Chapter 2.

A/N: JKR owns everyone. The characters are not mine, but I promise to put them back when I'm finished.

Written in drabble format, 100 words at a time.

Hermione pushed the word, “Never!” to the forefront of her mind as she sensed Voldemort enter her thoughts.

She still felt sick and shaky.

She had allowed Voldemort to antagonize and incense her, her first mistake, showing too much volatile emotion, letting Voldemort provoke her. She was too overwrought to clear her mind quickly and completely. And since she was upset about Severus, those were the thoughts that were readily available to Voldemort’s sly probing. She hated that Voldemort was seeing her feelings for Severus, tainting them.

But, it was better that than the information she held about Harry Potter.

Severus wasn’t sure how long he sat, absorbed in the silence. He was worried about Hermione.

For once in his life he had let himself be guided by his heart instead of his head, and now he was in this unbearable situation. He was not even sure when his heart had taken over.

After he had to perform the Killing Curse on the only person who had completely trusted him, his first obligation had been to protect Draco. He was not sure why Dumbledore insisted upon this, but he suspected that Draco’s actions had reminded Dumbledore of another young Slytherin.

Snape reflected on Dumbledore’s last wishes. Maybe Dumbledore was right, Draco was behaving a lot like Snape had when he was younger, getting involved with the Death Eaters without truly knowing what it meant until it was too late. But the more he thought about it, he realized that it could still happen, even with age and experience—damn Narcissa and her Unbreakable Vow.

Snape had appeared when summoned and convinced Voldemort that he could continue his spying. He told Voldemort that he knew Harry’s next move.

Snape had thought that this would buy him the time that he needed.

The door opened quietly behind her, the sudden draft making the flames in the hearth flicker. Hermione felt Voldemort leave her mind. She took a deep breath, regaining her bearings.

Lucius had returned. Voldemort seated himself as Lucius knelt in front of him, bowing forward, his long, blond hair brushing the floor.

Hermione could barely make out whispering, but was unable to hear what was being said. She was tempted to stare at them, to bore a hole into the back of Lucius’ head, but she kept her head down, straining, wishing for just one word to reach her ears.

Lucius turned his malevolent sneer towards her. His boots scraped the dusty floor as he crossed the room.

“Up!” hissed Voldemort.

Hermione stood, her body protesting. Lucius looked too eager, like a boy with his first broomstick. She became distracted, watching him remove a stone bowl from a high shelf. She realized it was a Pensieve just as she felt her arms invisibly bound to her sides. Voldemort now had the same look as Lucius on his reptilian face.

Worry sprang up within her again; she knew some Occlumency, but had never been prepared for having her memories forcibly extracted.

Lucius prodded Hermione to the table with his cane and ordered her to sit. The Pensieve sat in front of her, but it was dark and empty.

Lucius stood across from her, hovering. He methodically removed his wand from the silver serpent head, placed the tip to his head, and pulled out a long, silvery strand, which he placed in the basin.

Hermione gave him a quizzical look, which he answered by firmly placing a hand on the back of her head, pulling it forward into the Pensieve.

“What is that Muggle saying? A picture is worth a thousand words.”

The one window of the confining room was so small and high that it offered no more than a faint light, which was now fading. Snape stared blankly at the window, contemplating time, and how it seemed to stop, as if holding its breath; or moved so fast that instinct took over, and replayed slowly in the mind. Memories, just facets of time, seemed tainted with this perplexity also, some seemed a lifetime ago, while others were so close that they hurt.

Snape had spent the last nine months working with the Order, thinking he had Voldemort’s suspicions in hand.

Snape had been giving Voldemort minimal information, agreed upon by the Order. But, after a vicious attack by the Death Eaters, three months ago, on Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic that he had not been informed of, he began to question his position. When he met with Voldemort after the attack, he felt a tingle on the back of his neck, a forewarning.

Snape gathered that Lucius was the one who was suspicious. Voldemort could be so easily manipulated with the promise of power, and Lucius was well connected. But, where Lucius refused to look, Snape saw an opening.

Snape told Voldemort that he could infiltrate the trust of the Golden Trio.

Truthfully, he was just trying to stay one step ahead of Lucius. As unfathomable as he had believed it was, he had fallen in love, and married. He was now responsible for Hermione’s safety as well as his own. He knew that if the Dark Lord found out about his marriage from Lucius, he was as good as dead, and so was Hermione.

His strategy had been to be vague about his plans concerning the Trio, and then go into hiding with Hermione, until the final battle.

Hermione heard Lucius’ laughter as the swirling mist in the Pensieve engulfed her. She had been in Dumbledore’s Pensieve numerous times while helping Harry research the Horcruxes, but had no idea what to expect from delving into the dark wizard’s memories.

She found herself standing in a small room, with one, tiny window and sparse furnishings. As she took in her surroundings, her breath caught in her throat; Severus was on the floor, crouched, and Lucius was standing over him.

Then, Severus began to speak.