9. Offered

A/N: I know, I know, my updates can't be called timely. I'm very sorry about that, my dear readers. This summer has been quite a challenge. The heat, the wildfires, the smoke in the city. Pretty nasty, and I can't wait for winter to come.

As usual, thank you a million for your fantastic reviews. They definitely keep me afloat. And a special hail to potionsmistress23, my lovely beta.

She slept like the dead. Her walk back from Snape's office had been nothing more than a hazy memory by the time she somehow managed to get back to her dorm room. When reasonable thinking returned to her, she would feel surprised she'd made it at all, like a drunk who had discovered himself tucked safely in his bed in the morning when the last thing he remembered was sitting in a pub the night before.

She was roused from her sound sleep by being shaken rudely. Lop was jumping at the foot of her bed.

"What the..." Hermione took a glance at her Muggle watch. Not even six. Was there a madhouse for house-elves? Lop certainly belonged there.

"Master wants Lop to give Miss this," Lop, currently the most bothersome creature in Hermione's world, said solemnly and handed her a note.

This time, however, the elf had enough brains to pop out of her way immediately after her fingers touched the piece of parchment.

Miss Granger,

SS.

Wretched man. Did he even sleep at all? And at that moment, the entirety of everything that had happened the night before descended onto her mind like an avalanche.

Graces, she had made a deal with him. Without as much as even supercilious research on exactly what the wand point deals entailed. Hermione may have been very well read in the matters of Wizarding academia, but when it came to everyday life, customs, and traditions of this world, she found herself coming thoroughly short, time and again. Which had only proved one of her main principles: information was everything. But wasn't it information in the first place for which she'd put herself in this predicament?

Her eyes went back to the underlined 'now' in the professor's note. She wondered how long the 'now' could stretch before he came to retrieve her or did something equally humiliating, and darted for the loo.

Not five minutes after, Hermione was jumping three steps at a time down the magical stairs.

Thoughts hopped around in her head like unstable hydrogen atoms before the start of a chain reaction. Could she backpedal now? Whatever did he want from her at this ungodly hour? Maybe she should just go to Dumbledore and let him handle this. When her train of thought took this turn, she stopped, suddenly overcome with a feeling of unease, as if something were crouching behind the corner, poising for an attack.

Handled. That was exactly why she couldn't go to Dumbledore. He'd handle her. Toss her and place her and lead her in his game of human (or wizard) chess. Last year's Ministry debacle still caused her nightmares, and one scar across her abdomen was enough, thank you very much.

She thought of Professor Snape and tried to remember exactly why she had decided that handing herself in this fashion with him was any better. Sure, when it came to the big things, he had done right by her and her friends. Year after year. Was it enough for her to trust him? Her education was a big deal for her. And not just a big deal, but the most important step in becoming someone: a precious goal she kept pursuing, employing any means available to her. Somehow, she couldn't help but think that if she traded a favour for her education, the said favour had to be something equally huge, equally valuable. And she really, really was having a hard time thinking of something that would even the scales between her and Snape in this matter.

She decided that it was the biggest source of her discomfort and then continued on her way to the dungeons.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Snape questioned her instead of greeting her as he appeared before her at the entrance door to his study.

"Who wouldn't?" she replied, and tried to look casual.

"Do you want out?" he asked unexpectedly, and Hermione couldn't help but gawk in mingled amazement and disbelief.

After a few seconds, the professor turned away from her and crossed his arms over his chest. His face was lifting up and flexing into a complacent mask Hermione knew was a sure sign of his confusion.

Well, if that was not almost endearing.

"You would let me out?" she asked with a little more skepticism in her tone than was absolutely necessary.

"You were brain-dead yesterday. It might be viewed like I was taking advantage." He shrugged.

Hermione felt disoriented. Was she being set up? An odd phrase surfaced to the top of her mind, something about choice.

"The only way to know you've chosen rightly is to make the same choice again," she said vaguely, as if speaking to herself. It really was starting to bother her how those pieces of someone else's mind kept popping into her own at odd times.

"And your choice will be?"

Somehow, the very fact that he had offered to undo the deal if she wished, when her head was clear, spoke of honesty and honour.

Really, what would he ask for? Copious amounts of monkey labour? She could handle that. She'd even buy a new toothbrush for all the scrubbing she'd have to do every week. His knowledge was worth it. Would he... No, most certainly he would not. She remembered her 'morning bramble' as Fred and George loved to call it, her round, button-like nose, and her almost fish-belly pale skin which was begging for some sun. She was plain. He was worldly and probably jaded. He would never. And that was the gist of it. But it had to be something big... would he make her change loyalties to suit him? Ask for her firstborn?

She decided to cross that bridge when she came near it.

"I'm not backing off, Professor Snape," Hermione said resolutely.

He looked at her with a strange expression she hadn't ever seen on his face before. It was almost like she had managed to astonish him, and in a good way, too. It was rather inspiring.

"There will be rules."

Well, obviously. Rules number one and two were practically begging for amendments and clauses.

"I thought we already had rules that covered right about everything," she noted nonetheless, with a good bit of bite.

"The situation has changed." He waved a hand nonchalantly and Summoned a quill and a piece of parchment.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"Why, a set of rules for you to abide by. You don't seem to be able to keep them in your head on your own."

She clamped up an indignant huff. Whatever.

"Exactly how is the situation different now, Professor?" Hermione asked off-handedly.

"Are you of legal age according to the Wizarding laws?"

"I'm seventeen, if that's what you are asking," Hermione answered, slightly alarmed.

"Then the nature and conduct of our arrangement does not have to be supervised by the wizard in charge of the establishment upon the premises of which our interaction takes place."

Oh. The realization was washing over her like a tide. So, Dumbledore had no say in it anymore. Hermione briefly wondered if it were a good or a bad thing and picked the former.

"Alright," she said, a little dazed. "So, about those rules."

"Yes. First, you will keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times. Second, you will take me at my word. Always. No second guesses. Third, this arrangement is to remain private. You are to report to me immediately if the situation with your magic, like the one involving a certain Malfoy yesterday, arises again. If you fail to go by these simple rules, I will suddenly find myself very pressed for time more often than not, while our agreement will still stand." As he spoke, the rules appeared on the piece of parchment in detached, impersonally styled writing.

"I'll add more rules when a necessity arises. Keep that parchment somewhere safe. It's spelled for your eyes only, but it will be of little use to you if your horrendous classmates subject it to their imbecility."

The most recent issue of Bibliophile, Literally Taken immediately sprang to Hermione's mind, and she flushed red.

"You are also to report any advances the members of my House make in the direction of your person," he added. She noticed that this particular order was not duplicated in writing on her rule parchment.

"It's not in..."

"No, it's not. I'm still the Head of Slytherin, and you may consider it a request. A very firm request."

An order, then.

"Is that all?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrow.

"Yes. You may go now," he answered with a peculiar softness.

"No." Her hands balled into fists in preparation. After all the fussing about rules, she had decided to storm the main gate. "It is a dual bargain; we have exchanged something which is supposed to be of equal value, as far as I understand, and we are on equal ground in this. So, I want some rules of my own."

She practically trembled with trepidation and excitement over her own boldness. Neville would have popped an aneurism if he only could see her right now.

That eyebrow again. It crawled upwards in a graceful movement that preceded impending trouble. When she failed to back off and cower and beg for forgiveness, like most of her fellow students would in her place, the second eyebrow joined its mate.

"Are you implying that you will be laying out ground rules for me?" he asked, and she realized that she couldn't really tell whether he was incensed with her impudence or amused to a very rare degree.

"Okay, you don't have to call them rules, per se. But I really... want you to consider a few things. You've said that it is only us that stir this particular cauldron after all, so I want some stirring done on my part as well."

"Very well, let's hear this," Snape said in a tone which clearly meant 'I'm indulging you with this rubbish, little girl, but make no mistake, you will pay for this later'.

Before her bout of courage expired prematurely, she sighed and started speaking. "I want a real education. I want to ask questions and have them answered and feel normal about asking more." She made an emphatic gesture during that particular request. "I want no more elliptical conversations. I want to be prepared for whatever is coming my way, being a Mage, and I want to be ready in time for those events."

The eyebrows, which were keeping their arched vigil over the professor's temper, relaxed minutely. On the inside, she felt encouraged, but her outward body language betrayed every single insecurity she had. Her eyes fixed somewhere on the pocket of his frock coat, and her thumbs twiddled.

"I don't want to be a nuisance to you, Professor," Hermione whispered honestly. "You would help me an amazing deal in this if you didn't treat me like one all the time, even when I clearly am not one," she babbled to her now tightly clasped hands and waited for something terribly disparaging, which was sure to be coming out of that disdainfully curved mouth of his any moment now.

"I'll consider your words," the professor answered curtly. To her, it sounded like he had just agreed to counsel homesick Hufflepuffs.

"Thank you, sir," she said genuinely. "So, how do we proceed? I have so many... so many things. There's Malfoy and my magic and..."

"We proceed by going to breakfast. You shall meet me at the Gates at half past seven for our first lesson."

Feeling quite satisfied with what she had achieved so far, she decided not to impose on her luck any further, nodded her agreement, and turned to leave. But as she approached the door to the narrow passage to his public office, a nagging overcame her.

"Sir, why did you ask for a favour from me? I can't wrap my mind around what I can possibly do for you, now or in the future..." She trailed off and cringed at how laced with fear and worry her voice sounded.

He looked as if through her for a long moment, only the slightest crinkle to the corners of his eyes betraying the fact that he was actually mulling over what she had asked.

"One never knows when a favour owed by someone so... by someone such as you may come handy, Miss Granger," he answered softly. "Do not fear, I shall not ask for what you cannot give."

Well, at least it was somewhat relieving. With another sigh, Hermione finally closed the door behind her.

She wondered what he had almost let leave his mouth after that 'so'.

Her day passed in a familiar sequence of classes, meals, and meaningless conversations, all overshadowed by almost festive anticipation. She had bargained herself for what she thought was a good deal and even received some reassurance that Snape's side of the agreement would not be something she'd come to hate to do.

A little after seven, she was positively giddy with the prospects and even arrived at the Gates fifteen minutes earlier in vain hopes to calm her nerves with dull waiting.

Her feet shuffled restlessly of their own accord, and when she heard a silly tune sounding slightly off key, she was surprised to realize that it was actually her humming. Before she knew it, her mentor was striding towards her, dressed in his 'heavy duty' garb, something he wore in class or to the extracurricular course when especially volatile potions were involved. Hermione actually had to check an urge to jump up and down and clap her hands like a happy loon.

She wanted to gush and fire up a load of questions about today's lesson, but instead, she decided to be polite and accommodating. She had asked him to treat her like a being with at least half a brain, and the least she could do was act like what stood for the definition of one in his books (which would seriously challenge her patience and nicety levels).

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the professor greeted her briskly. "I hope you have dressed warmly. We are going out to the Forbidden Forest."

The prospect of going to the Forbidden Forest on a not exactly balmy October night was rather underwhelming, but Hermione kept that observation wisely to herself. She mumbled back a greeting and nodded in agreement, and they started for the woods.

The evening was still, and the torrential rain of the past few hours left the ancient castle and the magic-fused air around it fresh and smelling of ozone. Hermione could see the spot of glaring orange in the murky background of the pre-winter landscape not far ahead. Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Their path lay clearly by the gentle giant's hut. Her heart swelled with affection at the thought of Hagrid. He was always by their side and on their side, even if it meant trouble for him. And she was especially grateful that Hagrid had been there for Harry. Always, even when she and Ron couldn't be for various reasons. Harry was hovering dangerously between adolescence and adulthood and could use all the support there was. Which was very little.

Hermione smiled and was already looking forward to saying hello to Hagrid when Professor Snape halted his step and gestured for her to stop with a hand, which darted out of the elaborate folds of his cloak like a lissome, white predator.

He quickly turned around and tapped her head with his wand. A rush of coldness from the Disillusionment Charm, made doubly unpleasant by the bite of October night, rolled down over her. She clenched her teeth in rising frustration, but it was instantly dispelled when the professor took hold of her hand and led her in the direction of Hagrid's hut, discreetly making it look like he was walking all alone.

"Look at 'em, Fang, yeh old boy! Look at 'em pumpkins. Big this year, heh?" Hagrid's joyful voice rumbled a little ahead.

The pumpkins, indeed, were huge and abundant. Hermione thought that Cinderella's fairy godmother would have quite a dilemma at this particular patch. This made her choke on a snicker, and her hand received a warning squeeze from her mentor when Fang's ears perked (if this could be said about two sagging, floppy things which were made for affectionate tousling and not for perking) and the huge, old dog emitted a lazy woof of greeting.

"Oi, Professor Snape! Hello there, sir! Going about the forest? I mussay the unicorns're a lil' fussy tonight, an' there mussbe a hatchling at that harpy nest."

There was quite a bit of affection in Hagrid's voice, and his face sported a warm smile, which made his round cheeks swell and ripen with colour, like two young plums.

Hermione was even more surprised when Snape didn't respond with his usual, vicious snark or a rude dismissal.

Instead, he actually stopped and shook Hagrid's hand, and Hermione could swear that somewhere between darting out of the voluminous robes for the handshake and hiding back inside, that hand was thoroughly licked by Fang. Trust a dog's sense, her mother, a lover of all things canine, would often say.

For some reason, she wanted to smack Fang. Why was he all soft with the gloomy recluse of a man? It was like watching Ron ogle that seventh-year Hufflepuff whose breast size was in a counter-proportional relationship with her intellectual powers. And just like Hermione couldn't but grudgingly admit the validity of Ron's attraction, she couldn't but understand Fang a little, too. Because she, herself, was growing aware of the warmth and comfort of the professor's hand surrounding hers. The feeling was becoming increasingly natural.

Her mentor exchanged a few remarks with Hagrid, and there was another surprise for her. He was actually capable of casual conversation. Of course, his tones were clipped and his words as economical as ever, but there was a certain, barely-there fondness in his voice, which made the whole exchange a thing so far away from his usual socializing patterns (at least, the ones Hermione knew existed) that she was startled.

And that hand, too. It was warm and firm and strangely reassuring. She felt somehow overly sensitive and could tell where each of his fingertips lay softly on the outer side of her own hand. For some reason, she found the way his inner palm touched hers unusually intimate. At that particular thought, embarrassment rushed to her face in a rich flow of colour. She thanked the deities she was doubly protected from being seen by a charm and the darkness of the hour and tried to pep-talk herself into getting a grip. Her efforts gained much more zeal when, instead of calming down, she felt the already familiar tide of magic rising and tickling up her spine. Snape tensed visibly by her side, and Hermione could swear that his hold on her hand became, for the lack of a better description, unsure of itself.

Hastily promising Hagrid to stop by later and drop a couple of bottles of his specialty ointment for Hagrid's joints (as a thank you for a few hairs from a baby unicorn, no less), Snape started to tug her along, and her magic ebbed away. As soon as they reached the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest and the looming, vigilant trees swallowed them into the shadows, he released the charm and let go of her hand. It felt like a loss.

Hermione was left with a feeling that she was supposed to glean something from that display with Hagrid. Maybe, he was trying to show her another side of him, laying the first brick into the building of trust? The idea of putting Snape and trust into one sentence didn't seem quite utopic to her any longer.

"Were you frightened of something a few minutes ago? I felt your magic swell," Snape asked with a tinge of wariness.

Thank you for the idea, Professor, Hermione thought, relieved that she wouldn't have to fumble for a plausible explanation (and how would she explain the effect his hand was having on her, anyway?) and lied smoothly, "For a moment there, I thought Fang might give me away. He's a sharp dog... and... well, you know how dogs are."

He seemed to be satisfied with that.

They were treading farther and farther into the forest, and already when she looked back, she couldn't see anything but the same, sombre trees. She only could think of one way to take the edge of her uneasiness.

"Sir, can I ask something?" she ventured carefully, in a tone that implied that she would take no for an answer just fine.

"Are you trying to mollycoddle me, Miss Granger?" Snape replied with evident amusement. "I would have thought I'd have been drowned in questions by now. Merlin only knows how you held out that long."

She supposed it was his way of saying yes.

"I wanted to know about Lucius and Draco," she said, still cautiously.

"Lucius knows of your nature. He made... inquiries with me. I haven't given him anything yet. I'm not sure of how much Draco is aware," Snape answered easily, moving a few branches out of their way.

"How do they..."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Miss Granger. Surely, you are not as naïve as to think your little display with the Malleus Maleficarum would go unreported. Or unrecognized."

"What of Vo...the Dark Lord?" She didn't speak the name out of respect for Snape, she realized.

"He does not know yet. But it is only a matter of time. When he learns of your nature, he will be... let's just say the consequences will be dire for those who failed to report it. He is somewhat... keen about Mages. And this makes me think Lucius is pursuing a goal of his own. This way." He pushed away a heavy bow of a fir tree, which looked like a paw of some eerie animal in the dim light of his Lumos spell, and they stepped into a small clearing.

"Why is the... Dark Lord keen about Mages? Is he a Mage?" Hermione asked, utterly intrigued by the subject and ecstatic over the fact that her professor was finally talking.

"He was. But somewhere along the way to his, shall we say, present condition, he had done a few things to himself that have altered him beyond the imaginable. Few knew him as a Mage before, but what he is now is most certainly not one of us," Snape replied as he was checking about the clearing and casting some spells non-verbally.

"You've said the consequences will be dire when he knows. What are you going to do about it?" she asked tentatively, well aware of what kind of consequences he, being her mentor, would face.

"Ah, save your worry for your hare-brained friends, Miss Granger, I neither welcome nor need it. And do not for a moment think that I would take up the task of educating you if I were not absolutely sure that I can handle the load." He spoke so vehemently that she was ashamed immediately about worrying, no, actually, doubting his ability to look after himself.

"So, I suppose, he wants to somehow regain his Mageness, so to say? He's looking for ways to do this?" Hermione put forth a guess, changing the subject carefully. The whole conversation seemed so frail that she was afraid that as much as another breath out of line would pop that magical bubble and revert her mentor to his usual unapproachable self.

"You suppose right." Her heart leaped at that. He had never verbally acknowledged her being correct before. Her most excellent potions usually deserved as much as an infinitesimal incline of his head. "I've known of a few occasions where he used Mages in experiments to achieve this goal. Used literally. But unsuccessfully. As far as I know, it can only be done in one case. There's a kind of Mage, called Taker. Takers can transfer magical quality of one being to another. And that includes Mages. They can even give magic to Muggles. The transformation is always complete and a one-time deal. The donor is left absolutely drained of magic. And often of life, as well."

Hermione shivered. This was a dreary power to wield, indeed. The wet pines rustled around her like malignant spirits, and it felt like Snape was telling her a particularly frightening fairy-tale, the fright factor being exaggerated by the darkness and the hissing wind and the brooding forest.

"And does he have a Taker at his disposal?" That would be horrible, if he did.

"Not that I know of," Snape answered, and his words left a trace of uncomfortable fear somewhere deep in her mind. "The last Taker I've heard of was murdered by his own family soon after his... discovery."

This whole Mage world was rapidly becoming more and more dreadful.

"How come you are still... capable then, sir?" She was choosing words slowly, lest he decide that he was already telling her uncharacteristically too much. "Is he not aware that you are a Mage, too? Has he not tried to take your power?"

"He is. But he has not. My Mage powers are so useless to him, that I'm much better fit to do the jobs I do now."

Oh, so much promised, so little given. So Slytherin. Hermione was practically turning inside out with the desire to press further, but little as she knew of Snape, one thing she knew for certain: if her following question was to touch his kind of Mage and his powers or the jobs he did for Voldemort, her luck with him would die a painful death, with no hope of resurrection in the near future.

She swallowed her curiosity down and went for something else instead.

"What kind of Mage was he? Tom, I mean. You know, before..." She trailed off, unwilling to verbalize whatever atrocities had brought Voldemort to his present reptilian state.

"A Crafter. He was supposed to create, invent and bring forth things of beauty."

How infinitely ironic.

"Thank you for telling me all this. It is important to me, sir," Hermione said quietly, feeling sincerely grateful.

"Do not bother with gratitude, Miss Granger. It is a part of our deal, after all," he replied with a clear dismissal, and Hermione smiled to herself. So, he was taking her 'rules' into account. Good, that. She made a mental note to allow herself an extra-large pack of Honeydukes finest bitter chocolates when the next occasion presented itself.

"That would be more than plenty of preamble, girl. Now, to your lesson." Snape cut her musings and produced a black scarf. With no further ado, he stepped behind her and tied it around her eyes.

She was dipped into an impenetrable darkness.