Chapter Twelve

A/N: All fully italicized text is from HBP. Everything you recognize belongs to JKR. All else is mine. Thank you, Shellsnapeluver, for your faithful work on this story.

For the next several days, she knocked at his door promptly at nine. She knew he was inside; she could feel him there, but he never invited her in. She knew that she could simply barge in. The wards would admit her. Or she could go to Dumbledore, and he would be forced to continue their lessons. But just as she had no wish to explain to Dumbledore what had prompted this behavior, she had no desire to force herself upon him. When he was ready, she told herself, he would answer, and they would go on as they had before that afternoon in the Forbidden Forest. She would keep knocking until then.

Hermione was in the grip of a kind of loneliness she had never known before. She had known what it was to be friendless, to be thought an irritating, arrogant swot. She had known what it was to have friends and to be without them; every moment spent back in the Muggle world was punctuated by the thrumming loneliness of missing Harry and Ron. She had known homesickness, a loneliness for her family when she was at school, and a loneliness for the world of magic when she was at home. But she had never known the feeling that now seized and bound her heart. It felt as if a piece of her had been carved away, almost as if she were lonely for herself. Whether Snape had the missing piece or whether he was the missing piece, she did not know, but it seemed clear that nothing had been right since he had left her standing in the woods, and whatever it was drove her into the dungeons each morning.

Studying did not help, nor reading, and she felt abandoned by the skills she had learned over the years to keep herself calm and whole. She felt, always, as if she were in a low grade panic. She wanted to beat on the door and demand that he see her. She wanted to beg him, to promise that it had meant nothing, that she would do anything if only he would teach her a bit more. But, of course, it was Snape, and she could do no such thing. She could imagine the look in his eyes, the cold disdain there, if she dared to reveal emotion of any kind. He would crush her.

On the fourth day, he answered her knock.

"Enter."

She crept into his office, shaking slightly and clutching a leather drawstring bag. As she approached his desk, she realized what he had done in refusing to see her. He'd made himself back into her professor. With a single word, Enter, he'd told her that there would be no friendly dueling of words or spells, no special lessons, no conversation. She was simply another of his terrified students, bringing him her work for inspection.

"Miss Granger. To what do I owe the... pleasure?" He said the word pleasure so dubiously that she wished she could retort, but she knew she must not.

"I finished my project on Extention Charms," she said quietly, handing over the scrap of leather.

Snape opened the pouch and withdrew her schoolbooks, one at a time. He set them on his desk.

"Adequate," he said, sounding bored. "Of course, a pouch of this nature begs curiosity. Why do you have it? What is inside? Far more inconspicuous would be some sort of handbag... something the eye would just drift over, register but ignore..."

"Yes, sir," she said. She felt oddly exposed standing in front of his desk, though he had not invited her to sit.

He dropped the pouch onto his desk dismissively, and she wondered whether she should pick it up and begin loading her books back into it. His head had dropped back down to the parchment he'd been working on, his hair curtaining his face so that she had no hint of the expression there. Was he enjoying her discomfort, or bound by discomfort of his own?

"Was there something else?" he asked without looking up.

"No, sir," she said, and now she did collect her books, awkward as it was to reach around him to get them. She packed each one back into the pouch, looking at it a bit sadly. She'd worked very hard on it; it had been the only thing she had managed to concentrate on in the last few days. She'd thought the idea of a drawstring bag was inspired, as she could widen the mouth of the bag to accommodate items of so many shapes. She had, though she would not have admitted it to herself, brought it to him like a gift, a gift of her mind or her talent. That he considered it unworthy made her hate it.

"Then I will expect to see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts next term," he said.

So, there would be no more lessons. He'd admitted her into the office to dismiss her for the rest of the holiday. When she had refilled the bag, she turned to leave.

"Miss Granger."

She spun.

"After careful consideration of the events of the other day, I rescind my apology."

Her heart leaped. Was he saying--?

"I was clearly under the effects of mild mushroom poisoning. Therefore, I see no need to apologize for my actions, as I was not in control of my faculties."

Somehow, in a single statement, he had managed to imply that she had misidentified a mushroom and poisoned him and that he found her so repulsive that only neurotoxicity could have brought him to kiss her.

Hermione looked at him steadily, weighing her options. Pointing out that she had eaten the same mushroom with no ill effects did not seem quite the right thing, nor did crying and running from his office. She locked her gaze on his as she reached down into herself and pulled forth a cool grace that she had hardly known she possessed.

"I'm sure you're right," she said mildly. Then she paused and added, "Imagine what might have happened if we'd eaten the whole thing."

She had only the brief impression of the color that rose to his cheeks as she turned and walked calmly from the room.

It was only after she had climbed two sets of stairs and crossed the castle to the opposite wing that she decided she was far enough away and burst into tears.

***

Hermione was sitting in the Common Room when Harry returned, bursting through the portrait hole and heading straight for her. She was so pleased to see that he was no longer ignoring her--the last few days had been so torturously long and lonely--that she didn't even think to ask for an apology.

"Harry! Did you have a good holiday?"

He flung himself onto the couch beside her. "Yes, it was nice... I've got so much to tell you. And I'm... erm... I'm sorry about the way I treated you before I left. I wasn't in my right mind, you see--I heard--"

She waived her hand dismissively. "What did you hear?"

"The night of Slughorn's party--I followed Snape and Malfoy! They went into Snape's office and--"

Hermione's heart seemed to flutter and stop in her chest. He heard what?

"Malfoy's planning something! Something for Voldemort... and Snape was offering to help him!"

Hermione listened in stunned silence as Harry told her all that he had overheard outside Snape's office. She tried to think calmly. She must throw Harry off this trail, but how?

"Don't you think--" she began.

"--that he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione.

"That's what everyone says," Harry said impatiently. "But it proves that I was right--Malfoy's up to something! I've been telling you that for ages!"

"You certainly have," Hermione said, but Harry took no notice of her tone.

"And it proves he's a Death Eater."

"Did he actually say that he was working for Voldemort?"

Harry frowned, trying to remember. "I'm not sure... Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else would that be?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, biting her lip. "Maybe his father?"

"Why are you so determined to believe that Malfoy is innocent?"

"I'm not saying that I believe that Malfoy is innocent--I'm just saying that if Professor Snape is aware of the situation, then we have to believe that--"

"Oh, please," Harry began angrily. "Snape's hardly proven himself to be trustworthy. The man is a Death Eater, Hermione. I don't know why you always defend him."

Hermione thought of all she'd heard in Snape's office the night of the Christmas party. She couldn't really blame Harry for his distress; she'd been frightened and angry at what she'd heard as well. But the fact was, she did and had always trusted Snape. For years, Harry had been maligning him, but didn't he always turn up when they needed him? Even in the Shrieking Shack, he'd thought he was protecting them--protecting Harry from the man who'd sold out his family. The horrible night that they'd gone to the Ministry, the night they'd lost Sirius, it was Snape who had sent them help. She thought again of what he'd told her when she questioned him about Draco's plan: Believe me, Miss Granger, the Headmaster is aware of all I shared with Malfoy. Do your job. Let me do mine.

Whatever had gone on in that office, she had to trust that it was part of the plan. Weren't there many parts of the plan that she didn't understand? Why was she bound to Snape? Why was Dumbledore preparing her--and from what Snape had insinuated in the woods, Harry and Ron--to live in hiding? She had to have faith, to believe that somehow the plan would save them. Harry could not be allowed to interfere in whatever Snape was doing.

"Look--if you don't trust Professor Snape, then go to Dumbledore. I'm sure that he's already heard all of this, so he'll be able to ease your mind."

"You're unbelievable, you are," said Harry, shaking his head. "We'll see who's right. You'll be eating your words, Hermione."

"Maybe so," she said, "but I'd have thought you'd have more faith in Dumbledore's opinion."

Just then, Ron and Lavender entered the common room.

"I missed you so much Won-Won." Lavender was hanging from Ron like a pretty, blond limpet.

Harry looked at Hermione apologetically, but she shrugged. "If that's what makes him happy," she said.

He looked relieved. "Do you think that maybe you two will patch things up?"

"I suppose."

"Brilliant!" Harry said, apparently forgiving her for her earlier unwillingness to vilify Snape and Malfoy. "Speaking of arguments, I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour as well..."

As Harry launched into the tale of his run in with the Minister of Magic, Hermione fidgeted. She had to warn Snape that Harry had been listening. She knew she hadn't succeeded in putting him off trailing Malfoy, and she didn't want Snape to think that she'd told Harry what she'd heard. And she wanted him prepared for Harry's possible interference...

As soon as she'd felt she could leave politely, she excused herself to use the loo. It struck her that she'd spent the last few days longing for company, yet as soon as she had it, she was struggling to get away again. She hurried up the steps to her room. Parvati had not yet returned, and Lavender was still in the common room with Ron. She aimed her wand at her ring and thought, Harry's heard something. I need to see you.

***

Snape had been unsuccessfully trying to mark papers all day. Ever since Miss Granger had made her brief appearance in his office, he had been unable to think of anything except the subtle lift of her eyebrows and the cool, even tone of her voice as she'd said, Imagine what might have happened if we'd eaten the whole thing. Minx! Was she put on the earth to torment him? What could she possibly have meant by such a thing?

He had finally put away the marking as it was clear that he would accomplish nothing else today. He was preparing to visit the Slytherin common room to greet his returning students when his ring began to warm. What now? he thought, removing it.

Harry's heard something. I need to see you. The words were tiny, and he had to twist the ring several times in order to read them. He made a mental note to teach her some kind of shorthand before he sent his reply.

Eight. My chambers.

***

Dinner was a torturous affair. Snape had taken out some of his frustration and anxiety on the Slytherins, but as soon as he entered the Great Hall, it had all returned, compounded by the sight of her squashed between Potter and Weasley at the Gryffindor table. So the golden trio had kissed and made up. And now they would have her ears again, bending them with all manner of lies and insinuations about him. What could Potter have told her that she would ask to see him?

He choked down what he could as Dumbledore gave a welcoming speech. Despite his warnings, the girl had glanced at him several times, though he could hardly chastise her, as all eyes were on the Head Table. Once, their eyes had locked, and he had looked away. What in Merlin's name was she doing to him?

Unsettled, which was to say, in a murderous temper, he left the Great Hall for his chambers. He paced for a time and then decided it would be best to settle at his desk so as to appear busy when she arrived. He opened a book and shut it again. He ordered tea from a house-elf, castigating it when the tea arrived hot enough to scald, the way he liked it.

When she arrived through the Floo, promptly at eight, he was prepared to snarl at her until she cried.

"Professor Snape," she said. "Thank you for seeing me."

He said nothing but glared unrelentingly at her, feeling a thrill of triumph when she began to quail.

"I--I wouldn't have troubled you, but Harry's come back from the Weasleys' and it seems..." She twisted her hands before her, rocking slightly from foot to foot.

"Spit it out, Miss Granger. I don't have all evening."

"It seems he was eavesdropping the night of Slughorn's party."

For a moment he thought she was referring to something between the two of them. Then it dawned on him that she meant his conversation with Malfoy. How many Gryffindors had been lurking round his office that night?

"I see."

"I just thought... well, I just thought you should know that he considers it proof that Malfoy has joined the Death Eaters, and--"

"--and as usual, he believes me to be aiding him in some nefarious plan."

"Quite," she said, looking slightly relieved.

"What have you told him?" he asked her fiercely.

"Nothing, sir. I asked him if Malfoy had ever actually said that he was working for Voldemort--which he never did, sir. And I told him that you were surely pretending to go along with Malfoy to find out what he was planning. I suggested he see Dumbledore if he couldn't bring himself to trust you."

"And what did you hope to gain by telling me all this?"

"Nothing, sir. I just thought that you should know in case Harry should try to hinder your plan--"

"People assume that Gryffindors and Slytherins are opposites, but I think they are more alike that you would care to admit: conniving, self-serving, always ready to cheat and lie, break rules and tell tales to get what they want. I prefer Slytherins because they are brave enough to own up to it. Gryffindors always pretend to be doing it for someone else. What is it that you want, Miss Granger?"

She looked both hurt and affronted. "I assure you, I was thinking of nothing but your safety. What if Harry should do something in obvious response to what he heard? What if he were to stop Malfoy, and Voldemort thought that you--" Her voice broke a little. "What if he thought that you had told me something you shouldn't have and that I--" She clenched her jaw and blinked rapidly.

So, he'd succeeded in making her cry. A wave of self loathing crashed over him, but he refused to back down in the face of her tears.

"So, you've come to ensure that I'll protect you from the Dark Lord?"

"No!" She let out an anguished sound of frustration. "I came to tell you to watch Harry. Keep him away from Malfoy. Keep yourself safe."

Then she did cry in earnest, perhaps in her own fit of self loathing, for she had done what no one else had ever done. She had betrayed Potter for him.

He rose from his desk like a man underwater. The air seemed too thick to breathe. He stepped toward her, and she flinched away. He would have cursed himself if he could have found the presence of mind.

"Miss Granger."

She shook her head and swiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll go now."

"Miss Granger." He lay a hand on her arm. She looked up at him, and he was mesmerized by the way her tears had formed her eyelashes into heavy, dark spikes.

"Hermione," he said, and somehow she was in his arms, her sobs wracking her tiny frame. He stroked her abominable hair--Merlin, how could he have forgotten already how soft it was?--and felt her hot tears through the fabric of his shirt. He should have been repulsed; he even tried to feel repulsed, but all he could muster was a kind of deep ache, and so he clutched her tighter.

"Hermione."

"You can't," she gasped, trying to wrench free of his grasp. "I want you to so badly, but you can't. It's too dangerous."

"Do you really think I would let him hurt you now?"

"Not me, you sodding imbecile! He'll kill you. He'll find out, and he'll kill you."

Something inside of him shattered as she threw him off and ran for the Floo. He watched her robes swirl as she disappeared into the flames. Staggering to a chair, he sank into it. He'd looked into her eyes and hadn't needed Legilimency to read the truth there. She cared for him.