Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though.

My beta readers, Maggie and Melusin, deserve much thanks and the highest praise, a lot of chocolate, flowers and relaxing music. All remaining errors are my fault.

Chapter 4

The next few days brought nothing new. You taught, I listened, and the students slowly understood that Severus Snape was nothing at all like Horace Slughorn. Almost every Potions lesson in that first week of teaching had resulted in one or more detentions, together with a significant loss of house points for all houses, except Slytherin.

According to your master's wishes, you kept socialising with the other teachers and spent part of your free periods in the staffroom. The changes in house points after your lessons didn't go unnoticed, though. Some of the teachers watched the development with amusement, others with anger. You weren't popular; that much was clear.

One of your fiercest opponents was Minerva McGonagall. Much to my amusement, she challenged you at every opportunity and even started to wager with you on the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup. You informed her arrogantly that Slytherin house would have won both cups by the second year of your teaching, which granted you some furious comments on house bias. You countered coldly that the days of bias based on influential acquaintances, and other important connections, were over. For you, Slytherin house was what counted, and Slytherin house would get your full support. Minerva couldn't find a good argument to counter this and went off in a huff.

I was wondering how the two of you had become such trusted friends over time. While Minerva had pretended to distrust you after you killed the Headmaster in my sixth year, she had, in reality, known of Dumbledore's reason for trusting you. She had supported you and helped you to hide. Her hateful comments had been nothing but a clever disguise, meant to cover your tracks. By that time, you had already moved up to be Voldemort's most trusted advisor. It had taken some time for me to understand this, and Harry and Ron never grasped the idea. However, seeing the two of you together gave me no indication as to how this close friendship could have developed. I suspected that it would have taken years for the two of you to recognise the value in each other.

"You are stating the obvious, Hermione. Why would such old news help me understand your inane actions, pray tell?"

"I'm just trying to give you an idea as to how I saw you, and what I felt about you. I was confused, and it took a while for me to see clearly and understand my own feelings. I do now, but I still struggled back then."

On Wednesday evening, you were drawn out of your usual routine of reading and marking essays by a knock on your door. When called, a young woman entered.

"Miss Pritchard, is there a problem?" you asked.

"I wondered if I could talk to you, sir," the girl said with downcast eyes.

"Sit down and tell me what it is you wish to talk to me about." A tap of your wand on the desk made a cup of tea appear, which you handed to the girl.

"I, err... that is to say... I was wondering if you could give me some advice, sir." She nervously sipped at her tea.

You scowled impatiently but quickly schooled your features into indifference. "If I can..."

The girl looked up, and her eyes widened when she saw Me-the-Spider sitting on your shoulder. She stared at me in frozen fascination, swallowing hard several times, unable to say anything.

You sneered, took me off your shoulder and gently put me into my cage.

"Perhaps you could find your voice again, Miss Pritchard. My time isn't unlimited," you said, but not unkindly.

"Sorry, sir, it's just... never mind." The girl swallowed again and started. "It's my family. We're an old family, untainted purebloods for many generations with nigh a Squib amongst us. All of us were in Slytherin house, of course. And for quite some time now, we have been wondering..."

I saw you press your jaws together as if you knew what was coming. You nodded. "You've been wondering how you should react to the more recent, ah, political developments in wizarding society. Isn't that it?"

Daisy Pritchard looked relieved. "Yes, sir. I know that my parents wonder what the best way would be, for the benefit of the family. And I do, too. But..." She stared at her hands holding her teacup.

"Out with it, Miss Pritchard."

"Err... you know, it isn't a secret that you are a close friend of Lucius Malfoy... And the Malfoys seem to be, ah, rather supportive of the alternative cause. So I thought that maybe you could tell me what is expected of me. Do I..." She swallowed hard and then bravely raised her head to meet your cold stare. "Do I have to join... you know... that organization?" She blinked.

"Is that what you wish, Miss Pritchard? Speak without fear. It isn't a sign of weakness to be cautious; it is a sign of intelligence."

Daisy hesitated for a long moment, seeking something in your eyes. "It is not my wish," she finally said decisively. "While I strongly support the elevated status of pureblood nobility in society, I find myself rather dismayed about the activities pursued by this... ah... Dark Lord." Another swallow, and she continued, "I am, however, well aware that even pureblood families are treated with... less than perfect respect when they openly oppose the new, ah, political players. I wish to support my family and am willing to do what it takes."

You looked at the girl for a long time. My own tiny spider heart beat wildly. In the past, I had invested little thought as to what it might cost a Slytherin pureblood family to resist Voldemort. I had seen the Weasleys' example and deduced that this would be the proper behaviour of any independent and proud wizarding family, pureblood or not. Obviously, that was a mistake. I recognised the courage in the girl, the quiet acceptance of a fate imposed on her from powers she had little influence on. This type of courage was so different from the vociferous, spur-of-the-moment, demanding Gryffindor type of courage... I wondered what course of action you would recommend to the poor girl.

When you finally spoke, it was in a gentle and very smooth voice. You radiated respect and understanding – something I had never seen from you when you were dealing with students in my own time.

"I understand your dilemma, Miss Pritchard. And my advice to you is to act like a Slytherin." A small smile curled your lips when you saw the girl's confused frown. "To join a cause and be an active member of such an organization as the... alternative political power is, calls for a certain type of personality. You need a certain passion for the cause and some rather single-minded determination. You could almost call it fanaticism." You paused and studied her reaction. When she looked at you calmly, without a hint of fear or anger, you continued. "From what I know about the leader of this movement, he values all kinds of support. Be they financial, political, or through being one of his minions who carry out his orders. I happen to know that he values the old pureblood families just as much as any self-respecting Slytherin should. And as long as he doesn't encounter blatant opposition from their ranks, he will be rather grateful for any support these old, influential families can give him. He was in our house, you know. If you look at other families, like the Malfoys for instance, you will see that they are working towards maintaining their influence with the current political powers... and towards supporting the new movement. They do both in moderation. It is never a mistake to be cautious. And every true Slytherin will understand that."

The girl nodded, her face lightening up. "I think I understand, sir. I think this is something my family could do."

"The support, even if it isn't shown openly, of a family like yours, Miss Prichard, will be more valuable to the leader of the new movement than any rash action and self-sacrifice could be."

"I understand," Daisy said. "Thank you so much, sir. I think that your advice is good and that my family can live very well with this." She stood up and moved to the door. "It is a real pleasure to have you as our Head of House, sir. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Miss Pritchard."

When the girl was gone, you stood at your window and stared out into the night.

After you finally went to sleep, I climbed out of my cage and watched you. It had never occurred to me what exactly your duties as Head of Slytherin entailed. And now that I knew, I understood a lot more about the obvious house bias you had always displayed. I was quite certain that the other Heads of House faced similar problems from their pureblood members, but they weren't in a situation where they were conflicted between the demands of one master and the expectations of another. I thought that you had done very well. You had, after all, prevented Miss Pritchard from becoming one of the fanatic followers of Voldemort without outing yourself as one of his opponents. The Pritchard family would do what many traditional pureblood families had always done: show Galleons to the right people in the right places from either side, to have a way to back out, regardless of the outcome of the conflict. I thought that you could be proud of yourself and hoped that the Headmaster would see things as I did.

Saturday approached quickly, and I knew that you would go to Hogsmeade again. You would meet the other teachers in the Hog's Head, have some drinks with them, and then probably study the goings-on in the pub until you were summoned.

After you left, I climbed out of the cage and left your quarters through the vent in the bathroom, left the castle, jumped back in time and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

When I started working, it was early evening and there was hardly anyone there. The majority of the patrons would come in later.

Half an hour later, I saw the Hogwarts teachers arrive. The Professors went to the bar, greeted me noisily and ordered a round of Firewhisky before they sat down at a large table on one side of the room.

Hags, warlocks, a few goblins, several dwarves, a group of younger wizards, and a very old witch entered the pub successively, but there still was no sight of you. I went on with my work but had to wait another half an hour until the door opened again and you came into the room.

I watched you secretly, hoping that this time you wouldn't run away quite so soon. The human perspective was quite different from the spider's point of view, and where you had appeared overly tall, authoritative, and dangerous to Me-the-Spider, you now had lost a good bit of your threatening appearance. You were just an ordinary young wizard, I thought, a confident young man, no longer a boy. Your long, gangly limbs moved with the impressive grace I was so well acquainted with; there was no boyish awkwardness left. Your hair was flopping into your eyes and frequently swept away with an impatient gesture.

You looked around the pub briefly, ordered a glass of Firewhisky and sat down at the table with the other teachers. Just as you had the other night, you drank in silence, occasionally replying to the odd question but neither smiling nor laughing nor initiating a conversation with your colleagues. This didn't prevent Kettleburn from engaging you in conversation every so often, but I noticed how the other teachers shot suspicious and partly annoyed looks in your direction.

Only about half an hour later, most of them excused themselves and left. Kettleburn and the old Muggle Studies teacher stayed a few minutes longer but didn't get you to lighten up, or even become sociable. Instead, you scowled at anyone who looked your way twice.

"Ah, we'd better go now, too," Kettleburn suggested loudly. "Don't heed us, Severus. We're old blokes and need some rest. You stay and have some fun."

A dismissive nod from you sent them on their way.

So that was the socialising Voldemort was so interested in?"I thought in puzzlement. I hadn't seen the teachers talk much; all they had been doing was drinking. But that shouldn't concern me. I should be finding out if there were any interesting antique artefacts for sale, if any had been stolen, and the general gossip about jewels, heirlooms and their owners.

After your colleagues left, you moved to the bar. I was Scourgifying glasses and cups and glanced at you when I thought you weren't looking but noticed soon that you were secretly studying me from beneath your curtain of black hair. I banished the clean glasses to their racks and went to the tables to clean up a bit.

When I came back, a stack of empty mugs floating behind me, I saw you scowling and trying to avoid looking my way. While I passed you, one of the younger wizards, who had come into the pub earlier, grinned at me appreciatively. He seemed to have forgotten why exactly he had left his peers and had gone to the bar.

"My, you are a pretty one," he said, looking me up and down lewdly. His hand moved towards my posterior, clearly intending to pinch. But before he could as much as touch me, I had my stack of mugs hovering on hold and my wand at his throat, snarling, "Don't even think about it!"

Wide-eyed, the drunkard retreated. "Jus wanned to be friendly. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone..."

"I shall decide on that myself, thank you very much, and now let me do my work." I snarled and glared at the wizard with narrowed eyes.

"I like a girl when she's feisty like you." The drunken wizard leaned in on me again. "Sh... Just wanna be friendly..." He grinned at me, swaying slightly.

I took a deep breath and was just about to start to give him a piece of my mind when a deceptively smooth voice drawled from beside me, "Didn't you hear that the lady wishes to be left alone?" You had stood up and loomed threateningly over the drunken wizard, sneering down on him.

"Ok, ok, di'n't know she was your lady, matey... " The drunkard turned around, stumbled, and staggered back to his friends."

I spun around and glared at you. "Thank you, but I can deal with the likes of him on my own," I growled.

"Certainly, but I prefer peace and quiet, and it didn't look as if you would grant me that anytime soon." Your glare would have been frightening if I hadn't noticed your interest earlier. So I just shrugged and turned back to my work.

After a few minutes, more customers had come to the bar, and I was serving them drinks and talking to them. I kept my voice down, but a few glances in your direction showed me that you were listening attentively, although you were pretending not to. I thought that you must have learned quite a bit of acting over the years since your acting at that moment wasn't all that convincing. A slight shiver of worry started in my stomach, but then I reminded myself that you had successfully fooled Voldemort until the very end, so your acting skills must have improved dramatically rather soon.

"There is another pub here where you could rent a room, and work," you suddenly said, not looking at me but studying your whisky instead. "It's a bit more... appropriate... for a young woman like you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked, staring at you with narrowed eyes.

You looked at me fully for the first time and sneered. "This... establishment here... may just not be up to your standards." You looked me up and down, frowned, and continued, "You look like you're used to better things."

"Maybe once, I was," I said, a bit friendlier. "But maybe I can't afford those standards any longer." I shrugged and stared at my hands, wondering where this conversation would lead me. I was improvising wildly...

"I see." You were silent again, staring at the wall.

After a few moments of silence, I asked tentatively, "And you? Do you live here?" Oh, just great, Hermione, I thought. Now he'll think you want to chat him up.

You raised an eyebrow and shot me a sharp glance. "I teach at the school, close to the village."

"Ah, Hogswart, isn't it? Aren't you a bit young to be a teacher?"

"Hogwarts. And since when does age qualify someone to be a teacher?"

"It doesn't," I said, smiling apologetically. "You just don't see many teachers that young. Your students must love you." I grinned.

"Oh, certainly," you replied, your voice dripping sarcasm. "Especially since I remember all their little tricks so well."

I snorted. "Not quite the sluggish old schoolmaster they expect, are you? So what do you teach?"

"Potions," you replied curtly, your piercing black eyes staring hard at me.

"Ah, the subtle science and exact art of potion making," I said, suppressing a smile.

"You didn't attend Hogwarts." It was a statement, not a question.

"Right," I said, staring back with narrowed eyes and hoping that you wouldn't question any further. I hadn't really thought about a plausible back story for myself. "Why?"

You merely shrugged, murmured something and turned away.

Oh, great, I thought. And now I sit here and wait until he is summoned. And what good will it do me? Stupid, stupid, stupid... I sighed and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I found that you were staring at me.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked cattily.

"No," you said. You stood up, grabbed your travelling cloak from the coat hook in the lobby and walked out.

I stared after you, shook my head and cursed myself angrily. Not only did I fail to learn anything new about potential items for a Horcrux, but the whole scheme of watching and talking to you in the Hog's Head had been so harebrained... It wasn't as if I could follow you in my spider form to the summons that had undoubtedly come... or could I? I frowned and chewed on a fingernail. I would have to wait until it was almost closing time, but then...

The evening stretched out endlessly, but finally I was able to leave. I threw my apron down and ran upstairs to my room. Two turns should do it, I thought. I took the Time-Turner out again and moved another two hours back in time. The Invisibility Cloak hid me from prying eyes when I sneaked down the stairs again and slowly moved to the lobby. There it was, your travelling cloak. Avoiding looking inside the pub and seeing myself there, I half hid behind the coat hook, took the Invisibility Cloak off and quickly transformed into my spider form again.

A leap, a bit of frantic scrambling, and I was where I wanted to be: in your cloak pocket. With a sigh of relief, I settled down to wait for you to leave the pub. I didn't need to wait long. You came, grabbed the cloak, and ran out. A few steps, and you Disapparated, I-the-Spider with you.

I trembled in anticipation and fear while you walked somewhere in quick, long strides. Only a few more moments, and I would witness your private meeting with Voldemort. I waited.

After a few minutes, you opened a door. You walked on, possibly through a corridor. Then you went down some stairs. I was wondering where we were when a, "Good evening, Professor" in Filch's whiny voice cured me of any notion of being in a secret Death Eater hideout. I didn't need to hear your clipped, "Filch!" to know that we were at Hogwarts.

Completely baffled, I waited until you had put your cloak away after entering your private rooms and then crawled out of your pocket. My cage was empty, as it should be. All the time-hopping and scheming had led to nothing, and I was none the wiser.

Hissing softly in annoyance, I crawled back to my cage and went to sleep.

"Stop laughing."

"Continue, then."

Sunday progressed rather uneventfully. You slept in, went to breakfast, worked, read... and in the afternoon just disappeared. When you were gone, I sat and gaped. Where did you go? Were you summoned? Shouldn't you have told the Headmaster? Had I misunderstood something last week? Should I try to attach myself to you through another time-jump? No, I thought. Not again. Who knows where I'd end up this time? For all I know, he may just be going to see a Quidditch match. Resignedly, I stretched my eight legs, hoped for your safe return and waited.

Four hours later, you returned, all pale and drawn again. One glance at you told me that you must have been with Voldemort. Damn! I had missed it again. I quickly scuttled over to you and crawled onto your shoulder, taking comfort from your presence. You smirked, stroked one of my legs and grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

"Professor Dumbledore? I'm back..."

"I've been waiting for you, Severus. Just step through." The voice of the Headmaster resonated through the Floo before the green flame died down.

With a tired sigh, you took another handful of Floo powder and stepped through to the Headmaster's office. Professor Dumbledore stood there, waiting for you, a tray with food and a steaming mug standing on a table.

"Eat something first, Severus, then you can tell me about your meeting." He smiled kindly and sat down on an ottoman opposite the fireplace.

You accepted the offered food with a nod of your head and tucked in. For a few minutes, only the sounds of chewing and swallowing could be heard, together with the merry humming of the Headmaster, who leaned back, eyes closed, a happy expression on his face as if he was remembering something very pleasant.

When you had finished eating, you took the mug in both hands, stared at the steam curling up from the hot liquid and began to speak. Your voice was weak from exhaustion.

"The Dark Lord was very pleased about the development with Miss Pritchard. He wants to have the old families on his side and seems rather lenient towards them." You breathed deeply and closed your eyes. "He was actually amused about the advice I gave the girl. At least my suggestion didn't put the girl and her family in any more danger." You sighed and shook your head in disgust.

"It was well done, indeed, Severus. It was just the right thing to say under the circumstances. I knew that you would do well..." Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he smiled kindly at you.

"There are more pressing matters than my influence on the students of my house. I fear that the Potters' whereabouts have been betrayed again. They must move as soon as possible. The Dark Lord will not wait much longer to go after the boy."

Dumbledore nodded. "The Order members protecting them have already been alerted. I warned them as soon as I received your Patronus with the message. But we can't let them flee immediately; we can't allow a correlation to be formed between your summons and their actions."

"Good," you said. "But not good enough. There is a spy in the ranks of your Order of the Phoenix, Headmaster. There must be. I cannot see how else the Dark Lord could get this information so quickly. It must be someone close to the Potters." You glared at the Headmaster again. "You know my thoughts on this. You know that I am convinced that it is Sirius Black who is betraying them. Who else is so trusted? Who else has proven himself to be capable of murder?"

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "James Potter is convinced that Sirius can be trusted. In fact, he demands that we stop questioning the activities of Sirius Black. But if it isn't Sirius, who could it be? It pains me to suspect Remus Lupin."

"I don't trust Lupin either, but I don't think he would betray his friends. If he did, Fenrir Greyback would triumph because he directs all werewolf activities in the Death Eaters' ranks. And while I may not be the most trusted of the Dark Lord's minions, a triumph like that would have spread around the ranks, and I would have noticed. No, not Lupin."

"I hope that you're right, Severus. I really do. Little Peter Pettigrew doesn't have what it takes," Dumbledore said, getting up from behind his desk and pacing around his office. "He is devoted to James. It must be someone else then, if it isn't Remus."

"I still say it's Black," you hissed. "It's typical of Potter to ignore warnings about his bosom pal; Potter is far too arrogant to heed any warnings. If it weren't for Lily and her son..."

"Well, for now they are safe, and I shall try to convince them to hide completely," Dumbledore said. "Is there anything else, Severus?"

"Not that I am aware of, Headmaster, but perhaps you would like me to give you a full report again?" Your voice wasn't more than a hoarse whisper by now. I hoped that Dumbledore would have pity and let you get some rest before giving your full report.

"Yes, I think that would be best. Listening again and taking notes will give me details I may not have noticed the first time around," Dumbledore said and patted your shoulder.

Has he no mercy?I thought. I raised myself up and hissed at Dumbledore. I felt, more than I saw, that you were very close to breaking down from exhaustion. I knew that you had faced worse hardships, but couldn't that report have waited until the next day? I thought that Dumbledore should have known how exhausting the maintaining of a high Occlumency level over several hours was. Irritated, I scrambled off your arm, ran across Dumbledore's desk and up one of his bookshelves. Wasn't there an easier way for you to get the information to Dumbledore?

"Why don't you just use Legilimency on me, Headmaster?" you asked tiredly. "You know that I don't mind, and that way you could see what I saw."

Dumbledore stared at you and frowned. "Severus. The trust between us is still a very sensitive thing. I will not violate it by intruding your mind. I trust what you tell me."

"You could see more if you just looked. But I know... you know and I know that my Occlumency skills could easily show you things that weren't there and hide others. Even Veritaserum wouldn't be of help." Your glare could have frozen water.

I thought that Legilimency would have been a good idea. But I found both of your reactions rather telling. As Dumbledore had said, the trust between the two of you must still have been rather fragile at that point. And while he appeared to be a trusting man, Dumbledore never trusted blindly. All this twinkling and smiling was giving him a harmless, and slightly dotty, outward appearance that was quite deceptive. He never was harmless, and he was dotty only when he could afford to be.

Furthermore, it wasn't only his trust in you that counted. You had to trust him; you had to believe in his cause, to keep doing what you were doing. Dumbledore had to make you want to work for him, want you to trust him, so you wouldn't be only doing it out of a sense of obligation. Therefore, he had to approach you like a Magizoologist approaches wild magical creatures: with a lot of patience and love. Then, perhaps, he'd get the kind of trust he wanted.

I marvelled at how successful he was now: with you, later with Harry, with everyone else in the Order. If only he had taken that much effort with Tom Riddle back when Riddle was still a child... I had to forcefully shake myself out of my ruminating; you were still glaring at Dumbledore, who was giving you a sad smile.

And then it came to me. Why didn't you use Dumbledore's Pensieve? Didn't he have it, back then? I would have to find out. Now, where did Harry say he kept it? Right. There was the cabinet behind your chair, and the door wasn't closed properly. Slowly, I crawled from the bookshelf to the wall and up to the ceiling, which is no small feat for such a large spider as I am in my Animagus form. I crossed the office as quickly as I could, spun a short silk rope and swung to the cabinet. Approaching the door, I could look inside and saw the faint, silvery light that told me that the Pensieve was there.

And what now? I couldn't just transform and tell you to use the Pensieve, could I? If you didn't manage to hex me quickly enough, Dumbledore certainly would do it. Annoyed, I attacked the door and hissed again.

"What's the matter with your spider?" Dumbledore said and looked around.

You turned around as well and saw me sitting on the cabinet, screeching. "I don't know; my mood doesn't seem to agree with her tonight. You walked across the office and carefully took me from the cabinet. I scuttled up your arm and settled down on your shoulder.

Dumbledore stared at me for a moment, then his eyes swept back to the cabinet. I was worried; I didn't want to be too obvious. If Dumbledore suspected that I wasn't what I pretended to be, my short career as a spider spy would be over. So I jumped off your arm once more, ran over Dumbledore's desk and up the glass cabinet that held Godric Gryffindor's sword. Up there, I started to act just like I had on the cabinet. I hissed, pretended to attack the glass surface and acted all excited.

"Perhaps the light in here is confusing her," you suggested as an explanation.

I took that as my cue, ran over to the shelf with the Sorting Hat on it and attacked that, too.

"I think you may be right," Dumbledore said, amused. He approached me and stretched his hand out. I gracefully stopped my attack and crawled onto his hand where I sat still. He stroked me gently with his long, thin fingers. "Amazing creatures, spiders. So useful, so skilled, and yet, people are horrified when they see them." He smiled again and handed me over to you. You put me in your pocket and cleared your throat.

"Perhaps I can give you my full report now, Headmaster?"

"I think I have a better idea," Dumbledore said, tapping his lips thoughtfully with a finger as he went to the cabinet. "Or maybe it's your spider's idea." He chuckled and levitated the Pensieve out of the cabinet; a flick of his wand set it down on his desk.

"A Pensieve?" you asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "You can put the memories you want to share with me in there, and then we can watch the scene together, if you agree."

"I do. This makes things so much easier," you said, and I sighed in relief. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

"Very good. Two pairs of eyes see more than one. As a matter of fact, I think I shall lend you the Pensieve. I don't need it often, and on the few times I want to use it, I can come to your office." Dumbledore seemed really excited. "You needn't exhaust yourself so much this way. Furthermore, it would be helpful for you to store memories that are difficult to hide, even for as strong an Occlumens as you are. And as you are working for me, you will accumulate quite a few such memories. I shall bring it to your quarters tomorrow when you have a free period. Then you won't need to come here after the summons; merely Floo me, and I'll come through."

"Very well, Headmaster. Thank you." Your lips curled slightly, but not enough for a sneer. You put the tip of your wand to your temple, extracted several silvery strands of memories and gently let them fall into the Pensieve. A deft swirl of the silvery substance, and the Pensieve was ready. Both of you put your faces close to the surface and fell into the memories. I had crawled up to your shoulder in the meantime, to get a better view, and fell with you.

I held onto your robes for dear life, and after you and Dumbledore had steadied yourselves, Dumbledore chuckled and pointed to your shoulder.

"Look at that spider! She doesn't let you go anywhere without her, does she?"

You shrugged, staring intently at the scene in front of you. "I don't mind. She's actually quite useful. When I get agitated, she moves away. When I am calm again, she comes back. A good indicator for my ability to conceal my emotions." You moved closer to the scene.

"Why, that's useful indeed," Dumbledore said, and you nodded.

I watched the conversation between you and Voldemort attentively. The surroundings didn't reveal much, neither did the conversation. It all happened exactly like you had told Dumbledore moments before. There was not a word about Dorcas Meadowes, only Voldemort's triumphant outbursts about his plans to soon kill Harry Potter. I was rather disappointed when we left the Pensieve, and you put the memories back into your head. But at least now I knew that you would be summoned by Voldemort every Sunday evening, not on Saturdays, like I had thought.

Dumbledore murmured words of thanks and patted you on the shoulder. "Go to bed now. You look completely exhausted. Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Headmaster."

"That was a huge risk you took there. And you must have changed the past in that moment; you are aware of that?"

"I know."

On Monday evening, Dumbledore came to your private quarters again, the heavy stone basin that was the Pensieve floating behind him in the air. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore moved the Pensieve to your desk and thanked you again for letting him see your memories.

The rest of the week passed as uneventfully as the last. The only memorable exception was the first detention of the two seventh-year Gryffindor students who had tried to catch me on their first day back at school. You went to the hospital wing, where they were cleaning bedpans, and watched them for a while, smirking and making snide remarks about their abilities to find their way around Hogwarts. I enjoyed those moments and gleefully watched the boys work until you left the two students to Filch to oversee the rest of their detention and walked away – with Me-the-Spider sitting proudly on your shoulder.

The next Saturday came, and with it my birthday. Happy second birthday to me, I thought and tried to imagine my parents with baby Hermione somewhere else but found the idea too surreal to dwell on it. Instead, I decided to celebrate in style. I had to go to the Hog's Head for work anyway, even if I didn't really hope to learn anything important there anymore.

Nevertheless, I liked the idea of being human again, to watch you with your colleagues and maybe to even speak a few words with you. I had to admit that you fascinated me. The younger version of you was rather different from the teacher I knew, and yet recognisable as the same person. Many of your mannerisms were familiar, but I also noticed insecurities and moments of fear and tension that simply weren't detectable in your older version. With the Snape I knew, every trace of more complex feelings was hidden under a thundercloud of anger. If I wanted to learn something about you, my best bet was to approach your younger self. Thus, when you put me into my cage again before you left for Hogsmeade, I repeated the routine from the weeks before; I left your quarters and the dungeons, went back in time and Apparated to the village.

I didn't have to wait long before the teachers arrived and started drinking. After a while, you arrived as well, gave me a sharp glance, nodded a greeting and went to sit with your colleagues. I tried to start another conversation with the barman, but he stubbornly refused to tell me any gossip, just as he had last time, and merely told me to get on with my work.

The teachers soon left, except for you who came to the bar and ordered another Firewhisky for yourself. You were drinking methodically and in solitude, and I had just summoned my courage to approach you again when I saw that a woman had sat down beside you, smiling, frequently touching you on the arm and talking to you. I felt a jolt of jealousy shoot through me, and my heart started to beat painfully. I hadn't even thought of the possibility of your being involved with a woman; what if you actually had a friend or lover...? Swallowing, I listened to the conversation while I busied myself with cleaning glasses.

"I'm not interested. Unhand me this instant..." That didn't exactly sound like a conversation between lovers. I didn't question the relief that coursed through me. I approached you just as I heard the woman laugh and reply, "Oh, come on, love, I can promise you a good time, no taboos. I will fulfil your most secret desires." She pulled at your sleeve again.

"Didn't you hear that the gentleman wishes to be left alone?" I leaned over the bar and stared menacingly at the woman.

"Ok, ok, why didn't you tell me that you have a little girlfriend, sweetheart?" the woman said, grimaced at me and went away, hips swaying.

You had turned around and glared at me, but your eyes glittered and your lips curled slightly. "Thank you, but I can deal with the likes of her on my own," you said silkily.

"Certainly, but I thought that I'd spare you the trouble; it saves time." I smirked at you. "Would you care to join me for a drink? It's my birthday, and I don't want to celebrate alone today. I can take the rest of the evening off, and I have a good bottle of Black Forest Erkling stacked away."

"Congratulations," you murmured. "But I'm not good company."

"You're the only one I... well... know here, apart from the barman. You'll do." I took the sting out of my words by smiling at you.

"Why are you here, if you don't mind my asking?" you inquired after the barman had brought the bottle of wine for us. "Are you looking for permanent employment?"

"No, I'm just waiting for my aunt to send me a message." I had come up with a back story to explain my presence in the pub. I didn't think that it sounded very plausible, but no one would expect to hear all of the truth about anyone, anyway. "The message might come today, or tomorrow, or in four weeks."

"And when it comes?"

"Then I'll leave the country and follow her to Tibet. She studies Yetis there." I saw how your eyes widened slightly; obviously, you didn't believe one word I said. I shrugged. "I want to leave the country. My parents died recently, and my aunt is my only relative..."

You frowned. "I see. And will you study Yetis as well?"

I smiled. "I wouldn't mind joining the International Task Force to conceal the Yeti. Sounds like an interesting job to me. I'm very interested in the charms that are used to disguise such large areas from Muggles.

That caught your attention, and soon we were animatedly discussing advanced theory of Charms. I found that you were just as interested in current research on Charms as I was. I just had to be careful not to mention theories and spells that hadn't been invented in 1981. Then I remembered that you had been the boy who had invented spells like Levicorpus, Langlock and Sectumsempra during your years as a Hogwarts student, and I slowly moved the conversation towards the more experimental aspect of Charms, a topic you were very knowledgeable in and told me about almost animatedly. I saw with pleasure how your face flushed slightly; your eyes were glittering, and your lips were curled into a relaxed smile instead of the scornful sneer that seemed to be glued to your face most of the time. Obviously, you were as delighted with the conversation as I was. We were both surprised when the barman interrupted us because he wanted to close.

"Thank you for spending the evening with me," I said. "I enjoyed our conversation very much. For a Potions teacher, you know an awful lot about Charms," I added admiringly.

"You're not bad yourself." You gave me an almost boyish grin, barely concealed by the façade of correctness and respectability you usually hid behind. "If Hogwarts ever needs a new Charms teacher, I shall recommend you to the Headmaster. But I don't know your name..."

"He... Helena Webb." I hoped that you hadn't noticed my slight hesitation.

"Helena." You looked at me as if you approved of the name. "I'm Severus Snape," you added.

"Severus," I said. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the lovely evening."

You bowed slightly, turned and left. I stared after you, frowned and went up to my room where I hid under the Invisibility Cloak again to secretly leave the pub, use the Time-Turner and return to Hogwarts. My empty cage waited for me; I settled down for the night and relaxed. I really had enjoyed the evening; who would have known that you could be such good company? I hadn't really learned anything new, but it still felt to me as if my visit to the pub had accomplished something. Refusing to analyse my feelings any further, I fell asleep.

On Sunday, you left for your meeting with Voldemort again. When you came back, you showed your memories to Dumbledore, but the meeting didn't bring any new insights. Voldemort was angry because the Potters had escaped him once again, and he had ordered you to keep your eyes and ears open and try to find out from Dumbledore where the Potters were hiding. Dumbledore and you discussed the possibility of luring Voldemort into a trap by giving him fake information about the Potters' whereabouts, but Dumbledore dismissed the idea soon. He didn't want to risk your status as a spy and refused to use the Potters as bait for a trap.

After an uneventful week, I went to work at the Hog's Head again on Saturday, and when the other teachers had left, you came to the bar, and we talked while I worked. I saw with pleasure how your cold exterior melted while you talked about a topic you loved. I skilfully moved the conversation from Charms to Potions and listened attentively to your ideas, smiling at your sarcastic wit, laughing about your ironic comments on the troubles and tribulations of a teacher at Hogwarts. While you talked to me, you almost looked happy. I found that you looked attractive when you were relaxed and couldn't understand how I could ever have found you ugly and unpleasant. When we parted, we had basically made a tentative appointment for the next Saturday, and when I returned to my cage that night, I told myself firmly that I had to stop enjoying myself so much and start seeking what I had come back in time to find. There was still no mention of Dorcas Meadowes.

Your next summons brought more excitement. Once again, the Potters' whereabouts had been betrayed, and Voldemort had been elated. Dumbledore was very concerned. Nevertheless, he assured you that the Potters would be safe, and that all measures were being taken to ensure their safety, even though they had moved to the third safe house in just a few weeks.

You remained suspicious. You warned Dumbledore not to trust anyone in the Order before the spy was found out. He agreed with you that the danger was severe but proclaimed himself unable to urge the Potters into complete hiding if they didn't want to. I almost fell off your shoulder when I felt you radiate a huge wave of anguish and disappointment, but Dumbledore couldn't seem to convince James Potter that his family's whereabouts were betrayed as soon as they had moved to another hiding place again.

"The Order will have to deal with this, Severus. We will give them all the protection we can. And the Potters are more than capable of defending themselves, don't forget that. We can't force them to do anything."

You ground your teeth and didn't reply. When Dumbledore left, you stood at the window and stared outside for hours. I wished that I could help you, could reassure you, or help convince the Potters of the danger they were in. I knew how real the danger was; I knew how soon tragedy would strike, but I remembered Minerva McGonagall's directive: let things happen, focus on the Horcrux and nothing else. Only, that last part wasn't that easy. I had started to focus on you far too much, and I wasn't certain that I could just stop being interested in you if and when I ever found out about Dorcas Meadowes and the Horcrux. I sat motionless on your shoulder, absorbing your warmth, feeling your sadness and your helpless anger. It was long after midnight when you finally put me into my cage and went to bed.

When I could be certain that you were asleep, I left my cage and crawled over to your bed-side table. From this vantage point, I could watch your sleeping figure at leisure. You were lying on your back, one arm bent under your head. As usual, you wore your grey nightshirt, but the top buttons were open. I could see a bit of your pale chest; your skin looked smooth and soft.

Your face was sad; a frown wrinkled your brows, even in sleep. Your long, black lashes cast a shadow on the thin, well-defined cheekbones. The large, hooked nose towered over your face like a high chimney towers over a factory. Your thin lips were relaxed in sleep and looked almost inviting.

I watched you for a long time, not questioning my motives for the thorough scrutiny any longer. I knew why I stared at you as if I wanted to imprint each of your features into my memory. A Hermione Granger never lies to herself. I had to admit that I had started to feel deeply for this young version of you. I was rather concerned that I had fallen in love.

"You're so quiet. Don't you believe me?"

"I shall listen. Now, proceed."