Chapter 6: Obliviate (Hermione’s Memories, Part Four – August 1997)

Chapter 6:

Obliviate (Hermione's Memories, Part Four – August 1997)

Hermione knew it was useless to plead, yet she did it anyway, encouraged by the sickening stab of fear in her chest when she imagined herself despising him again with such venomous conviction.

'You must know that I have no choice,' he replied.

'Then why tell me at all?'

'I believe I made that perfectly clear.'

He had called it weakness, but she realised how desperate he must have been to look into someone's eyes and perceive no fear and no repulsion. How he must have longed to see recognition and appreciation for his unrelenting loyalty, reflecting back at him.

'But I'll go back to hating you,' she said, her voice a forlorn whisper. 'I can't do that.'

'You will know no difference.'

'I don't want to. It's not fair.' Her voice cracked with emotion, and she knew she was on the verge of tears, but she was determined to keep her traitorous snivelling to herself; her own self-pity could be of no help to him. 'Let me, just me know. I swear I won't tell a soul.'

'And should you fall foul of Death Eaters and be put to the Cruciatus? Or perhaps you'll be lucky and be given Veritaserum first. Though I doubt it,' he added darkly.

Hermione let out a long frustrated sigh. 'There must be a way round this,' she said, crossing the room and marching back again in agitation.

'No! There is not.' He seemed to consider the matter as something beyond debate and serious consideration, but he allowed himself an indulgent smile when he added, 'unless you would consider being locked in a Hogwarts' magically protected cell for the duration of the war. I assure you that can be arranged.'

Hermione scowled at him. He may have just revealed himself to be a consummate disciple of the light, but he was still an insensitive bastard.

'And leave Harry and Ron to their own devices?' she replied.

'Yes, perhaps you are right. Potter and Weasley on a quest for glory with their brainpower languishing in a dungeon is the surest way to ensure the Dark Lord's triumph.'

Once more she felt a glow of pride to be considered an essential component in the struggle for victory over evil by the man who had never given an accolade to a Gryffindor and who held 'know-it-alls' in the highest contempt.

'I'm not prepared to just accept that there simply IS no solution,' replied Hermione. 'There must be a way around this.'

Snape sighed. 'What exactly do you think is possible here, Miss Granger? There is no spell or potion known to wizard-kind capable of withstanding a stint with the Dark Lord. Short of locking you up and throwing away the key, I fail to see what you think can be achieved by simply wishing for a resolution.'

'But surely there must be a way of... oh, I don't know, taking away the details but allowing my feelings to remain.'

'Consider the implications of that, were it even possible. You will have feelings of loyalty towards someone of whom all evidence shows to be corrupt and unworthy. Your peace of mind will be gone; you will feel nothing but disgust at your own seemingly disfigured view of reality. It will be distracting, unsettling.'

Snape sat back in his chair, and Hermione felt his eyes upon her as she continued her troubled marching around the perimeter of the room. The only sounds were the distant drone of Muggle traffic and the faint sound of Snape's long pale fingers, tapping out a rhythm on the edge of the chair's worn arm. Hermione stopped for a moment and looked at him. She noticed that his presence in the decaying old high-back gave it an air of its former stateliness. He seemed to occupy it as though seated upon a sumptuously grand fauteuil worthy of only the purest of bloods.

She considered his objection. 'Unsettling, yes. Distracting, no. It is quite possible that I will recognise the magical aspect of my incongruous feelings and ... '

' ... wonder if you have been somehow duped by the enemy?'

'Well it's worth the risk,' she said. 'I'm prepared to put up with whatever the side-effects happen to be. It's better than the alternative.'

Snape watched her closely, and she wondered if he was looking for signs of insanity at her resolute stance. Finally, he spoke and there was a note of wonder in his voice when he said, 'Your determination ... surprises me, and there is precious little that does that these days.'

Hermione coloured beneath his confessed incredulity; she felt it necessary to at least offer up some kind of plausible explanation for her stoic unwillingness to have all traces of sympathetic feelings towards him wiped. He clearly had very few experiences of anyone showing him consideration, let alone appreciation.

'Professor, believe it or not, I have always tried to defend you to Harry and Ron. In fact, hoping that you were not what you seemed, that you were on our side, was a great comfort to me.' She was not brave enough to look directly at him as she spoke, instead she busied herself by walking towards the wash stand where she conjured a tall tumbler and filled it with water from the tip of her wand. She took a small sip before continuing. 'I despaired when that hope was taken away, when we thought you had turned against us ... but now, now I am so ... ' she put down her glass and returned to him, flopping down on to the bed again, '... relieved to find that my faith in you was not the result of some deluded wish, on my part, to have someone to believe in. It gives me heart and determination to know that my instincts had been right all along. You can laugh, if you like, but I actually need to trust you.'

Snape did not laugh; he watched her closely then shook his head as if to convince himself that she was quite serious. He turned away from her daunting sincerity and made a spectacle of watching the fire crackle in the hearth.

'But it is NOT possible, nevertheless,' he said. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something more before changing his mind and maintaining his finger tapping and flame watching.

Hermione persisted with her assertion that there must exist somewhere in the magical world a remedy for their situation. 'If there is one thing I have learned during my long magical education, it is that for every problem there is a solution, and usually, it can be found in a book.'

An unexpected noise prevented Snape from making his answer. He turned his head suddenly at the sound of the front door latch turning.

'Harry and Ron,' said Hermione, in answer to his quizzical look.

Snape cocked an eyebrow. 'No Shacklebolt? No Lupin? What a surprise.'

Hermione shrugged and gave a wry smile. 'I was hoping to scare you off.'

'A dismal effort,' he scoffed.

They listened to the voices, muffled through walls and ceiling, then the clear sound of

Ron could be heard shouting out to Hermione, a slight edge of unease could be detected in his voice.

'I'll go down and reassure them,' she said. 'They'll come looking for me if I ignore them. I won't be long. You will be here when I get back?'

'I have a rousing welcome speech to prepare for the start of term and a petulant Dark Lord to appease, do you really think I have time to loll around in Regulus Black's bedroom, waiting for you to exchange pleasantries with Potter and Weasley?'

'Fine!' said Hermione tetchily. 'I'll wait here until they come looking for me then shall I?'

'I really couldn't care less; I will be long gone by that time and you will have no memory of our little meeting.'

'Would it kill you to let me have half an hour to find a solution to this?' she replied, desperation sounding in her plea. 'Just indulge me. Please. I'll shout down to them, I'll make something up, then we won't be disturbed and ... '

'... And what?' he made a show of looking around the room. 'The Memory Charm Section of Regulus Black's extensive library seems woefully lacking. How do you propose we proceed with our half an hour research project without the resource of one single book?'

Hermione very much enjoyed the look on his face when she reached for her small beaded bag and demonstrated her proficiency with an Extension charm. She took out several large tomes, delving deep into the tiny bag to retrieve them. She piled eight volumes up into a pile on the carpet between their feet.

'Well?' she said watching him stare at the pile then pick up a book and peruse the spine as if he could hardly believe it existed.

'Half an hour then,' he said with resignation. 'Now go and tell Weasley and The Saviour that you have a headache.'

~*~*~

On her return, Hermione was met by the sight of Professor Snape standing by the window with an open book in his hand. He snapped the book shut as she walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

'Where did you get this?' he demanded, holding out the object for her to see the black, faded, leather-bound volume. She walked over to him and peered at the book then blushed, a guilty expression etched across her face.

'Secrets of the Darkest Arts.' Snape repeated the title slowly. 'A book considered too dangerous to be kept in the Restricted Section of the Hogwart's library, yet here it is in your possession. Well?' he said, in his irritated Potion's Professor voice.

'I got it from Professor Dumbledore's office before we left Hogwarts,' she said.

'That is not possible; this book had enchantments protecting it. I know that it was so guarded that it could not even be touched without causing considerable pain to anyone who attempted it. By what means could you possibly have obtained it?'

'I just used a Summoning charm,' she replied sheepishly.

Snape's eyes narrowed in disbelief. 'Accio dark arts book?' he said.

Hermione nodded. He looked as if he was about to reprimand her for keeping the truth from him, but before he had the chance to speak, she quickly interjected. 'I didn't expect it to work, and when it did, well I just wondered if Professor Dumbledore had allowed it to be taken by someone who might need it.'

'Dumbledore's protection ended when he did,' he answered.

'Oh!' she replied, feeling rather crestfallen that the former Headmaster had not somehow known she would have the wit and audacity to take it and had aided her theft.

Hermione picked up another book from the pile; she looked at the title and began to flick through the pages randomly.

'Did it occur to you that the book was removed from the library and given the fullest protection for a reason?' Snape continued, unwilling to drop the subject. 'That book in the wrong hands could be perilous.'

'Of course I know that,' she replied, looking up from her study. 'But I thought it best to be as prepared as possible. You once said that fighting the Dark Arts is like fighting a many-headed monster. You said that every time a head was severed a new and more terrifying one would replace it; that we have to be flexible and inventive. I don't really know how to be flexible and inventive, but if fighting the Dark Arts is as arduous as that, then I DO want to understand it at least, or some of it. Knowledge is power. I thought we needed all the help we can get. Our resources are ... limited, virtually non-existent. I don't really know how to help Harry, I'm just doing the best I can in my own way.' She sighed.

'At least I taught you something,' he said.

Hermione smiled. 'Yes, sir, you did. It's yours now ... the book I mean, since you are to be Headmaster. Take it back.'

He ignored her gesture and reached inside his robes as if he were about to retrieve his wand. Instead, he produced a small vial barely as big as Hermione's smallest finger; he held it out for her to take. 'For your survival kit,' he said.

Hermione took the small crystal bottle from his outstretched hand and as their flesh once again briefly touched, she gave a fleeting thought to the strange evening which had compelled herself and Professor Snape to have more physical contact in the space of an hour than in the whole of the previous six years she had known him. He withdrew his hand quickly and she wondered, as she glanced at the vial, if he had been having similar thoughts. The idea that they were both contemplating each other's physicality was at once disconcerting and oddly thrilling. She subdued the unwanted thought quickly, however, and scrutinised the tiny writing on the label.

'Phoenix Tears?' she said aloud. 'Aren't these incredibly rare?'

'A little parting gift from Dumbledore,' he replied, walking over to the window. 'Or more specifically, from Fawkes. Dumbledore's little guilt reliever. This is supposed to be my safety net.'

Hermione handed the bottle back to Snape. 'I can't take them, sir. These are for you; what if ... ?'

'I have no need of them,' he replied, ignoring her gesture. 'There may come a time when Potter is critically injured – it is for him that we all sacrifice so much. Take them.'

'Professor, I can't. These were shed for you. I'm pretty sure that their potency won't be as strong for someone else anyway. Please keep them.'

'They will be most effective for whoever they were intended for, yes. You will still find them more useful than anything else you could possibly have acquired ... or stolen for your journey.'

Hermione shook her head and walked towards him. She held out the precious commodity for him again. 'Please, sir.'

'I said take them,' he insisted.

Hermione sighed and turned towards a tall set of once darkly polished mahogany drawers, now as neglected as the rest of the room. She set down the crystal container on its dusty surface with care. 'I'm leaving it here,' she said stubbornly. 'Once you Obliviate me, I won't know why I have it in my possession anyway. Won't that be distracting and unsettling?'

Snape looked furious and about to argue further, but perhaps he considered such an action to be a waste of his time when his only answer was to move a thick velvet drape a touch and stare out of the window.

'Yaxley and Rosier are on duty,' he said softly.

'They can't get in.'

'Yet!' He turned to face her. 'You can't count on this place being a safe haven forever.

The Dark Lord is calculating on Potter to turn up here. He won't stop the vigil.'

'We are careful,' she replied. 'We only ever Apparate onto the front step using the Invisibility Cloak.'

'One day you will make a mistake.'

'It's possible, yes. I think we are prepared though.'

Snape left his sentry position by the window and returned to Hermione's pile of books where he picked up the top copy and looked pensively at Hermione's tiny beaded bag. 'What other provisions have you managed to stuff inside there?' he asked; but the contempt in his tone was neutralised by the realisation, by Hermione, that he was sincerely interested and impressed by her ingenuity. She smiled, pleased to be given free reign to boast.

'I have a tent, in case we need to flee suddenly and have nowhere to go. I have books, as you see, first aid equipment, Polyjuice potion, anything I could think of to help us survive.'

Snape nodded his approval. 'When I am ensconced in the Headmaster's office, I will have the opportunity to watch over you to some extent. Once you are no longer in this house, however, you are on your own.'

Hermione threw him a quizzical look. 'How can you watch over us?'

He flicked indolently through the pages of Spellman's Syllabary. 'Try using those famed wits of yours and work it out,' he replied.

She frowned as she went through all possible forms of wizarding communication: the Floo network was her first guess; Sirius had contacted Harry using the highly unsafe and Ministry regulated Floo network, but she doubted that Snape would take such a risk. Using a Patronus was not an option; she had never even seen Professor Snape cast a Patronus and had no clue what form it took. Then she remembered that the hallway of Grimmauld Place was lined with portraits and that portraits could leave their painted confines in order to visit another frame if they had one. The only portrait in Grimmauld place with a connection to Hogwarts was the one of Sirius's ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black, former Slytherin Headmaster, whose other portrait hung in the Headmaster's office.

Hermione beamed at him as she answered, and he looked so very nearly impressed that she half imagined, for the first time ever, that he was about to award Gryffindor some points. He merely acknowledged her insight with a nod of the head, however.

'You would be wise to keep Professor Black with you,' said Snape. 'Just in case. At least I will have some idea of your progress.'

Hermione considered his advice and nodded. 'Take him with us if we leave this place, you mean? I could do that, yes, but as you will shortly be erasing this conversation from my memory, how am I supposed to remember?'

'I'm sure you have a parchment and quill somewhere amongst your survival kit,' he replied sardonically.

Hermione conceded his point and Summoned the items at once; she scribbled a hasty direction to herself which she then placed on the bedside cabinet, wondering how she would react to the unremembered self-instruction whenever next she came to read it.

~*~~*~~*~

The witch and the wizard took a book apiece and sat themselves at each end of the bed in peaceful contemplation. To an unfamiliar onlooker, it was almost as if they were so used to each other's company that the act had become an undemanding, effortless pleasure. The picture of harmonious domesticity was merely an illusion, however; in reality, one scanned the pages with a desperate meditation, intent on finding a spell to help them, while the other flicked through the pages with languid indifference, going through the motions of searching without any expectation of success.

The next few minutes were spent in silence, but for the sound of the ticking clock, the fire, hissing and smouldering in the grate, and the occasional sounds which emitted from Hermione: paper beneath fingers and discontented sighs.

'There is a potion to simulate love, a potion to bring luck, and a potion to change your appearance; how can there not be one for our situation?' Hermione said clutching her book as it almost fell from her lap while she leaned forward to choose another one.

'As a matter of fact,' Snape replied, 'a potion does exist to maintain feelings ... any feelings required.'

Hermione looked up at him with all the eagerness of a child being handed a lollipop. She begged for more information on the potion: its properties, the required ingredients, the brewing conditions necessary. Snape answered her with a great deal more patience than she recalled him ever managing in the potions classroom when her constant need for answers was met with snide remarks and entreaties for her to continue in silence. She asked him how a potion that purported to anchor any emotion required could possibly work.

Snape explained that it must be drunk while focusing intently on that which the drinker wished to enhance or maintain.

Hermione recalled her own unfortunate past experiences of ingesting potions she was unfamiliar with. Her second year mistakes had given her a familiarity with the feline state she would much rather forget. She had learned the hard way that magical potions could be as precarious as they were wondrous, and she had promised herself a more conscientious approach since knowing first hand what it was to own a tail and whiskers. Her pulse still raced with anticipation, however, as the possibility of finding the answer to this seemingly impossible dilemma, almost presented itself. 'I don't pretend to understand why such a potion would be needed,' she replied. 'But if it was possible to acquire, I would take it.'

'You may be boldly prepared to take it, but your sacrifice is not required. I presume that your survival kit doesn't stretch to a copper based cauldron, a plethora of specifically prepared potions ingredients and a waxing moon?'

'Not exactly, no,' she admitted throwing another useless book onto the growing pile with an exasperated sigh. 'Perhaps a potion isn't exactly practical for our present circumstances. I'd still like to know what such a brew is used for though.'

'Its purpose is manifold, though rarely used any more. Married couples afraid of growing out of love have used it.'

'How utterly ridiculous and rather pathetic,' Hermione scoffed. 'And other emotions?'

Snape paused to close his own book. 'There is a more destructive use. Those who wish to seek a cold and bitter revenge, but who are too feeble to rely on their own ability to hold on to the heat of newly acquired hatred.'

Hermione shuddered and felt the chill of the room caressing her bare arms as she considered the possibilities of its dark usage.

Snape stood silently from his position and walked to the chair, dragging it back towards the hearth; he indicated that she join him by the warmth of the fire, tilting his head towards the twin to his own.

'It could also been used against someone,' he continued, as she joined him. 'Lucius Malfoy used it on his wife when they were first wed, before his affairs and betrayals began. Her love and loyalty towards him is probably a mere artifice.'

Hermione blanched. 'He told you he used a potion to deceive his wife?'

Snape snorted. 'I brewed it for him.'

He must have noticed her struggle when he sneered at her 'precious Gryffindor sensibilities'.

'Not so noble after all, am I, Miss Granger? Surely even the star of Gryffindor understands that there exists nothing as primitive as black and white, only shades of grey, some murkier than others.' His penetrating glare was as disquieting as his scathing doubt. 'Perhaps you think your efforts wasted on me now.'

Hermione realised that she had wanted to view him as some valiant champion, a fearless yardstick to be whitewashed and held aloft as a standard of integrity and self-sacrifice. His candid admission reminded her that Severus Snape may be on their side, he may have forfeited his reputation and his prestige in order to do the right thing, but she still had no idea of the source of his motivation. What had prompted him to make the move from the devout Dark Lord follower, he had undoubtedly once been, to a man who was prepared to sacrifice all he had and all he was to destroy his former master? Perhaps his reasons were not as virtuous as she would like and perhaps they were a good deal more so, but as she glanced quietly at his worn, tired eyes which no longer bothered to show impatience or indifference, she realised that at that moment, it really didn't matter.

'No, sir,' she said resolutely.

There was a strange glint in his eye that she took to be a suppression of emotion when she daringly asked him why he risked so much for a cause he had once shunned. It was a while before he answered, so long in fact, that she didn't think he was going to.

'For the reason that Dumbledore valued the most,' was his cryptic reply. He seemed to dwell on the thought for a while before remembering his purpose and companion. 'And in case you have forgotten, you have fourteen minutes left of your allotted half hour. I suggest you focus your efforts. Unless you are ready to hand in the towel?'

She pondered over Snape's reply and wondered what it was that Dumbledore valued so highly. She knew he valued courage, friendship, altruism, perhaps even cleverness and ingenuity; but what did he regard above all else? Surely it wasn't possible that her cruel and unyielding Potion's professor could be speaking of love? He was not a man to be easily imagined in a romantic situation. The idea of him giving flowers or affectionate compliments to a doting witch was barely imaginable. Yet tonight, he had proven himself capable of so much more than she had believed possible; perhaps it wasn't such an outlandish notion after all. He was no longer the wizard who had deceived them all; he wasn't even merely a ruthless teacher with a partiality for Slytherins. He was complex and surprising, baffling and unfathomable. She no longer knew what to expect from him. Severus Snape as an amorous gallant, however, was quite the test of a very well-defined imagination. Hermione attempted to rid her mind of thoughts of Snape in love as she assured him that she was not ready to give up just yet. She gave him a bold glance that dared him to object when she picked up the book they had both been avoiding.

She almost expected Secrets of the Darkest Arts to let out a chill wail of disapproval when she picked up the foreboding volume and opened it at page one. She hadn't missed Snape's frown as her fingers had reached for the repulsive book, but he continued to read the book he had just chosen from the pile: An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms, in silence.

If the eleventh hour describes the moment right before the allotted time runs out, Hermione finally found the spell she had known all along must exist at the twenty-ninth minute.

'I think I have it,' she said, sitting upright in her chair and beaming at Snape as he was about to call time. 'This is what we are looking for. The Impetus Perpetuus charm.'

He sighed heavily as if an unpleasant event had been cancelled then unexpectedly rescheduled. 'The Impetus Perpetuus charm,' he repeated softly. 'You are prepared to engage in dark magic, Miss Granger? Should Slytherin be bemoaning the loss of a would-be daughter?'

'I'm quite sure that Slytherin doesn't have exclusive rights to the practice of dark magic,' replied Hermione, aware that he was goading her into some sanctimonious statement for the sole purpose of sneering at her. 'And anyway, it doesn't seem at all ... dark. Although the pictures are rather odd,' she added, turning the book onto its side as if to get a better look.

'Really?' said Snape. 'Then I have to question your understanding of the term 'dark magic'. As you are possibly the only Hogwarts student to have read the entire suggested book list on the curriculum, I must say that I'm a little disappointed. WHAT, Miss Granger, distinguishes a dark spell from others?'

Hermione marvelled at the way he could even turn her achievements into something worthy of condemnation. Any other teacher would have lavished her with praise for her reading prowess, but Snape could only doubt her comprehension.

'Intent!' answered Hermione with confidence. 'Intent is the thing that distinguishes dark spells.'

'So, you are saying that a Canary Transfiguration hex could be construed as dark, if the intention was to harm? There are many spells which can be used to inflict damage or injury, not all are considered dark.'

'But surely there are degrees of darkness to any magic? The Imperius Curse is not as terrible as the Killing Curse for example.'

'Of course.'

'Then perhaps there is no such thing as dark magic, only dark intentions. In which case, even the Killing Curse is not always bad. Not if the intention is benign, because there is no risk of the soul being corrupted.'

'There are many ways to corrupt the soul, Miss Granger. Believe me.'

Hermione didn't answer at once; she concentrated on the book in her lap and tried to shove the thought of Professor Snape's statement to the furthest recess of her mind for now. She didn't want to focus on the fact that Professor Snape felt himself to be an aficionado in the field of soul corruption.

'Well anyway, our intention is not dark, therefore, whatever magic we perform from this ... book, cannot be considered to be so,' she replied.

Snape gave a short laugh. 'Very well, why don't you read out the components of the spell and we shall see if your naive grasp of the nature of depravity and ethics remain.'

'It seems straight forward enough,' she said. 'Rather like the Unbreakable Vow.' She began to read aloud, 'Both parties must face each other in order to unite and make the declaration.' She stopped and tried to read further along the text to herself for preparation purposes.

'Do read on, Miss Granger. I'm not sure you'll be as pleased with your findings when you discover the extent of the involvement of both parties.'

His words were ominous, but she continued reading as bid. 'Each party must make the declaration of feeling once, during the discarding phase and again, during the joining. What on earth do you suppose that means?' she asked, pausing in order to make sense of the words.

Snape looked at her impatiently. 'You mentioned odd pictures?'

'Yes.'

'How are they ... odd?'

'Well the figures are drawn naked,' she replied, keeping her eyes firmly on the text. 'Which I presume is some Dark Arts writer's attempt to shock, but really ... ' She closed the book in order to examine the author's name on the spine. '... Owle Bullock must have found medieval witches and wizards to be pretty impressionable if he imagined that ...'

'Miss Granger!' Snape interrupted. 'Continue reading.'

'Right. So, I said the bit about discarding and then the bit about joining. Although I still can't imagine what is meant by 'discarding' ...'

'The discarding of clothes, Miss Granger. Surely two and two make four, even in the Gryffindor common room?'

'Oh! I see.' She poured over the ancient passage in order to hide the blush that had been incited at the thought of Professor Snape referring to the act of undressing. Perhaps there really was a reason why the Impetus Perpetuus charm was considered to be dark magic; the spell was clearly not as straight forward as she had hoped. Could it be possible that she was about to read out a spell which required the casters to be naked? Her own naivety was the real revelation. Why should she be surprised that a book which cheerfully suggested murder as a means to immortality would contain a spell requiring nudity? To refer to such things in his presence was uncomfortable enough, but the contemplation of actually performing the spell was so disturbing that it made eye contact and regular breathing an impossibility.

She stared hard at the page and thought of the people living their uncomplicated, effortless lives outside, oblivious to a world where Dark Lords reigned, and menace and risk was as real as the number 47 bus was to them. She thought of her loved ones and everyone she cared about: the Weasleys who risked their lives and home daily for a seemingly futile hope. Mad-Eye Moody had already sacrificed his life. She thought of Remus Lupin who had jeopardised his own safety to spy amongst the most depraved of werewolf-kind for any scrap of information which could further their cause. And of Snape himself, the images he had shown her that evening; his sacrifices were beyond anything she knew she was capable of. Then what was she capable of? Living amongst werewolves? Existing to serve a dark and terrible master's bidding? Standing before the entire Hogwarts' staff and students as a traitor, feeling their hatred radiate more intensely than the heat from the fire they now sat before? Or hiding in a warm, safe house with her two best friends and a house-elf to serve her three square meals a day? Her sacrifices to the war effort seemed tragically pitiable in comparison.

The Impetus Perpetuus charm would make her his confidante for as long as the war remained. She wouldn't remember why she valued and respected him once he Obliviated her, but at least he would have an ally, someone to feel annoyance on his behalf when he was being disparaged and maligned by everyone else. Hermione realised that she wanted to be Snape's oblivious defender as much as she was determined to help Harry in his search for Horcruxes.

Once that idea had settled itself into the region of her mind she kept for inconceivable thoughts, the concept began to grow and encompass other thoughts, yet more unimaginable than that first tiny seed. The notion of actually carrying out such a spell was less outrageous now. She had only ever seen her professor in teaching robes before; for all she knew, he could have some hideous deformity hidden beneath all that immense swirl of black fabric. Only moments ago the idea of Professor Snape and herself doing anything as sordid as disrobing was unthinkable. She had been mortified to have even heard him utter the words 'discarding of clothes'. Yet when she considered it, it really should be deemed as nothing more than a simple sacrifice.

When she viewed it as something to be accomplished for a noble cause, something so inferior to anything he had done for the sake of a higher purpose, then it seemed like such an insignificant thing to waste a blush on at all. Was it really such a repulsive act to stand naked before another being and say some words? If it would create the desired effect, if it would prevent her waking up in the morning with a burning hatred in her gut for her professor, if it would mean there was another human being in the world who did not despise him, then really it was such an inconsequential thing to do. She wouldn't even remember it by tomorrow.

She looked up at him unflinchingly. 'Well, it's the only manageable option we have,' she said. 'The potion can't be done, but at least this spell is possible.'

'I beg your pardon?' Snape looked at her with eyes that glinted strangely.

'If this charm will work, then I think we should perform it.'

Snape contemplated her in silence. 'You haven't read all the instructions yet,' he said softly. 'Continue reading.'

Hermione read aloud. 'During the joining phase, verbal utterances must be spoken simultaneously and coincide with contact. Er ... what does it mean by 'contact'? Wands? Maybe holding hands?' she asked, afraid that she already knew the answer to her question, and unsure that she wanted to hear it said out loud.

Snape sighed heavily. 'For such a hand-waving over-achiever, you can be monumentally dense, Miss Granger. What do you imagine is meant by 'join' and 'contact' when two people are facing each other bereft of clothes? As a hint, I can tell you that hands and wands are the last things to be involved.'

Hermione's shame was now complete; if it hadn't been for the orange glow of the fire, her cheeks would have been the only furnace in the room.

'Well, it isn't worded very well,' she muttered in her own defence. She didn't dare to meet his eye, but she could guess his expression – there would be a smirk lurking behind a look of tired impatience and displeasure. The impatience would be for her Gryffindor stubbornness and the smirk for her naive innocence. What a silly child she must appear to be to him. So lacking in sophistication or experience in worldly matters that she couldn't even comprehend what was now so obvious: that she had been about to willingly offer herself up for a spell which required so much more than slipping out of their robes and muttering an incantation. No wonder he had so little patience with her.

'Time is up, Miss Granger. You have had your half hour. I did tell you that there was no spell suitable for this situation.' He closed the book and placed it on her pile. He took out his wand as he stood from the chair, then he retrieved his travelling cloak and placed it over his arm, ready to depart. 'I need you to lie on the bed as you were when you first became aware of me. Face the wall and close your eyes. Let's get this over with, I have work to do and I have wasted enough time on this unanticipated tête-à-tête.'

'Wait!' said Hermione. 'Have we totally dismissed the Impetus Perpetuus charm?'

~*~*~*~

Snape's eyes widened and Hermione noticed him take a sharp intake of breath as he turned to face her.

'You are perhaps still under some childlike misapprehension concerning this spell,' he said. 'I thought I had made it clear, but I see that you need it explaining more fully.

He looked down at her with disdain. 'Copulation is required. Is that clear enough for you, Miss Granger?'

Hermione folded her hands in her lap and returned his gaze bravely. 'I got it the first time, thank you, Professor Snape. My point relates to continuing with the spell regardless of that fact.'

Hermione didn't know which was more disconcerting - his ominous silence or her own declaration, rash, shameless and reeking with Gryffindor zeal. The only indication that her words had not turned him to carved marble was the quiet rhythmical sound of his breath coinciding with the rise and fall of his chest. She considered her options; the first was to loudly clear her throat, remark upon the weather and pretend she hadn't spoken. The second required her to brazen it out. Yet her courage was failing as fast as her conviction, and she began to doubt her own ability to really go through with it. His expression gave little away. For all she could tell from his blank gaze, he may be about to hex her, ravish her, or Apparate himself to safety without speaking a word. It seemed as if hours had passed before Snape finally reacted.

'You wish to continue with the spell despite understanding what is required to complete it?'

'Well, it's not as if we have to sacrifice a kitten,' she replied.

'That would be preferable.'

Hermione lowered her head, no longer able to meet his eye.

When he spoke again he sounded angrier than she had ever heard him before, yet he barely raised his voice. 'Do you have any idea what it is you are suggesting? My credibility is non-existent. My crimes are lengthy, and you imagine I would want to add rape of a student to that extensive list? I see that you assume there is no pit of depravity into which I will not sink. If this is your opinion of me, I can't say that I care to assist in the means to stabilise your feelings – they are warped, twisted and without merit. I was mistaken in confiding in you.'

Once again, Hermione was glad of the dim light and the camouflaging flicker of the flames in the hearth. The fire in her cheeks went unseen. Desperate to make him realise that he had been right to trust her, she reminded him of the surreal nature of their circumstances. And though her heart thudded like the wretched rap of a fist on a locked door, she stated her case as calmly as she could. She told him that the spell would not be a depraved act; it was a virtuous one, for an honourable cause. She pointed out that she was no longer his student. He called that a technicality. She was sure, she said, that he understood that rape was a state which required no consent. He sneered and told her that under the circumstances it would not feel like consent.

She called him a coward.

He flinched as if the word had a serrated edge with the power to splice an artery. She apologised and wondered how she could have bandied that word about with such cavalier disregard. Tonight he had shown himself to be a man built upon the very foundations of heroism. He had risen above such a mundane epithet and redefined it to mean something else, something more fitting, something that incorporated the sheer and stark loneliness of self-sacrifice and single-minded devotion to duty. To be called a coward by those who had every reason to believe him to be so was unfortunate, from someone who knew better was unforgiveable. She told him as much, and he held up a hand to stop her outpouring of regret.

She knew she had lost; the evidence shone in the glittering surface of his dark eyes, though earlier she thought she had imagined a glimmer of a longing to say yes to her childish, thoughtless, foolhardy proposal. He turned his wand towards the fire in the grate and diminished the flames to a flicker, then a fizzle then a fade to nothing.

'It is time,' he said, and he pointed his wand at the bed and repeated his command for her to lie down as she was two hours ago when she had first opened her eyes and seen the hateful form of the man she had just asked to bed her.

Hermione finally admitted defeat and obeyed his command. Like a medieval queen walking to her bloody fate, she rounded the ostentatious bed of the martyr and on reaching her destination sat down and laid her head upon the recently Scoured pillow to await the fall of the axe. She closed her eyes and brought to the forefront of her mind the images he had shown her: the vision of the headmaster's office, Dumbledore's plea for Snape to be his benign executioner. Perhaps she could cheat the spell. If she focused hard enough on the memory he had sought to give her on short loan, maybe she could keep it despite the power of his Obliviate. Seconds became minutes and still he had not moved. She could hear his breaths coming from the bedside behind her and she imagined him standing there rigid, his wand pointing at her skull, his face an unreadable mask.

She caught his scent: asphodel and sopophorous beans – the robes of the potions master, reeking of years of contamination that a few months of idleness could not quite banish.

Her eyes flew open as she heard his movement at last – unexpected and unaccountable though the sensation of a body settling down beside her was. His scent was stronger now with his proximity – feet still booted, still draped from shoulder to toe in layers of fabric as dark and unyielding as a storm at sea. No sound but his breaths, no movement but her own chest, rising and falling with the rapidity of anticipation, fear, and excitement.

She understood at once: the delayed execution of the feared spell, feared by him even more than her. He could not bring himself to cast it. Yet.

Hermione rolled slowly over to face him. He lay on his back as still as a corpse, his hooked nose in sharp profile against the wall beyond, his thin lips slightly parted. He stared ahead as if rapt by something above which demanded his full attention. She grasped the wand in her hand tightly and waved it towards the flickering gas lights on the wall, extinguishing their yellow glow with a whispered word.

She spoke to the darkness. 'You won't know it's me now. I could be anyone.'

'For the purposes of Perpetuus,' he said, 'being ourselves is essential. We do not have the release of imagination to get us through this.'

Hermione caught the sound of his apprehension; it unnerved her more than his wrath. She had always depended upon his stoicism, it was more of a comfort to her than any kind word or encouraging smile could ever be. She wondered what it was he feared: the unleashing of his own carnal nature on his student, or the inability to stir it. Her own arousal did not matter. She was a mere reciprocal, a receiver, a vessel to be filled, whether or not she focused on the giver or some other, infinitely more preferable, partner. It would make no difference to her part in this spell if she was denied the luxury of imagining the boy downstairs in the kitchen instead of the dark wizard lying beside her. For him though – what if she was not enough to force the blood in his veins to rush to his aid and prepare him for the sacrifice it seemed so difficult for him to make?

They lay side-by-side on the dark-green counterpane – inches between them, they appeared like a couple of recently departed lovers, awaiting their entombment. His low breaths and her occasional sigh, the only telltale signs that life had not yet left the witch and the wizard.

Hermione waited. She was seventeen and her experience of love was not extensive; her familiarity with its physical expression even less so.

Professor Snape was a grown man, she could barely imagine the wealth of experience he must have at his command – he was more than double her age. As her hateful potions teacher she had certainly never considered him in the role of a lover. There was nothing romantic about Severus Snape. Logic told her that there must have been women, maybe even just one woman. Yet though reason argued that it must be true, her imagination would not allow it. Whatever the truth of the matter must be, whatever his sexual history was, the fact remained that the man whose breaths lay heavy on the cool night air must know enough to take the lead in this ill-conceived endeavour. His inaction begged to differ. He lay quietly beside her and it was almost as if he waited for her.

She lifted her head and raised herself into a sitting position, all the easier for the removal of the first layer of clothing. Her t-shirt got no further than her midriff before an angry voice called out for her to stop.

'Then how are we supposed to... proceed?' she asked, embarrassed by her own inability to articulate the obvious and humiliated by his refusal to see her unclothed. Was it pity that incited his unwillingness or disgust?

He did not answer her until she had returned her head to the pillow.

'Removal of garments is not obligatory,' he replied.

A year ago, a month ago, a day ago, two hours ago – time was no longer of any consequence – not in any time but this could the idea of Professor Snape as a contender for sharing her first foray into the unknown world of sex a possibility. Even if he had been a less menacing figure throughout her childhood, the physical aspect of the man would have repulsed her naively anodyne sensibilities. Yet now she was glad to be deflowered by the stuff of nightmares, not only because of the colossal misapprehension she and the rest of magical society had been under, but also because (and she was unsure of whether or not she should feel shame for it) the aroma of potions fumes and dungeon walls no longer appalled her; it comforted her, it quickened her pulse and moistened her palms.

She wanted him to respond to her.

Removal of garments may not be obligatory, she mused as the words died on his lips, but it would be better than lying here shivering with anticipation.

Her self-confidence had never been tested quite so resolutely before. Hermione needed affirmation that his reluctance to see her unclothed was not as a result of a feeling of revulsion towards her. She required something – a word, a gesture, a sign that would banish her increasing insecurity.

The sneer, it seemed, was obligatory when she suggested that they both think of something positive to say.

'Well the weather is clement for the time of year,' he replied.

'Something positive about each other,' Hermione insisted. 'And you would call rain, clement for August?

'It is preferable to relentless heat, so indeed I would.'

'Well in any case, comments about the weather are considered small talk not a means to bolster a very fragile ego which was rather my point.'

'Very well,' he said, maintaining his watch of the ceiling. After some moments thought he spoke. 'You are not unintelligent when you manage to restrain your instinct to show off.'

Hermione ignored the slight and smiled. 'Thank you. Praise indeed from you. But that is something Professor McGonagall might say – it's not very ... seductive.' Was she actually censuring Professor Snape for finding her insufficiently beguiling?

'You are wrong; nothing is more seductive than a keen mind and an eagerness for knowledge.'

'Not everyone agrees with that,' she replied. Hermione tried to imagine Ron expressing an admiration for knowledge and wisdom. She had always felt that her own acumen was regarded by Ron as an amusing quirk rather than a quality to be marvelled at or even classed as alluring. It felt more gratifying than she could have imagined for the only thing she was proud of to be recognised and elevated to the status of sexy by a man who was the hardest to please of all.

'Anyone who isn't a half-wit would acknowledge the value of a powerful intellect. Perhaps you spend too much time with imbeciles, Miss Granger.'

'Hardly fair, sir. If you are referring to Harry and Ron, you once again underestimate their worth.'

'I would infinitely prefer it if they were neither referred to nor considered at this moment. Merlin knows that Potter and his antics have rarely given me a moment's respite since he was admitted to Hogwarts. I believe your proposal was that we each find something positive to say?'

'Yes, I did, didn't I?' she rolled back onto her side and propped her head up with her arm, studying his profile carefully and feeling braver with each passing moment, intoxicated by his loaded compliment and the power she felt at her successful initiation of this dreamlike situation. The thought crossed her mind that she was indeed still sleeping, in some strange, magically-induced slumber.

'Before I do, can I ask you something, professor?'

'Ever the quest for answers, Granger.'

'It's more of a favour. I want you to promise something.'

'I'm rather suspicious when people ask me to make promises. I'm sure you can understand why?'

'Yes, of course. But I just want you to promise that you will return my memories. When it's all over, whatever the outcome, will you give them back?'

'I don't envisage a scenario in which I am allowed either my freedom or my life.'

'You expect to die?' said Hermione.

'You and I are fighting on the front line,' he replied. 'The Dark Lord's chances of prevailing are... high. I don't imagine any of us want to contemplate that future, but it is a possibility. If he fails I see only Azkaban in my future.'

Hermione had barely considered anything as practical as possible outcomes. The three of them had been living in the immediacy of fear and trepidation for months now, and it was too disquieting to think of what may happen in the worst-case scenario. Living from moment to moment with adrenalin always at the ready for fight or flight had become their habit. But Professor Snape had obviously been planning for this for a great deal longer. He had prepared himself for what must come and he was under no illusions that the conclusion for him would be bleak whichever way he turned.

'I don't want to think about that. I can't focus on what Harry, Ron and I must do if I think that our chances are so slim. And if our prospects are so remote, if we may not make it and if you or I don't survive then a promise like this doesn't even matter does it? Just tell me that you will return my memories if we survive and you have your freedom. Give me your word.'

Snape nodded. 'If that is what you require, then you have it.'

'Thank you.'

'Well this has taken a turn for the morbid. I believe you were about to pay me a compliment,' he said, turning his head slightly towards her. 'I seem to be providing you with a challenge.'

'Not in the slightest.' Hermione smiled and considered the assets of the man beside her. His shortcomings were far more evident. He was neither blessed with physical beauty nor an engaging character. Everything about Severus Snape seemed designed to give offence and provocation. Yet as she made a study of his worth and focused beyond the short-tempered, harsh, unforgiving man she had grown to respect, she realised that if one cared to look, Severus Snape had much to value, and perhaps, as she was starting to realise, venerate. Even his notoriously unattractive features seemed less repugnant now it was acknowledged that they concealed a noble heart and a righteous purpose. His deformed nose was now refined, his bony stature was lean and slender. His formidable glare was an intense gaze, and his cruel and derisive attitude was merely a biting wit. His features, she decided, were full of character and appeal; a more handsome man would be too insipid, a more charming one too tame. Professor Snape's face was an acquired taste, but Hermione was beginning to feel it worth the effort. Her musings could never be shared with her companion, however. She would never be able to admit that she found something disturbingly appealing in his physicality. But he was obviously anxious for some sort of compliment, nevertheless.

Hermione laughed at his self doubt.

'There are so many possibilities I'm finding it difficult to focus on just one.'

'You are a terrible liar, Granger.'

Hermione smiled. 'Okay then. I like your smell.'

'My ... smell!' He turned his head more fully, so that now they were eye to eye. 'And you found my eulogy to be lacking.'

'It's only a hint of one really, but you smell of all the potions and all the ingredients we have ever used – it reminds me of Hogwarts, of discovering magic and the possibilities that can be achieved with a lot of perseverance and a little know-how. It reminds me of cauldrons and warmth and friendship. It speaks of happier times, of freedom and of hope and of optimism. The sensation is intoxicating, sir, and right now nothing could be more seductive than that.'

She didn't flinch when she felt the warmth of his fingers surround her hand as it lay on the bed-sheet between them. When he lifted her hand to his lips and gently grazed the flesh of her palm, Hermione knew that her young and tender heart could never now belong to her sweetly ignorant childhood friend.

Professor Snape's lips were softly sensual, and like the delicious feel of silk on bare skin they caressed her senses in that single moment when he kissed her hand. She silently obeyed his request for her to turn and face the wall. She closed her eyes and waited for his touch. She felt his body next to hers as he moved closer; his breath and his hair brushed her cheek as he searched for her ear. She heard the deep resonance of his murmur as he whispered, 'stay safe.'

Then she remembered nothing.

~*~*~*~

Author's note:

Thank you very much to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. The next chapter is back to 'present day' Hermione as she deals with her returned memories and her new feelings towards Professor Snape.