Chapter Seven: Wants and Needs

Hermione climbed the stairs to the Minister's office, settling on the floor near the doorway, hidden by the shadows, and watched the sunlight fade. She missed the warmth of the sun, the feeling of wind on her face, the smell of fresh air. But tonight, she hadn't come for any of these things—she'd come for the moon.

Hours went by, and the room echoed with the sound of dozens of howling wolves roaming the empty streets. She listened to it in silence, leaning her head against the wall, and nearly screamed when Snape's voice, low and dangerous and so quiet that she had to strain to hear him, came through the open doorway. "Get downstairs, Granger!"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because our food is getting cold. And if you get bitten by a werewolf, it'll completely ruin my appetite."

Hermione grinned in spite of herself and answered quietly, "I didn't know you cared, Snape."

"I don't."

She rolled her eyes. "There's more of them this month. We only heard maybe a handful of them the night Neville and I came here, and only a few more last month. Now they seem to be everywhere, and I was just thinking about... well." She paused, biting her lip, and then continued, "The Muggles that took us in, one of them was bitten. I can't help but wonder if they stayed with him. If they're alive or dead now."

"In case you've forgotten, they tried to kill you," Snape said in his 'you're being an idiot' voice, and then he stepped inside the room and settled down on the floor beside her. Hermione pulled her legs up close to her body and wrapped her arms around them, leaning her head on her knee and watching Snape stare at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

"They were scared," she said after contemplating his words for a moment."I don't think any of them would have acted that way under normal circumstances. And what about Emily? She was just a child...."

"Many children have died in this war, Granger. If she's dead, she wasn't the first, nor will she be the last."

Hermione laughed humourlessly. "You're so comforting sometimes," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm, turning her gazed back to the moonlit sky.

Snape was silent for a moment, then added quietly, "Werewolves rarely bit to kill. Their instinct is to infect. If they didn't force him out, then Emily is probably better off than any of us tonight. There aren't any dark creature registries, no wizard or Muggle authorities to restrain or control her. During the full moon, she's the predator."

The thought sent shivers down Hermione's spine, and it took a moment for her to realise what had just happened. While his amended response hadn't made her feel better, he'd actually tried to be comforting. Turning back to look at him, she caught him watching her before he averted his eyes, and she smiled.

"Our food is probably a solid mass of congealed stew by now," he complained abruptly, pushing himself to his feet. "Let's go, Granger."

She didn't move for a moment, lost in her thoughts, her gaze drifting back to the sky.

"Granger."

No response.

"Hermione," he said softly, and she finally turned to look at him. Nodding more to herself than to him, she got to her feet and followed him down the stairs.

~

Despite their nights spent at each other's sides, their days were often filled with fighting, and more often than not, one of them would storm off in a huff, only to return a few hours later, sullen and quiet. It was an unspoken rule that they never went looking for each other, even though Hermione was often sorely tempted to do just that. But it was also understood that no matter how angry they were, they wouldn't leave the Ministry—to do that without telling the other person would not only be horribly heartless, but incredibly stupid (as Snape had pointed out, causing Hermione to tell him that he was an idiot if he thought she hadn't realised that).

So when Snape stalked off one night, Hermione knew she shouldn't follow. But she felt guilty. Normally they fought over stupid things, or nasty but not entirely hurtful comments, or simple differences of opinion. This time it had been personal, and hadn't even really been a fight. They'd been talking, as they often did these days, about life before the war. Well, about Hermione's life. Snape was rarely forthcoming with such information, but seemed content enough to listen to Hermione chatter on about her parents, her friends, her Hogwarts days. It hurt to talk about it sometimes, to remember everyone that was gone, but it also made her feel like all of those people were right there with her. Just hearing herself say their names made them feel alive, if only in her mind.

And then she'd made a mistake. She'd been talking about Sirius Black and Remus Lupin (which really, she decided later, was her first error), and when Snape made some awful comment about not understanding why anyone would bother to mourn either of those men, Hermione had snapped.

"Would you grow up?" she said nastily. "Honestly, with everything that's happened in the last few months, was whatever they did to you really so terrible?"

Snape's face had paled considerably, and his expression hardened. Without a word, he got up and pushed past her, probably a bit rougher than he had intended, and stormed down the stairs. Watching him walk away, Hermione felt her heart sink. She'd actually upset him this time, not just annoyed him, she was almost positive. And considering everything he'd done for her, and how he'd been almost... not quite friendly, but almost pleasant....

Bracing herself for what she was sure would be an extremely unpleasant conversation, she followed him.

It took her a few minutes to find him. He was in the Department of Mysteries, in the middle of the Brain Room, casting one nonverbal spell after another on the brains that were trying to reach him. She stood and watched in horror as the brains bobbed up and down in the room, their tentacles reaching out toward Snape before snapping back like rubber bands as his spells sent them reeling. They didn't seem to be harmed by the onslaught, and just continued wending their way through the air until he forced them back again.

She took a step backward, and the movement caught Snape's eyes. He turned to look at her, then frowned and moved toward the door, still casting spells. When he was standing directly in front of the doorway, between her and the ever-approaching brains, he ignored her entirely.

"What are you doing?!" she finally exclaimed. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"They don't kill you, Granger, they just cause you to go mad."

"Oh, well, never mind then. I won't worry."

Snape sighed and stepped outside the door, pulling it shut and sealing it with a wave of his wand. Turning around, he folded his arms across her chest and stared at her expectantly. When she didn't say anything for a moment, he growled, "You're wasting my time. What do you want?"

"I...." Hermione frowned at him, his impatient attitude getting on her nerves. "I wanted to apologise to you for what I said." Not that you deserve an apology, if you're going to be such a nasty git, she thought privately, but kept the sentiment to herself.

"Fine. Are we done?" he bit out, but his tone was slightly less scathing this time.

"What are you doing?" she asked again. Snape shot an irritated glare her way.

"Practicing," he said simply. "You can't be naïve enough to think that we'll be the only ones to try to take shelter here? There are at least a thousand people still hiding in London, Granger, and many of them are wizards. It might not look like it from the street, but there are plenty of people out there, and most of them would rather attack first and ask questions later. And if I sit here letting my skills rot away, we'll both end up dead."

"But if it's a Muggle, they couldn't possibly sneak up on us, and the wizards shouldn't be an issue—Voldemort still thinks you're on his side, right? And anyone on the good side," she went on, and Snape rolled his eyes at the term, "wouldn't hurt us."

"Do you honestly think a Death Eater isn't going to try to kill me for treason, if they see me with you?" he asked. "And if they don't, do you believe they'd just let you walk out of here, or leave you alone because I tell them to?" He stepped closer, and Hermione instinctively backed up against the wall. "If Death Eaters come here, they must be dealt with. They won't just kill you, Granger. Not unless they have to. You're a young and presumably fertile witch. In a world were wizards are being hunted and most of our population has been murdered or sent into hiding, you're valuable to them. A means to an end."

Hermione bristled at the words, hurt at what he seemed to be implying. "Is that why you're helping me? Why you've stayed? Because I'm valuable? Is that why you want me here?"

"If you have so little trust in me, perhaps you shouldn't be depending on me to protect you," he snapped, "which is precisely what I'm doing. Protecting you."

"Why?"

Snape glared at her, and she asked again. "I mean it. Why? Why did you try to help me escape."

"Potter was the first priority because the prophecy said only he could defeat Voldemort. You were the second priority because it was unlikely that Potter could put on his robe correctly without you, much less survive the war. I was to get both of you out, but I never got to Potter before he was hit."

"And now? Harry's dead; you don't need me anymore."

"No, I don't."

She dropped her gaze to the floor, tears welling up in her eyes as he turned to walk away. Then he paused and finished, "It was never about needing you, Granger. I've stayed here with you because I want to."

Hermione could only stare at him in surprise. Without another word, he disappeared around the corner.