Chapter Six: Ce n’est pas L’amour

"I never imagined it would be this... personal. I didn't think I'd still have her on my hands."

"Why do you?"

"Because she... Because I do. Because she still hasn't found her way. Because before, I didn't know how to help her, and now I suspect... Because I thought I had more time."

As usual, he avoided Dr Listener's frustratingly patient gaze. He wanted to see the woman turn angry. He wanted to make her lose her temper. He wanted her to vent those frustrations for him, but they only grew as the silence lengthened.

In the end, she spoke first. "What's changed?" She asked it patiently, of course.

"We're running out of time." He handed over a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet.

~*.*~

"It's the only way, Severus," Kingsley had said, his voice surprisingly grave. No doubt he was concerned for the girl. "Luckily, they believed it. You've been seen with her in the canteen, and she's been seen entering your quarters at night. No other witch would ha... There's no one else appropriate. I did try."

Keeping his face coldly expressionless, Snape forced himself not to snap at the insult Shacklebolt hadn't quite cut off. It wasn't as if his words were a surprise.

After all, Severus Snape was not a handsome man, and he never would be. Without the evidence Kingsley had pointed out, even Hermione Granger would have seemed an unlikely romantic prospect for someone so unattractive.

It wasn't just the sickly, pallid tone of skin or the yellowed snarl of teeth hidden behind his thin, cruel lips. Not even the great hooked nose protruding between and beneath – one really could not emphasise enough just how much of his face it covered – his cold, black eyes was what made him so unsightly. No, Severus Snape – brilliant Potions master, war hero and one of the bravest men wizarding society had never known – was horrifically unattractive because his nature was even more profoundly ugly than his countenance. He did not try to tell himself otherwise.

"Thank you, Kingsley, for delivering the news personally," he told the Minister for Magic. "And I appreciate your efforts on my behalf. If you will inform me of when and where the rite is to take place, I give you my word that I'll not shirk my duty."

Unfortunately, most magical folk took in his face, added that to his sour, dour and coldly superior personality and concluded that the man must be as evil as his looks. He was nothing of the sort, of course. But that didn't stop witches and wizards the world over hating him. It hadn't stopped the Ministry punishing him in a manner painful enough to make even Hogwarts' legendary dungeon denizen tremble in something like fear.

"I am sorry, Severus," the Minister said sadly, and this time Snape realised the pity was aimed at himself. "They aren't so far gone as to think they can plan it for you. You get to choose the time, at least, so long as you do choose. But it will have to be soon."

"And what does Granger have to say about this new turn of events?"

"Hermione? I haven't told her yet. That's next." Abruptly, his eyes widened in comical concern. "She still means to...? She hasn't changed her mind, has she?"

"No, I don't believe she has." Severus didn't tell him that the girl probably had reasons of her own for wanting the connection.

Kingsley's exhalation was too obviously full of relief for Severus to miss the very real fear that had inspired it, but he didn't acknowledge that. Instead, he listened attentively as Kingsley went on, reiterating details already delivered, expounding on expectations.

"How long?" he asked when the minister seemed to run out of things to repeat.

"I don't know. Not before the New Year, I expect. It'll take them that long to plan and prepare the award ceremony, and they won't want to... do anything rash before that. You can expect an owl tomorrow, first thing. But whether or not you accept the 'honour' they're planning, the first story is likely to be in the morning's Prophet, and there'll be hints in it."

It only made sense that the Ministry would do everything in their power to keep him from running once they were through with him. They mightn't wish to keep him, but they wouldn't wish to be blamed for St Mungo's completely losing access to his genius.

Severus doubted they knew about the estate in Cornwall. Even the Weasleys weren't aware yet. But somewhere, he knew, in the deepest bowels of the Ministry, a very junior clerk would have been notified soon after the spell of acceptance was completed. Still, only a few officials at the Ministry's highest levels were privy to the true nature of The Snape Situation, so he didn't fear that they would have been informed of his inheritance.

His secret weapon. His escape route.

"You can take care of the other... ceremony anytime after that, any reasonable time, that is. I expect Hermione will have something to say about that. But you can discuss it with her tomorrow. I'll see you then, Severus. It's probably best that I be the one to break the news to her."

Kingsley was nearly through the lab's door before Severus thought to stop him.

"Arthur Weasley," he said. "Take Arthur with you."

~*.*~

"How is any of this going to help Hermione? And, again, why do you feel it's your responsibility to help her at all? You don't still believe the Weasley family want you to sacrifice your own happiness for her."

"Of course, she thinks I mean to give in. I've already seen more of her than I did in six years at Hogwarts." It was only a small exaggeration, and it gave him an excuse to ignore her second question. "She went from avoiding me to scarcely leaving me alone, turning up at all hours with packets of information from special doctors who expect their male to have a wank in tiny rooms stocked with filthy videos. And now there's nothing I can do to be rid of her."

The first visit, he told Listener, came about when Granger had rapped at his door on the pretext of seeking an answer about her previous question on a nettle substitute.

"I'd say she was shocked when I actually answered her." Lips twisting cruelly, he smiled at the memory of Granger's slack jaw. "But she kept coming back."

By the second Thursday night, she was insistent that they really had become friends of a sort somewhere along the way, but that his native surliness made him try to hide it. Three Thursdays later, he still hadn't found a way out of advising her on developing new products for The Witch's Daughter.

"Why not? Do you mean to go through with it, after all?"

For only the second time since they'd been meeting, Severus considered being completely honest with his therapist. He didn't know exactly how much he could explain, and in the past, he'd used that uncertainty as a reason to avoiding explaining much that he didn't want to share. But now... now such evasiveness seemed almost pointless.

"I don't know," he told her. "I have at least four months to prepare my own alternative ending, but I don't think she'll be allowed to continue as she's been doing for much longer."

Before she could ask him again why Granger's future mattered to him, Severus told her what he'd learnt about Bette Granger.

~HG~

Hermione grabbed her jacket and sprang towards the door just as it swung open.

"Late again, Madam Snape?"

"Will you never stop calling me that?"

"Not as long as you blush every time I do." Lara grinned wickedly and pressed a finger against Hermione's hot cheek. "'Course, by then it will probably be your name, so I won't have to stop."

Pulling away, Hermione leant back against the wall to the right of the door. "That's the problem," she said. "I'm not sure it ever will be my name."

"Oh, H." Looking contrite, Lara moved to take Hermione into her arms.

"No. It's all right. I'm not giving up. Yet. But you're right. I'm late. To see my parents."

And then she pushed away from the wall and hurried through the open door.

~*.*~

It hadn't been a lie. Not really. This took time, and if she'd waited, she might not have had enough before Mum and Dad returned from wherever they went when they were avoiding spending Saturdays with her.

Hermione looked again at the scores of images before her. Severus Snape stared back from them all. In most, he was accompanied by two small children with dark curls, laughing faces and eyes as dark as his. In a few, he held a single hairless baby. In others he had a toddler or two wrapped round a leg or two. Or clinging to his back. Or holding his hand. Or sitting on his lap. Or... Not one of the drawings or paintings showed a woman at his side. But it was clear that the children – a boy and a girl – were the always the same children.

And they were undoubtedly his.

"He has to agree," she decided aloud. "I have to convince him."

Dragging her eyes away, she checked her watch again. Time to put Mum's works of art back where she'd found them.

~HG~SS~

Finally telling Severus the whole truth and then facing his challenge to her logic – well, hearing his challenge, anyway – was the thing that firmed Hermione's inexplicable longing to make her mother's 'vision' a reality. She admitted to herself that there was no "might" or "may" about it: she wanted to be the mother of Severus Snape's children – just as dozens of her mum's paintings had suggested she would be.

A belief that her mother saw the future in her dreams wasn't what drove her. But perhaps if she could make one of Bette Granger's grander visions appear to come true, Hermione could stop feeling so guilty.

You aren't even sure the spell did her brain permanent damage. When the guilt settled in anyway, she resorted to lying to herself. You're doing this because it's a good idea – and because having a family of his own will be good for him, too.

But before that could happen, she'd realised, she would have to spend more time in his company outside the lab and away from the Burrow. Showing up at the door to his quarters after Thursday night brewing, Crookshanks at her feet, became a habit.

Now, she was curled on the little sofa in his quarters, taking notes from a treatise on medicinal plants since he wouldn't let her borrow it. Knowi and Crooks shared a chair at the desk. Hermione was long used to their yowling and mewing at the computer.

As close as she was beginning to feel they'd grown, she was well aware that progress toward her ultimate goal had been sorely lacking; she 'd been campaigning in earnest for nearly a month, but he had remained resolutely resistant to all inducements. And yet, he never denied her entry, either.

What's taking so long? His rooms scarcely take up more space than Mum and Dad's living room.

Suddenly uncomfortable waiting, Hermione stood, leaving the notebook where she'd been sitting. A dozen steps took her to a narrow bookcase standing next to the television. Her eyes roamed over DVDs stored there. None of the titles were what she would have guessed at a year ago – if she had even been likely to guess at Severus Snape's DVD collection at all. The boxed set of Star Trek episodes intrigued her most of all.

They were another gift from Harry; she'd learnt that much a few weeks ago, but Snape hadn't provided more information, and she hadn't asked.

"What's this about, then?" she asked Knowi.

The cat kept mewing at the computer with Crooks. Hermione hadn't expected an answer, anyway.

I'll ask him when he gets back.

Fear clutched her stomach, and her hand dropped away from the collection. Hermione didn't recall reaching for it.

"As a boy," Snape said, "I had a... thing for Mr Spock."

She swung around. Did he hear me? Why doesn't he wear shoes? Wait, he's gay?

"Not that sort of 'thing'," he told her, making her flush. His lips twitched once before he continued. "I had a deep admiration for the character. He was something to model myself after."

"Really? Why?"

Snape handed the book over. "He didn't have anything so messy as emotions. Logic and truth were enough for him. He was satisfied with his lot."

Hermione felt her heart break for the boy Severus Snape had once been. "He wasn't, you know." A whisper was the best she could manage. "He was half human."

His eyebrow rose, but his expression was otherwise unreadable.

"I know that now, but at the time, I rarely had a chance to see much beyond the first series."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Because I want to know you better." She smiled, more to herself than to him. Severus Snape loved to argue, but these days, she quite enjoyed the verbal sparring. "And you always answer. Eventually."

"Why the grand desire to invade my privacy?"

Ignoring his sneer, she stepped around him and stalked away from the shelves to the sofa. "I'm not invading. I wait to be invited in. And you know why!"

"Why are you so irritatingly persistent?" He dropped heavily onto the couch, stretching his long, thin legs and flexing his bare feet.

"Why haven't you stopped me coming round?"

"You know why. Why do are you so obsessed with your mother's 'injury' instead of focussing on your own stalled career?"

"I..."

"Tell me" ...his eyes seemed to bore into hers, stripping any hope she had of dissembling... "why were you sacked from your position with the Equality Division's little medical research subsidiary practically before you'd even started? Got to be too much for you, did it? No. I can't imagine the 'greatest witch of her age' would allow herself to be anything but the best. Was it deliberate, then? Was hiding amongst Muggles too far removed from the fame and glory you'd enjoyed amongst us?"

Hermione knew he was baiting her – most likely in an effort to get her to leave, or at least leave off her pursuit of him – but she refused to rise to it, and she was determined to remain in his company until he saw reason at last. And she didn't dare tell him the truth. At least not all of it. Admitting more of her weaknesses could only damage her cause.

"No," she said, though it took real effort to unclench her jaw. "I left because I..." A deep breath made going on a bit easier. "I accepted a new assignment when it was offered because I didn't seem to be doing any good there. I wasn't really contributing to Wizarding knowledge stores, and nothing I was doing in the lab could contribute to Muggleborn-pureblood relations."

His scepticism was almost palpable, and it made her stomach ache to watch his frown grow deeper. "Granger, lying to me isn't..."

"I didn't have a choice, all right? I wasn't given one. Arthur ordered me to change jobs." She looked at her hands, unable – or unwilling – to meet his gaze whilst admitting her last, most humiliating, secret. "I was less than useless working for ObiyeChem. I knew when they took me on it was only because of what I'd done in the war, and because I was – because I was Lara's friend and Harry's friend. But they didn't seem to expect me to do anything. Or even expect me to be able to do anything."

She glanced up at him then, prepared for the sneering disdain she was sure would be painted across his face. There wasn't any. There was nothing, in fact, save the smooth, expressionless mask which he'd worn through most of their acquaintance.

"They said our group were doing pharmaceutical trials and peer-reviewing research other firms had done, but the truth is, I... What I was doing was little better than spying on developments in Muggle medicine," she said rather desperately, "but I didn't learn anything we don't already know. And wouldn't have done any time soon, either." Her hands curled into fists, and she searched his face for some sign – of understanding, of reproof, of anything. Finding none, she turned away from him.

"Nor was I the only one from S.A.M.E working there," she added after the silence had gone on longer than she liked, "or even the most experienced. I hated it. I hated knowing I wasn't being any use to anyone. I don't need to bottle fame or brew glory or any of that nonsense you promised us first year! But I do need to make things better for people like me, and despite everything they told me, I wasn't doing that."

Surely now he'll tell me I'm being a silly little girl and make me leave.

"Oh, I see. Verifying the claims of others' so-called 'medical miracles' must have frustrated your... creative genius," he said. She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was once again implying she lacked originality. He was smirking when she spun around to glare at him. "However much you feel it was a waste of your talents, the work is hardly pointless," he pointed out. "Someone had to do it. And sometimes... Sometimes we are all forced to do things that seem meaningless – or even futile – at the time, in order to serve a larger purpose which has not yet been revealed to us."

He was talking about his years serving Dumbledore, she realised. Why is he telling me about it? Why, after all the insults and disdain...

As if he knew exactly where her thoughts were taking her, Snape spoke again. "My last service to Albus was far more intolerable than anything you might have endured. But I did it. Only my vows and... another thing... kept me going after..."

Lily. Can't he say her name? After all this time?

"I would imagine it must have been terribly... difficult for you, doing what he asked," she said gently, hesitantly.

"You'd be wrong, Ms Granger," he said, his voice formal and stiff. "In that moment, I found it easy to kill him."

Hermione felt herself grow cold at that, and she opened her mouth to answer – to stave off the disquiet threatening to overwhelm her senses – but again couldn't find the right words.

"I thought of what he had done to me when I was student," he continued after it became obvious to both of them that she wouldn't speak. "Or rather, I thought about what he had not done for me. I thought of how I'd find it easier to do... what I must do if my true master were gone and could no longer order me about." His gaze became as cold as she felt, and she knew real fear for the first time in four years. "I thought of how he had bound me to send Lily's son off to die, and I hated that it made my promise to protect him a wretched, wasted thing. In an instant, I thought all of that, and it became easy to want it badly enough to say the words and mean them.

"But that wasn't all there was. Albus was not the only one to place his life in my hands. Did you know that? Of course you did. It wasn't in the papers, never mentioned at my trial, but Harry found out, so you must know as well. I swore an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy that I would do it if her son could not. Also easy, since Albus had already made me promise that Draco wouldn't have the opportunity."

"I didn't know that, actually," she whispered. "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't really change anything, does it? Not since it served the same purpose. I still don't understand how you can be so..." She searched for the right word and, not immediately finding what she was looking for, carried on with, " ...complacent about what was done to you."

Snape stopped what he was doing and regarded her in that inscrutable way she had so come to despise. It left her feeling juvenile and inept; since the end of the war, she'd hated that feeling above all else.

"Albus was never a bad man," he told her at last. "He was arrogant, manipulative and secretive to the point of being almost deceitful." His lips twisted bitterly. "But then those are also traits which are accurately attributable to me, and you still insist on my inherent goodness. I'd be a hypocrite to condemn them in him, wouldn't I?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded at his self-awareness. Or, more truthfully, she was shocked that he would be privy to the less defensible flaws to his personality, much less admit them aloud. Maybe she shouldn't be, she reflected. There was his association with Dr Listener and Knowi to consider, and he certainly wasn't the man she'd...

"Surprised?" The look on his face was full of mocking disdain. Perhaps even disappointment? "I am a man of many faults, Miss Granger, both small and large. I willingly acknowledge those which I have had cause to recognise."

She wanted to ask if he counted being spiteful, sullen and nasty among his shortcomings, but held her tongue. At least at first she did.

You plan to live with this man long enough to get two children by him, she chastised herself. You don't intend to let him cow you all the time, do you?

"You were prepared to marry and bear the children of a man you believed incapable of seeing his own deficiencies?" He sounded just as if he'd been reading her mind, and Hermione was hard-pressed to remember he couldn't use Legilimency without her knowing.

He can't have, can he?

"I must say, that doesn't bode well for the future happiness of those hypothetical children."

"Despite what you believe about their mother's desires," she told him. "our children don't need to be perfect. They just need to exist."

"There's nothing connecting you to your mother's portraits of me and those children. If you want to be a mother so badly, find someone else to help you make them."

"But that's just it. No one else will do for this. It has to be us."

~*.*~

She wasn't listening. Or, perhaps she was, but she clearly hadn't truly heard anything he had said.

"I know what it is to be an unhappy child of unhappy parents." He kept his voice even, hoping that calm would have an effect his anger had failed to have. "Despite the best intentions of the beings who created me, the man and woman they became could not live up to their own expectations."

He saw that she didn't understand what he was trying to say, but still she responded.

"Perhaps, but... But our children will be happy because we're neither one of us the sort to let them be anything else!" Her annoying great gasps didn't stop her going on after he raised a questioning brow. "Well, not anymore, anyway. Look, they'll be happy because they'll live in homes filled with love. And I will love our children. And... And if what I see Sundays at the Burrow is any indication, you will too."

Her own folly – her light treatment of the very paternal instincts she claimed to see in him – could work against her, he realised.

"I would never want to live apart from any children I sired." As soon as they were out, he saw the words were truer than he had intended. The surprise on her face told him she hadn't expected it any more than he had.

But it wasn't enough to sway her from her goal. "So they'll live in a home filled with love. Our home."

Now he did a allow a cruel smile to curl his lips. "I seem to remember your vehement denial of loving me."

There! Surely she would see how ridiculous she sounded. Fred Weasley's sudden appearance, a restive Knowi in his arms and ready to pounce, was a warning that Severus was treading on thin ice.

"We don't need to love each other! It's fine if we don't, as long as we love the children. Is... Is the romantic sort of love truly necessary to make a decent marriage?"

"I think," Severus said slowly and not unkindly, "had you ever truly been in love you would not ask that question."

"Not fair," Fred warned for Severus's ears only, and Knowi added a hiss of agreement.

Granger's eyes flashed in anger briefly, then surprised comprehension took over only to be quickly replaced with glimpse of sadness. That's all he saw – all she allowed him to see – before she rearranged her features into determined resignation.

"I have been in love," she told him quietly. "It didn't work out for me. And, yes, that's because I stupidly allowed my chance to fade away with everything that was going on."

Even now she refused to acknowledge the full truth of what had happened with her mother. Although he couldn't begin to understand why, the knowledge made his stomach twist painfully.

"I think a part of me expected it would be there, waiting," she continued, "when I was ready to fight for it. Only it wasn't. That's my fault. I know that. But that doesn't mean mutual respect and companionship aren't also worthy foundations for marriage."

She placed a hand on his arm; he could feel the trembling in her fingers.

"I do respect you, Severus," she said quietly. "More than that, really. I consider you a friend."

"You have no idea what my life is like now," he told her, still inexplicably smarting from her earlier failure to understand how significant fatherhood would be for someone like him. "You never have."

He watched as she chewed her lip, but this time didn't sense any uncertainty in the habitual gesture. She seemed... thoughtful.

"No," she said eventually. "I don't really know. But I'd like to. I've been trying so hard to find out."

~ES~TS~

"She's going about it all wrong."

"And her timing couldn't be more wrong," agreed Tobias.

At first, Eileen pulsed pale confusion. But then a rush of fear and compassion mixed with lost hope suffused her being in a maelstrom of violet and the palest yellow-white and a deep blue-grey.

"He only has a week until..."

"Yes."

"Merlin didn't seem very angry... Not in the end. He seemed rather to wish we'd..."

"He did, didn't he?"

"Still..."

"Yes, still."

Neither noticed the Person watching them watch their son.

~SS~

Amorphous globs of glowing energy streamed away from the large being, their bright colours a stark contrast to the one that only oozed from the meeting space. It was the same as before – as it was every day. When he first – finally – noticed, he was somewhat shocked he hadn't seen it before. But soon enough it seemed to be a thing he had always known: the others their age avoided her just as much as they avoided him.

It was no wonder that she had so often sought him out. And didn't it only make sense that he should do the same? He'd already learnt loads from watching her as she practised the things he should have been learning from the lessons they shared. Accepting her friendship, however weirdly it was offered, could only make it easier.

He flowed over to where she hovered, seemingly lost in thought.

"Today's lessons were hard, yeah?"

She registered his presence, but was quick to hide it in a show of obliviousness. If he hadn't been watching her so intently, he would have missed how she'd done it. She started oozing away.

"Guess they were worse than I thought. If even you don't know what you're doing!" He tried to manifest a purplish-pink wonder, and he felt he mostly succeeded. It was another thing he'd learned from watching her.

"Of course I don't know what I'm doing yet. We've only just been taught." Her crimson pulse was quickly subdued by a blue calm.

"Really? I thought you knew everything," he teased, the pale fire of his sarcasm mitigated by the faintest tinge of lavender-hued friendliness.

Only, he didn't think she noticed anything but his words because she glowed crimson again, this time marred by ugly patches of grey-blue in response. She shrunk into herself until she was nearly a solid mass of rage and sorrow.

"I don't! And I never said I did!" Her voice was painful to hear, and as she spoke, her All condensed in a way he knew was somehow terrifyingly wrong. "I know more than you, but anyone who goes to school knows more than you, but I don't know what's happening or what's going to happen because they won't tell me, and... And, I... Now I know they're all wrong about you! No one likes you because they think you're stupid. But you aren't, are you? You're clever, but you're cruel. You are the cruellest boy I know!"

For a moment, he flashed as crimson as she was, but then his irritation was gone, and he couldn't call it back. Her anguish was overpowering the anger; he could see that now.

Suddenly, he was glowing a soothing yellow. His mam was always turning that colour in him, but he'd never managed it himself before. Crooked lines of blue-grey fear ran through him, but he was trying. The faintest hint of a warm brown began to spread through him.

~HG~

"What happened?" His voice had lost the mocking tone she hated so much.

"I told you, I don't know." Despite her best efforts, she felt the fury and sadness she didn't understand begin to fade. She didn't even have the control to conceal her growing comfort from him. She didn't understand why she was hurting less, either. "Something's gone wrong. Something to do with why your parents left, and now they're telling more People they have to go to the Inner. Mum and Dad might have to go early. They might not get magic."

"I don't understand." He was nearly all yellow and brown now, but tendrils of his confusion stretched all over.

"Nor I."

"But, I mean, you're almost ready to go..."

"They always give you magic your first time. If my parents don't have it..." Sorrow rushed back in, and she fought against it without success.

Focussing all of her All, she forced herself to coalesce and change, solidify. After what felt like an eternity, she flexed fingers and toes. She squeezed her eyes shut. "If my parents don't have magic," she told him, "they might make me take others."

"How did you do that?"

Even with her eyes closed, she could hear the wonder in his voice.

"You'll learn how. When you have enough All, they'll tell you how. Everyone learns to make a sort of false fleshsuit before they go."

"Why are you wearing it now?"

"Because fleshsuits can cry." Her voice shook on the last word.

"Why would you want to do that?"

She wondered if he knew what crying was, but she didn't answer.

"You aren't crying right now." Curiously, his voice was still kind. The sound of it made her feel more awful.

"Not yet," she croaked. "I don't think I know how yet. I thought it would just happen."

"Maybe you don't have enough All." It was obvious he was trying to be his old nasty self, but she could hear his worry.

"I have too much All. That's why they're making me go, even if it means I can't have Mum and Dad."

"If I had enough All, I wouldn't let them make me do anything!" He meant it, she could tell. "I'd learn to make my own fleshsuit, and I'd go, and I'd find Mam and Da even if I got other parents."

Though she hadn't ever tried it herself – though she knew it was more than she should try – an idea filled her mind. She opened her eyes and dissolved back into her natural form.

"Take some of mine."

She didn't wait for his shock to fade before she pushed out a tendril of herself and reached for him.

~SS~HG~

Every year, Harry told them not to bother. It didn't help. Tiny black bats fluttered near the atrium ceiling. Large pumpkins – faces, comical or cruel, carved into their flesh – stood guard next to each busy Floo. The fountain was festooned with giant spiders, all spinning webs that flowed like water.

Hermione hurried to the nearest lift and rode down to the canteen.

Snape had got there first, of course. He took one look at her face and clasped her elbow in a large hand. "My quarters. Now," he bit out in a harsh whisper.

~*.*~

"It wasn't your fault."

The door had scarcely closed behind them. The pity that softened her face and brought the glint of tears to her eyes – it couldn't be empathy; the girl knew nothing of the kind of guilt he carried – was fuel to his ire. Nevertheless, he attempted to hide it. She deserved that much – if for no other reason than because a girl from his memories of the Real World, of Real Life, had once given him a gift he wasn't sure he could ever repay. And if he was truly meant to help her in some small way...

"Of course." Severus looked away from her, not sure letting her see the force of his rage would be at all helpful. "Of course," he repeated, knowing the bitterness in his voice wouldn't be lost even on a complete fool. Every nuance of his anger and anguish would be apparent to someone like Granger.

"You couldn't have known what he would do," she asserted.

It was too much. She went too far. "I knew! Do you think me an idiot?" He swung around to face her, no longer hiding what he was feeling, what she was making him face. "Do you think I was stupid back then?

"I was ambitious and full of my own supposed brilliance, and I knew there was only one sure way to the stop the prophecy. I told him anyway. I told myself I didn't care about anything beyond gaining that monster's favour because I never imagined that it might be her. And because I let myself become just as much a monster, an innocent woman and her husband died."

"Warriors. They were both warriors. Don't diminish her by remembering her as less than who and what she was. Lily Potter chose to die to save her son." Granger was implacable in her drive to make him listen and live through his pain all over again. "You can wallow in your guilt for the rest of your second chance at life, but you don't get to forget what she did. And you don't get to take credit for it."

He hated her in that moment. Even if he was right and she was doing only what was needed, he hated her for being the one who forced him to look back.

She went on speaking as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said. "And even if you did have an idea of what he might do... even if you imagined how far he would go, it wasn't your choice. He was the one, Severus. And then Professor Dumbledore promised you."

"He never should have needed to make me promises."

"He shouldn't have, but he did. At least you tried to correct your mistake. But he lied to you. He used you. He used the guilt he knew you were feeling to try to win, all the while knowing it could destroy you. That never should have happened. Are you going to let him finish the job from beyond the grave?"

Severus wanted to shout. He wanted to tell her that he'd been doing fine before she'd come back into his life. He wanted her to know that he hadn't been allowing Albus fucking Wulfric Percival Brian fucking Dumbledore to win!

But he knew he'd be lying if he did.

And then Knowi was on his shoulder, purring away his anger. He walked stiffly over to his sofa and sank down onto it. Granger followed.

"What would you have me do?" He stared up into her wide, sad eyes, not caring if she could see that he was begging.

Her face fell. Of course it did. The know-it-all didn't know. How could she?

"I don't know," she said. "But I'd like to help you work that out."

~ES~TS~

"Maybe there's hope for the girl, after all." Tobias glowed bright with approval.

"Maybe." Eileen shone less brilliantly.

~HP~HG~

Hermione was one of the few people outside his Weasley family who never tried to fuss over Harry on 31 October. He was grateful to finally have her near enough to take lunch with him, especially since this year Ron was busy with Severus and Arthur had claimed an emergency meeting.

But the rumour mill had already done its work, and now Harry wondered if his friend might need a bit of coddling of her own.

"How is he?" He watched her face. He was far more concerned about her than he was about Snape, but he didn't think she needed to hear that just now. It would probably make her cry or something.

"He didn't tell me I was ridiculous." Her eyes were dry, but her smile was tight and grim. "Not in the end, anyway."

Harry sighed, ready to hold her after what he was about to say. "Oh, Hermione, that's still not a yes."

"Then I'll just have to keep trying, won't I?" Her voice didn't even shake.

---

A/N: Thanks to Mazzy for enhancing the description of the spiders' webs.