Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all is property of J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Melisse.

Hermione now had her task before her. She got a good night's sleep and in the morning felt much refreshed. Before she got out of bed, she mentally reviewed how she would tackle her problem. She rejected the idea of trying to read Snape's thoughts almost immediately; he was just too accomplished in the art of Legilimency himself. He would know almost immediately that his mind was being invaded, no matter how subtle she tried to be. Not only would he use Occlumency, but he would then apply Legilimency on her, and while she had been practicing her blocking techniques, he was still far more skilled, and he would be able to break her barriers if he really tried. The game would then be up. So she would have to do some legwork.

If Snape were concocting a potion, then it stood to reason that he probably had all the ingredients standing ready, save for the last, most precious one, which was to be supplied by her. She could check the potion stores first to see if he'd left a trail there, but assuming that he had not, she would have to find the stash. The collection of ingredients he had standing ready would tell her which potion he intended to use, for though she didn't know the list for Voldemort's potion, she did know what was required for the resurrection potion. Now, at last, she had a course of action, but it seemed easier said than done. There were innumerable places to keep a small stash of ingredients.

Hermione swung her legs out of the warm bed and winced as the cold from the stones seeped into the soles of her feet. She went through her morning ablutions as quickly as she could and made her way to the Great Hall.

Just as she reached the hall doors, she had an idea and pulled back to avoid being seen. She stood in the shadows and scanned as much of the room as her position would allow. It was a Sunday morning, and most of the students were partaking of a leisurely breakfast, chatting over their choice of favorite foods. Hermione's own stomach let out a loud rumble as the smell of hash browns wafted out towards her, and she had to suppress a groan at the thought of missing another meal. The croissants looked awfully good! Maybe she could take the time to eat something. In fact, she saw Harry and Ron at the long Gryffindor table, arguing over the last rasher of bacon. Just then, her eye was drawn to a dark shape at the far edge of the room, and she saw Snape getting himself something hot to drink and settling in, with a blank look over his features, to survey the room.

Success! That was what she was looking for! Hermione hadn't really expected to see Snape dining with the others; he usually took his meals alone, except for occasions when he had to make an appearance as the head of his house, or as part of the staff. She didn't question what he was doing there now, though. Just seeing him was sufficient. She would have enough time, if she hurried, to check out the potions stores, and possibly some probable hiding places.

She would check the storeroom first because she didn't relish the thought of searching Snape's personal things, and she had no notion where to even begin in that quarter. Besides, it was much more likely she would be caught in the act of going through Snape's personal effects. Hermione shuddered at the very thought. There was still a high degree of danger in checking the storeroom, as Snape kept a close eye on it even though he was in charge of Defense Against the Dark Arts now.

Hermione reached the Potions classroom and peered at corridor around her. It was empty of students. She was alone. She checked the door first. Locked. She withdrew her wand. "Alohomora!" The mechanism clicked and the door swung ajar a few inches.

Hermione stepped into the empty classroom. It was dim in there, and dusty, and the motes swirled around her as if perturbed by her presence. "Lumos," she murmured, and her wand tip gently glowed. A prickle of guilt flared up her spine, and she suppressed it with effort. She stepped towards the storeroom. A feeling of unease was enveloping her. Perhaps it was the silence. She had never been good at this kind of thing.

Her wand was already shaking when she reached the storeroom door. It, too, was locked, but the simple Alohomora charm opened it to her. She couldn't help but think that in Snape's reign, this would never have been allowed to happen. He surely would've had tighter security on his wares. Well, all the better for her in this case.

A scroll on the first shelf kept a record of the comings and goings of ingredients. Hermione quickly scanned the first several pages, and Snape's name appeared, but only for the most general herbs and ointments that could be applied to almost anything. It did not raise her suspicion, but she knew he was too clever to leave such an obvious mark. She had another trick up her sleeve, though.

She raised her wand. "Tracesempta Severus Snape!" Hermione held her breath and waited a moment, and then it happened. In the gloom of the airless storeroom, a gentle green glow began to coalesce on certain bottles and vials scattered throughout the shelves. It became brighter and began to pulse, almost in time with Hermione's own. She couldn't believe it had worked! She took a ragged breath and stepped to the first item. Belladonna. Her heart plummeted. This did not bode well.

She reached up to the second item she could reach and read the label. Heartshorn. That was also not on the good list. She went along to each and every vial that had a glow on it, refusing to believe the evidence until she had examined it for herself. None of the ingredients were on the list for the potion to right a wrong.

There was one last vial, pushed so far back on the shelf that she couldn't reach. Hermione didn't know why it mattered at this point, but she was determined to get it, to see it through. She had become single-minded in her purpose to be right, to believe in reason over insanity, as if this cause were meaningful to her in a way that it was not to others. She had attributed something to Snape that wasn't there, some sense of goodness and justice that he didn't have, and it all hung on this counterpoint; she could see it, although it didn't make any sense. If he was a villain, then she felt like giving up. She took aim with her wand at the last vial, as if all hope for her hinged on it, and shouted "Accio vial!"

At this, a confluence of events transpired, appearing to Hermione as if happening in slow motion. She realized, too late, that she was no longer alone in the storeroom. In fact, the very person who was in the small space with her was no other than Professor Snape himself. His somber, slim figure seemed to cast a pall over the already shrouded closet, and Hermione could feel the waves of cold fairly rolling off of him. She was in the middle of a spell, however, and her hand reached out to catch the tiny vial, as if by reflex, to fully incriminate her.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his to read the last crucial ingredient, and she felt seared by what she saw in his dark depths. His eyes burned into hers, seeing everything that had transpired as if she had told him aloud herself. He didn't have to read her mind. He could see it there before him.

Still, his voice was controlled, as if he were speaking of a mild topic instead of something so vital. "Miss Granger, I see that your friends have been a ... questionable influence on you at best. Turning thief, are we? Perhaps you might have been a credit to the house of Slytherin after all."

Hermione's lips curled back at the suggestion, and she tried to sound as normal as possible. "I was trying to find the thestral heart here, sir. I thought that perhaps there might be one here I could use, instead of having to do the job myself. After all, you never said that I had to..."

Snape cut her off, stopping her ramble. "Spare me the lies, Granger." His voice was velvet, but it held a lethal edge. "You're no good at it." He looked around. "We seem to have a problem here, but first I must admit my surprise at your rather ... resourceful spell. You did catch me off guard in your use of that particular invocation. Explain yourself."

Hermione felt the cold sweat of fear break out over her scalp and wanted to shiver. The reality of her situation crashed down on her. She was alone in this place with someone she now knew to be almost certainly on the side of evil. No one knew she was here. She had to convince Snape that she knew nothing.

"I don't know what you mean, Professor. I'm sorry I broke in here, but I'm desperate. I don't want to have to ... murder an animal." She tried her best to look innocent, and probably succeeded in looking a good bit scared. "But I was just looking for anything to do with thestrals, that's it. I don't know anything else."

Snape narrowed his eyes in menace. "I heard you cast that spell. What was it?"

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Hermione lifted her chin. "There was no spell."

Snape let the silence spin out. "Miss Granger, I will not play these children's games with you. You will tell me what I wish to know, either your way..." here he indicated, with a slight nod towards her, that this was the preferred way, "...or my way. It is of no account to me which way we use, but I can guarantee, it will matter to you. I am going to find out what I want to know, so make your choice now. My patience runs thin. What ... spell ... did ... you ... cast?"

Hermione peeked up through her bangs and saw that she was utterly outmatched. She could not conceal anything from this man. His force, his sheer power, was overwhelming. She didn't know if he was using an unknown spell on her, or if it was just his presence, but she felt drunk on the energy he was exuding. Her shoulders slumped, and the words spilled from her lips almost of their own accord. "I created this spell on my own. It's taken me years, actually." She couldn't help the boastful tone, and her cheeks pinked as she realized how ridiculous it was here, now, to want credit and acknowledgement for her achievements. "I got the idea from where I live, in the Muggle world. They use fingerprints in crime scenes to identify people. I thought that I could do something similar here. Not necessarily for criminals, but just to identify a witch or wizard's unique trace. On something they touched. I thought it might be useful someday. I guess it was," she trailed off, staring down.

"Well, well," mused Snape. "You really may be Hogwarts' brightest after all." He looked her over. "Do you know what you have done, Miss Granger? Give me the vial in your hand."

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She had almost forgotten that she had it in all of the tension. A stubborn, childish impulse drove her to spite him. "No."

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously. "Hand it to me, Miss Granger. You don't know what you're dealing with."

He might as well have said, "You don't know whom you are dealing with;" Hermione felt the urge to gall him. It was dangerous, and it didn't make a lick of sense. She knew that he already possessed the ingredient because his trace was on the bottle, but she wanted nothing more than to disobey him, to thwart him in any way she could, no matter how small. It might be her only way to have power over him, if only for the briefest of moments. Her fingers tightened around the glass. "I said no!"

Snape very carefully drew his wand, and she had hers in her hand already. His eyes never left hers. Just as he said, "Accio vial," Hermione shouted, "Expelliamus!" and the accident occurred.

Only too late did Hermione realize the vial she was holding contained Dragon's Bane, a highly unstable element. As it flew through the air towards Snape, his wand flew to her, and they met in the middle of the room. The bit of magic at the end of Snape's wand was all it took to ignite the highly flammable Dragon's Bane into a spectacular ball of light. Hermione barely had time to jerk her own wand up and murmur the words for the shield charm before it engulfed the whole room.

The dragonfire burned everything in an enormous swath of destruction, hotter and brighter than anything Hermione had ever felt. It was like the surface of the sun pouring over her in a liquid curtain, and she felt the integrity of her shield melting, but then it was over, as quickly as it had flared.

The roar left her ears ringing in the quiet, and her eyes burning in the sudden shadow. Darker than the rest of the charred and smoldering ruins around her, though, she could make out a figure lying half in and half out of the doorway. It was Professor Snape. She could just see a breath. He was barely alive.