Tell Me the Truth

Disclaimer: As usual, it all belongs to JKR. I'm only borrowing and paying my respects.

AN: The first half of this chapter was written in an inspirational haze. Thanks to Ariadne for all of her wonderful support and our new motto: "Trust that style."

Hermione reached the door just as an intense red light filled the room. At first, it colored the air in a cloak of diffuse color, then took on a life of its own, becoming tangible enough to physically push her. She fumbled for the door handle, pulling it open just enough to launch herself through. In the split-second when she turned to close the door, the room was obscured by the light, deepening to a dark red, unlike any spell she'd ever seen. An inexplicably sinister energy rushed at her. As she slammed the door, she was both fearful for Severus, and thankful she didn't stay.

She stared at the gap below the door. The light grew darker, traveling a spectrum of red to black and back again. Over and over it pulsed, cycled. Each time it returned to red, it died a little more.

Then it was gone.

Hermione placed her hand on the door, then quickly snatched it away. Something was disturbing about the energy living there, coating the door as if it was alive, moving along the grain. She turned her palm and stared at her hand for a moment, convinced there would be some visible evidence of what she had just felt. She took a step back and swept her eyes over the door.

No sign of anything.

She stretched her hand out again and tentatively touched the door once more. It was still there, but weaker, receding. Taking a chance, Hermione drew her wand, took hold of the door and flung it open. She stood in the doorway, unmoving, as the door struck the inside wall.

"Severus?"

Only the sounds of a simmering cauldron and a sickly dripping answered her. She couldn't see him from this distance, but could see a darkened area to the side where the table should be. Incredibly, it had moved several yards to the right and was at a different angle than when she'd left.

Hermione moved slowly into the room. Something in the atmosphere inspired dread, fear and awe all at once. A rose colored haze hung in the air, whether from the magic or the potion, she didn't know, and didn't want to consider.

She almost didn't want to call his name.

Walking crouched, Hermione whispered his name, trying not to panic. What came out was more prayer than call. "Severus, answer me."

She stopped short of screaming when she came around the side of a table that had been knocked over. It was now terribly evident what had happened. The table they had worked on was askew, pulled out of the ruts where its legs had been for centuries. Severus had, in the end, pulled a massive table several yards by the shackle around his wrist. The potion had lost some of its contents, but remained upright, riding along with the table as it must have shuddered over the uneven stone floor.

Hermione jerked in shock when she saw the chain lying flat against the table, still tight, leading off the edge and downward. Her hands shook and somehow made their way to clasp over her mouth as she moved around the table. She should be rushing to his side, but something in her was terrified at what she'd find at the end of that chain.

As she moved closer, she could see over the table's edge, more links, then the shackle, his hand drenched in blood, some drying between his fingers. She stepped quickly over what remained of a stool, splintered into shards and colored red with what she hoped was spilled potion. The destruction was incredible, as if the entire lab had been picked up, swung sideways, and slammed down. Shoving another ruined stool away, she could see him.

Severus lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his arm stretched high to where the shackle still tore into his wrist. His head hung down and she couldn't see his face. He had bled to the point of covering his entire arm and most of his chest. From the angle he rested, every rib was visible and she could see the barely healed tears from Buckbeak's attack.

Why isn't he still bleeding?

She didn't want to answer the academic part of her mind as she crouched down in front of him. He was, in fact, breathing. Hard. The kind of forced breathing of someone barely holding on to consciousness. Hermione reached out her hand and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Gasping, she recoiled.

His eyes were half-open and staring directly at her with a disturbing light. Slowly, her hand fell to her lap, forgotten, as she watched him raise his wand. His eyes held hers for a moment, then tracked in small steps upwards, following his arm. Before she could say anything, the shackle disappeared, releasing him and allowing his upper body to fall into her arms.

"Severus?" she said in a hushed voice. She felt it, that same disturbingly fascinating energy was surrounding him. Moving onto her. Circling. It felt...

Powerful?

No, more than that. Excruciatingly violent... reveling in it, pulling her downwards. Luring her, whispering words of suggestion. That it is magic all the same, nothing more, but it can offer so much more. Yes, more power than she could ever dream possible....

Part of her wanted him to stop looking at her like that. His expression was something born of an energy that shouldn't be allowed, it couldn't be right. She kept her eyes on his and slowly moved to take his wand from his hand. At first, he refused to let go, gripping it tighter.

"Stop... it's over. Let it go." When she shook her head slowly, she felt him ease and allow the wand to leave his hand.

When he closed his eyes, she moved her hand down his arm. She held his shoulders tighter when her hand reached the cut, grimacing as she smoothed the congealed blood aside. At first she couldn't believe what she saw. The cut had moved into a tight line, as if closing on itself. Fresh blood flowed from it, but not nearly at the deadly rate from before.

Most importantly, the Mark was gone.

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"I had no idea it would work," he said, mostly to himself, staring at his arm. All that remained was a thin line, a ghost of the deep gash that was there only hours before. Without magic, there was no hope of his arm being usable after such trauma.

Hermione had refused to look at his wrist as they made their way to the Hospital Wing. At one point, however, as he removed his arm from around her shoulder, it had passed by her. She couldn't fathom how he could be silent and endure such destruction.

While Madam Pomfrey worked on his arm, he shared with Hermione that he did, indeed, move the table, but not the entire distance. At the point of casting the spell, he said, his power had wavered and, as a result, let loose a tremendous amount of unfocused Dark Magic. He had described how it had filled the room, choking out all light, infusing itself into his very bloodstream, settling there, breeding. It was then, he said, that the destruction began, that every object in the room filled with a terrible energy, rising up to move into whatever direction possible. After that, he had no memory.

Hermione said hesitantly, "Your eyes. I was..."

He nodded that she needn't finish.

"Why?"

Watching Madam Pomfrey gathering more supplies from her stores, he said seriously, "You must understand that Dark Magic is not something you want to have contact with. It is both attractive in its wild power and terrible in its ability to destroy. The energy, the presence you felt in the room – never forget it. It is in its very nature both hideous and beautiful. It knows no morals. The one who wields such power controls the life force that drives all magic. It is the darkness of the attraction that is the tragedy."

Hermione watched him lower his eyes.

"You must both remember what you felt and turn your back on it. Never seek that out, Hermione. It is the intelligent among us who fall victim to the fascination, descend into the obsession, follow the darkness in the hopes of understanding."

He watched her for a moment, studying her face.

"Promise me."

Hermione didn't know how to react to his words, so she only nodded in response.

Severus held her gaze for a time, as if burning into her mind the gravity of what he was telling her.

She needed to lighten the mood, change the subject, anything. "So much for being easy."

A wan smile lit his face as he held up his arm, "Yes, as we know all too well. The saying 'the book made it sound easy' fits here."

"He'll know."

His face darkened. "Yes. I suspect he already does."

"What do you think will happen now?"

Severus sighed. She expected him to make some grand statement about the inevitable war and how Harry wasn't ready. Instead he smirked, saying, "I think I may be summarily unemployed."

Hermione laughed.

Minerva approached the bed and, taking a seat, was bold enough to reach out and touch Severus' arm. "It is an understatement to say I am happy for you, Severus. This is truly a blessing."

He nodded in response.

Hermione observed how his demeanor changed, his nerves immediately on alert. Her heart jumped and her eyes shot to his face.

For a short time, Severus would still be under the influence of the Veritaserum.

Word had obviously spread throughout the castle, drawing Remus, Tonks and Harry to see if it was true. It was truly a victory to have taken someone from his inner circle, someone Voldemort considered to be his key inside informant, and set him free.

They crowded around a scowling Severus, who was angry at the attention, but remarkably tolerant. Hermione knew it was because if he spoke, he risked entering into a brutally honest conversation. Severus had become adept at moving effortlessly around the fringes of the truth over the years. Not quite lying, but leaving out enough to plant the seeds of doubt, or foster speculation. He enjoyed the ambiguity, the frustration he inspired. It was his lifeblood, his great talent, and his layer of security. Now that security was removed, leaving him utterly exposed.

Hermione caught his eye and saw his great apprehension. He was struggling to keep them from knowing he was still under the potion's influence, and wary because she already did.

Just when it seemed like the crowd would disperse, Minerva looked straight at Severus and asked loudly, "How did it go with the Veritaserum?"

All eyes were suddenly on Severus.

His eyes narrowed at her, cursing her silently. In response, Minerva only smiled innocently.

"Severus? Answer me this..." Minerva said casually.

"Minerva..." Severus growled warningly, although he could not help glancing around the room.

"What do you honestly think of me?" she asked, studying his face.

Severus stiffened, whether from being the center of attention or from the question itself wasn't clear. He had no choice but to tell the truth, but took a great amount of time to do so. He closed his eyes and appeared to be in pain before he opened them again.

Finally, he said softly, with a tone of embarrassment, "I think of you... as a mother figure.

Harry barely contained a snort until Severus' glare fell upon him, causing him to vainly try to disguise it as a cough.

Looking satisfied, Minerva patted him on the shoulder and said to everyone, "All right then... Don't torture him too much." With a smile, she left the room. Severus could swear she was humming happily.

Remus stepped forward and looked at Severus, a question on his lips. He appeared to be considering his words, his brow furrowed with the darkness of painful memories and guilt.

As if sensing Remus' eyes on him, Severus looked up and said with a sneer, "Not because of anything you did; rather for what you didn't."

Remus twitched as if struck, then accepted the answer. He nodded to himself, confirming what he already knew to be true. The power to stop what went completely past rivalry to relentless bullying, accelerating to attempted murder had been in his hands. And he did nothing. It was the brutal truth. Remus let his gaze fall to the floor.

Severus swept his eyes to Harry, who took Minerva's seat. The energy in the room all centered around the two of them.

"Tell me. You were there – that night?" Harry asked, daring to stare directly into Severus' eyes.

"I was," Severus said, in no way enjoying where the conversation was leading.

Remus made a sudden movement that made it clear he hadn't known this.

"And you – loved her?" Harry pressed, leaning forward in his chair.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "Yes."

Harry sighed, and then, composing himself, asked, "Is that why you hate me? Because she died to save me?"

A length of silence stretched out between them. No one dare break it for fear of losing the moment, the answer they all wanted. The answer, though, surprised them all.

Severus ran his fingers through his hair slowly. He shook his head decisively. "No."

Confusion flooded Harry's face. "Why, then?"

"Even without the Vow, I hate you for being his son," he said in a low voice, then met Harry's confused gaze, "just as I protect you for being hers."

Harry sat back, his eyes wide from the revelation that Severus Snape had the capacity to love. He raised his eyebrows, nodded, and rose to leave the room.

Remus turned to offer some sort of apology, only to find Severus shaking his head slowly, telling him to not bother. Tonks watched the exchange with sad eyes and placed a hand on Remus' shoulder before they left.

Hermione had sense enough to let the moment pass. Nothing she could ever say could change the past, and what Severus said was every inch the truth. She knew that when it comes to feelings, right or wrong didn't matter. Feelings simply were, and no matter how you could try to influence someone's thoughts, they remained their own. What people put forward as normal may be an alternate universe, a friendly face against the cruelties of the world. Or in Severus' case, they could choose honesty. The man had many faults, but no one could say that Severus revealed his true self more than humanly possible. Maybe that was the best strategy.

Before Hermione could consider her question, Severus got out of bed. She knew he would usually completely dress before leaving, but he was definitely in a hurry. He quickly draped his outer robes over his shirt, grabbed his frock coat and began moving towards the doors.

"Where do you think you're going? Madam Pomfrey said you should rest," she said to his back, cursing the fact that they'd been able to heal his leg even more. His ridiculously manic speed was returning with a vengeance. She was jogging now.

"Trying to avoid you," he said, and immediately regretted it since it was the truth. He shook his head and plowed ahead of her, choosing a direction seemingly at random.

Hermione stepped directly in front of him. "And why is that?"

He halted with a mix of annoyance and something else Hermione couldn't put her finger on in his eyes.

"Because I fear what you may ask me," he said, unable to stop himself. He knew that the Veritaserum should wear off any minute now. If he could only avoid her for a few minutes.

"Oh, I see. But I need to know a few things," Hermione said. Her grin widened as she noticed he was unconsciously backing, trying to get away.

Surveying the corridor, she moved closer to him, steering him into a alcove.

"I understand but..." he said, then scowled at her when he found him self against the wall.

Literally.

Hermione raised her arms and placed her hands up on the wall. Surrounding him. He would have to physically move her to escape.

He glared at her with defiance. "I can simply push you out of the way."

"But you won't. Will you?"

"... No."

"Shall we begin?"

"I have no choice in the matter, do I?"

She grinned, enjoying the look on his face. That hunted expression. His eyes kept jumping to the side, moving up her arm to where her hand rested on the stone. He was contemplating physically moving past her, but she knew his manners would prevent it.

"Did you really hate me when you taught Potions?"

"No. I was impressed with your intelligence and love for knowledge. It kept me going during some dark times to know that at least someone learned something."

"So that was all an act?"

"Partially. I had to keep a certain image as a spy. I could hardly have Malfoy telling Lucius I favored the Muggle-born."

"Even though you are hardly a pure-blood."

"I never claimed to be. People are free to make their own assumptions."

He was being too careful, elusive. She knew he couldn't lie. The light in his eyes, the helpless struggle...

"Tell me, Severus."

"No, please..." It sounded interestingly close to a moan. Something unexpected from him.

Hermione smirked slightly and lowered her gaze.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked, touching his chest lightly. The thin fabric of his shirt was near translucent, never meant to see the light of day. He was blazing hot.

He closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I cannot show..."

"Yes?" she said, trailing a finger along his hairline. Moving back along his cheek, over his ear, behind, down the back of his neck...

His voice strained, "Not in public."

"Your greatest fear, is it?" She moved her hand over his chest, dragging her fingertips in a languid circling pattern, smaller circles, directly over his heart. Memorizing where his muscle joined his breast bone, feeling the rhythm of his heart. Each time she moved her hand from one side to the other, the pounding sped up, more like surged into another level, settling there, poised for the next leap. She took pleasure in the cause and effect, performing the action over and over as she looked at him, lost in disbelief that it was her holding this power over him.

Lowering his head, he watched her hand.

She could tell that he was clenching his jaw, holding back, most likely cursing his own heart for its betrayal.

Hermione pressed her palm flat against his chest. "I can feel it, you know. This... this is your permanent Veritaserum. It can't lie."

He only looked at her, unmoving.

"Nervous?" she asked, tilting her head and moving her hands to lightly trace along his ribs. "That wasn't your problem before. If you remember, you had me in this situation. The wall, hands, pinning, cold stone... You were quite aggressive. You may have growled once or twice."

"I was trying to intimidate you, after what you did in the Hospital Wing."

"Is that the reason? For all of this? Intimidation?" she asked, gesturing to his robes and the frock coat clutched in his hand. The amount of clothing the man insisted on wearing bordered on obscene.

"Yes."

She idly ran her hand along his collar, dipping down where the first button laid against his throat. She leaned forward against him and simply let her breath wash over his neck, letting him feel the human warmth in contrast to the cold chill of the stone wall. As she'd learned, the feeling as the chill returned was incredible.

A slight moan escaped him before he swallowed and leaned his head back.

"Intimidation is your motive for most everything, isn't it?"

A dreamlike, distant voice. "Yes."

Hermione tilted her head as she forced him to meet her eyes. "Hurt them before they hurt you," she stated.

His eyes flashed enough to answer the question for her.

"Are you capable of stringing more than a few words together?"

Hermione dragged her fingernails over his chest again and noticed he drew his breath in softly. The subtlest of signs.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, "Of course."

"Don't fight it."

Teeth gritted as if that could stop his words. "I have to."

Hermione grinned. "No, you don't. Not with me... You're very nervous."

"You know why."

"Is it because of things like this?" she said and just barely touched her lips to his. He stood frozen, unmoving, until she moved closer, offering completion. He tilted his head slightly, refusing to give himself over, but moving nonetheless. They stayed there, breathing the same air, neither finishing the gesture. A silent battle raged within him, shoving against the walls, pushing more into the depths of emotion. The line of resistance moved an imperceptible amount, in her direction. The air around them became charged, real, impossible to ignore. They had kissed dozens of times. The symbolism of this surrender; however, was too much to bear.

His mouth fell open and he sensed one wall threaten to fail. It was shifting, leaning... The defenses that had kept it strong had deserted him, leaving him no choice.

Hermione's voice surrounded him, barely above a whisper, asking the question he had hoped to avoid.

"Do you have feelings for me?"

His eyes widened. "You know I think of you."

"Don't turn my questions back on me."

A smirk. Just a twitch, but it was there.

"How much?" she asked.

"I..." he hesitated, struggling against the urge, the overwhelming compulsion. He tried to move towards the side, hoping she'd yield.

Hermione took hold of his hips, shoving him against the wall. His eyes flew open, searching the corridor. Every nerve was alive, both from the physical turmoil and the mental battle raging within him. He couldn't speak. Every muscle contracted against the harshness of the cold stone against his back and the shock of her actions. Her hands were still there, gripping his hipbones. He'd have to stress his still terribly mangled ribs to move, and she knew it. Her eyes met his, expecting an acknowledgment that he was trapped. He granted it – for now.

Thinking, wanting to choose the correct words. A thought. Seeing her reaction before it was even said. The compulsion is there, shoving him, then easing back.

"I'm waiting," Hermione said softly.

"Hermione, I–" he started. He opened his mouth, working on the thought that wouldn't quite form a word and make it to completion. He was always studied in his speech, quick-witted, able to slay the fiercest opponent with a blinding slash of words. The tone of his voice could silence almost anyone. The quieter he spoke, the more dread he inspired. But now, looking at the woman before him, he could do nothing more.

The clock began to toll, startling both of them out of the unbearably tense silence. The exact recording of the length of his delay was maddening. Hermione decided there were entirely too many clocks at Hogwarts.

"I feel you are an adequate companion," he said in a rush. "A friend."

Hermione dropped her hands and backed away, stunned.

Speechless.

He reached out for her hand. There were no words to say to someone you've just devastated.

She was shaking her head, her expression hurtling through shock, pain, and arriving at anger.

"I'm sorry for trying to force you to... oh, never mind!" she cried and left him.

Severus could only stand, backed into a corner both physically and emotionally. Even through all his time as a spy, deceiving one of the most damnable wizards in the world, he had never been more on edge, breathless – spent.

Not because she had found out more about him in three minutes than most anyone had in a lifetime.

But because the Veritaserum had worn off.

And he had lied.