memories? It didn't bear thinking on.

"Well," he said, his voice a little scratchy, "if you've quite finished, perhaps we might move on to today's lesson?"

Granger grinned. "Yes, sir," she said obediently.

With the final Quidditch match fast approaching, Severus gave Granger as many lessons as the Gryffindor team had practices. Once the season was over it would be much harder to schedule times without attracting the suspicions of her two idiot friends.

She took the task of planning for a year on the run as seriously as she did every other project, compiling lists and workshopping possible scenarios. Since her schoolwork hadn't suffered as a consequence, Severus knew she must be working inordinately long hours.

With each of his nerve endings attuned to her presence or mention of her name, Granger seemed to figure as a virtual constant of staff room gossip, each of her teachers regularly waxed lyrical about her achievements and intelligence. Not Severus, of course, he kept his mouth shut, although on more than one occasion he was tempted to mention the depth and brilliance of her DADA essays and the efforts he expended to critique them adequately.

It was Vector he was tempted to tell; he'd been oddly fascinated by her since the night he'd seen her and Granger work together. On the few occasions she appeared in the staff room, he'd watched her and her perennial smile. She and Granger had been so comfortable together. He remembered the way that Granger touched her, a hand on her arm, and how she had smiled at her. Vector made free and frequent use of Granger's first name; not for her was there a need to hold the girl at arms' length, to refuse to even think her given name in the privacy of her own head. Severus was jealous, but also intrigued.

On Tuesday afternoon, the week before the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match, Vector made one of her rare staff room appearances. Severus was sitting by the fire, drinking tea. To his surprise, Vector walked directly towards him and settled in the other armchair.

"Good afternoon, Severus," she greeted him pleasantly.

"Septima," he replied.

Vector pulled a wry face. "That's not really my name you know," she commented, "You're welcome to call me Ana, or even Anastasia...you don't seem like the type who's fond of diminutives."

Severus sneered, almost out of habit. "Well, Anastasia, to what do I owe the unaccustomed pleasure of your company?"

Vector smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I've always thought you to be something of a grumpy bastard, not worth the effort of getting to know. But then, Hermione Granger thinks very highly of you, and I think very highly of her. It made me wonder whether I shouldn't reconsider."

"You will forgive me if I save my tears of joy until I'm alone, won't you?"

The corners of Vector's eyes crinkled in response to his bitter sarcasm. "Ah, yes, she did mention that your sense of humour was well developed."

"Do you regularly gossip about other teachers with the students?" he inquired coldly.

"No more than the teachers gossip about the students, Severus." Her gaze slid over to his left. "Filius! How are you?"

"Ana! What a pleasure to see you! What brings you to the staff room?" squeaked Flitwick from behind him.

"Nothing in particular, I was just discussing Miss Granger with Severus here."

"Ah, the incomparable Miss Granger! Why, just today she brought in the most marvellous undetectable extension charm to show me; it's not even on the syllabus until next year! I don't know how she finds the time!"

Severus placed his cup and saucer on the low table and rose smoothly to his feet. He gave his companions a stiff bow and escaped from the conversation. There was only another half hour before dinner...time that could be profitably spent patrolling the halls and deducting house points, time that he didn't need to spend wondering what Vector was up to or thinking unproductively about Hermione Granger.

Thus it was, that Severus was not far from the scene when he heard the unmistakable screams of the miserable young Ravenclaw ghost, Myrtle, echoing from the sixth-floor boys' toilet.

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"*

The sight of Draco, sliced violently across his chest and rapidly bleeding to death brought his heart into his throat, and initially Harry Potter's presence registered only peripherally. Severus had his wand out before he thought anything through, singing the counter curse three times before the wound healed over properly, wiping the worst of the blood from Draco's face. Where did Potter learn Sectumsempra? he wondered, as soon as he was capable of coherent thought.

"You need the Hospital Wing," He said to Draco, helping the boy to his feet and wrapping one arm around his body to hold him upright. "There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that . . . Come . . ."*

Potter was still crouched on the floor where Severus had shoved him in the hurry to reach Draco. He was drenched with blood and water, his face was nearly as pale as Draco's. Idiot boy, thought Severus, his relief at Draco's recovery ceding to anger. Before he shepherded Draco out the door, he turned back towards Potter. "And you, Potter"* he spat furiously. "You wait here for me."* The boy nodded obediently, too horrified by the consequences of his actions even to argue.

Will he never learn to think before he acts?

It took only minutes to half-carry, half-escort Draco to the infirmary, and to Severus' relief, Poppy emerged from her office the moment they arrived.

"Dittany," he instructed, manoeuvring Draco towards the nearest bed. Poppy summoned a phial immediately, and had a dose into the boy before putting him into bed. Severus sighed with relief.

"I will return," he said, directing the comment to both Draco and Poppy. "Right now I have the perpetrator to deal with." He spun on his heel, his face grim and headed back to the bathroom.

Severus was astounded to realise that Potter had possession of his sixth-year Potions textbook, though the revelation explained a lot: Slughorn's effusive praise for the idiot boy's talent at the subject, Granger's questions about why the textbook was wrong, where Potter learned a curse that was known only to a handful of Death Eaters. Potter had hidden it somewhere rather than show it to him, of course, but Severus hadn't cared enough to force the explanation. A series of Saturday detentions would be punishment enough. The thought of the upcoming Quidditch match and Minerva's impending disappointment brought a smirk to Severus' face. Serves Potter right. How dare he use my own curse against Draco? Severus narrowed his eyes in thought as he planned a suitable punishment for the dunderhead's detention.

Later that evening, Severus returned to Draco's bedside. The boy's normally pale face looked almost ghostly against the white bed linen. Poppy was fussing around him when Severus arrived and she greeted him with a smile.

"Well look who it is," she said cheerily to Draco, "your rescuer himself. I feel sure I can leave you in his more than capable hands." With a pat on the arm as she passed, Poppy disappeared into her office.

Draco, however, looked less than happy to see him, turning his face resolutely in the opposite direction as Severus seated himself in the chair beside the bed. "I have nothing to say to you," he remarked in a petulant tone.

"Your father brought you up to display better manners than that, Draco," replied Severus evenly.

"Well, my father's not here, is he?"

Severus cast his gaze heavenwards in silent prayer for forbearance. "Draco, I'm trying to help you. Today I saved your life. The least you could do is repay me with some trust. Why don't you talk to me? Tell me your plan?"

"I don't need your help. Just go away and leave me alone."

"Very well." Severus got to his feet once again. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Towards the end of May, Granger managed to slip away from her shadows using an Arithmancy study group as her excuse. From the jut of her chin as she sat opposite him, he knew she was poised to ask yet another question.

"Sir," she began with a deep breath.

"Go ahead, Granger," he sighed melodramatically and tucked his hair behind his ears. "I knew the absence of your questions was too good to last."

"The thing is, I've been thinking about the information that you were supposed to give me."

"I thought we'd well and truly covered that?" he queried, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, the thing is, in actual fact I worked that information out for myself. You didn't really tell me any of it. We didn't even really discuss it. It made me wonder if there wasn't something else you need to pass on." She paused, then added ominously, "Before it's too late."

Severus raised a second eyebrow. There might be something in that. "Did you have anything specific in mind?" he asked.

From the look in her eye, he knew she did. "I know it's redundant," she said awkwardly, "because you never would tell anyone, but will you promise me that this won't go any further?"

Severus curled his upper lip masterfully, but drew out his wand without protest. Holding it up he said, "You have my word." His wand flared gold.

"You word alone would have been sufficient, you know," Granger chastised him, though she looked relieved. "I don't know why you always feel obliged to take an oath at the smallest opportunity." She bit her lip and looked a bit panicked as soon as she had spoken, clearly realising how close she'd come to chastising him for having become a Death Eater in the first place.

It was a fair question. Every time he thought he'd outgrown the urge to swear unbreakable oaths, he found himself impulsively doing it yet again.

Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. "I wondered what you could tell me about Horcruxes, sir."

Horcruxes. Potter. Horcruxes. Plural. Dumbledore's words came back to 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."*

"Would it be safe to assume that you're interested in destroying them, Granger, and not in making one?"

"Absolutely."

Severus looked appraisingly at the young woman in front of him, at the eager lines of her body and the determined set of her mouth. "I do have some books that might help," he acknowledged. "Not here, but at my home, at Spinner's End. I'll bring them in," he added, "before it's too late."

Granger's thanks was evident in the width of her smile.

A / N : WARNING! WARNING! This is the penultimate chapter! That's right, the next one will be the last!

I do, however, have plans for a sequel : Phoenix Tears (or, Hermione Granger and the Deathly Hallows). What do you reckon? It would mean that Hermione might have to spend an awfully long and boring time in a tent, Severus will be stuck at Hogwarts where none of his friends will love him anymore . . . only Hermione will know which side he's truly on . . . I dunno, are you interested?