Chapter Twenty-Five

A/N: Anything and anyone you recognize is the property of JKR. I make no money. Shellsnapelover, my beta, is a godsend, and any remaining problems are my own.

"I--" Hermione was shocked by the vitriol in Snape's voice. She had been on watch when her ring had burned and had been very grateful that the boys were in the tent, sleeping, so that she could pull Headmaster Black's portrait from her bag unseen. So, he knew about the Ministry, clearly. How much did Voldemort suspect? She touched the locket that rested against her shirt. It felt cold and malevolent to her fingertips. She preferred that it not touch her skin.

It seemed it had been too much to hope for that he would console her tonight. She shivered slightly in the wind. It was only early Autumn, but the night had brought a chill, and Hermione already felt saturated to the bone with cold and dread.

"Have you any idea what kind of danger you put us in today?" he thundered. "What possible reason could you have had for visiting the Ministry?"

"Sir, I can't--"

"I'll tell you what you can't do, Miss Granger. You cannot save everyone. Your job is to save Potter. Potter! Taking him in to the Ministry! The Ministry, which is owned by Voldemort! And do not insult us both by pretending that this was not your idea--there is no way that Potter and Weasley could have snuck into that building without you."

So he believed she'd gone to free the Muggle-borns. "I did make the plan, yes; but sir, you don't understand. We weren't--

"You weren't what? You weren't thinking? How chillingly obvious. You realize that if you had been captured, I would have had to... Miss Granger, if you had been captured, you would have very likely been killed."

"Would you stop interrupting me? I'm trying to explain," she hissed, drawing the portrait closer to her underneath Harry's invisibility cloak.

Phineas Nigellus Black made a choked sound of protest, but Professor Snape said, "Black! You may complain about Miss Granger's impertinence all you like, but not until this conversation is finished!"

Hermione waited for a moment, sure that the black shoe in the lower left corner of the portrait would suddenly withdraw, but he remained. She shifted slightly, and the leaves crunched beneath her. She could feel their moisture seeping through her denims. She took a deep breath. "I know we took a risk. We knew the danger to Harry, to all three of us, if we were captured."

"Miss Granger," he said, and his voice was liquid ice. "I thought you understood that Potter must be kept safe at all costs. He must defeat Voldemort."

"I do understand that! Listen to me. We had to go the Ministry! There was something there we needed--for the plan. For Dumbledore's plan."

There was a long silence, and she began to wonder if he had left. She spoke into the blackness.

"Look--Professor--you know I can't tell you. You know that. But there was something belonging to You-Know-Who in the Ministry. Something we had to get."

"The Dark Lord did not report anything missing," Snape said coldly.

"Thank God. Oh, sir, you can't imagine how that heartens me. It means my... my Geminio Charm worked."

"You duplicated the item?"

"Yes."

"That was... good thinking, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir."

"Where are you? Yaxley said he had breached the security of Grimmauld Place."

It was hard to keep the tremor from her voice as she spoke. "He did. He grabbed me as I Apparated, and I couldn't shake him off. I... I took him right to the doorstep, sir. I'm very sorry. I didn't know what to do, so I just grabbed the boys and left... Ron was Splinched in transit. We're all right. Is it--should I--do you need to know where we are?"

"Are you safe? That is, is Potter safe?"

"I've cast the enchantments we discussed."

"I suppose that will have to do."

"Sir--there's something else."

He sighed. "Something else?"

"Yes. While we were in the Ministry, we were separated--that's why we ended up involved in those trials." She said the word as if she were swallowing Skele-Gro.

"I see. It's just as well, I suppose. Lord Voldemort believes that you--"

"Yes, I gathered," she said pointedly before she went on. "My records were in the courtroom."

"I told you that the Dark Lord--" he began resignedly.

"Has taken an interest in me. Yes, I know. But sir, our records were there."

She listened very carefully to the sound of his voice. It was maddening not to be able to see him, to read the expression behind the words she knew he had to utter. "Indeed?" he said. His voice was steady, but she thought she heard trepidation in it nonetheless.

"Have you heard anything about it?"

"I have not. However, I think it will be necessary for me to make a visit to the Ministry. I do not want--"

"There is no need, sir. I stole them."

"You stole them?"

"I couldn't think what else to do! Your position among the Death Eaters is crucial to Harry's success. The whole plan is destroyed if we are exposed. So, I took them. Just our records--I left everything else about... about me."

"What do you plan to do with them?" he asked quietly.

"I--I don't want... that is, I don't know if... Sir, I don't know how to say this properly."

There was silence again, but Hermione fancied that she could see Snape's face with her mind's eye, the pinched lines between his eyebrows, the way his features drew closed when he was preparing to do something he did not wish to do.

"Are you concerned about the state of the bond if the papers are destroyed?"

"If I destroyed them, would we still be married?" she asked, keeping her tone light and straightforward, belying her fears.

"Hermione," he said so softly that she almost didn't hear him. His voice was only slightly more than a breath as he said her name. "Dumbledore wanted us wed to ensure that you would not desert me. You have proven... you have shown me immense loyalty. Even if the marriage were undone, the plan would be intact."

"But I want..." She paused. What she wanted had no place in this discussion. "Sir, I want the records for your trial."

"For my trial?"

"That was my job, remember? I was supposed to create a defense for you, for after. The records--they'll back up our story of Dumbledore's plan. We need them."

"No. We do not need them. There will be no trial, Miss Granger. I won't live long enough to warrant one, and Dumbledore himself did not expect me to. You know very well that this union of ours was for Potter's benefit and not my own. Frankly, I am surprised the records were not destroyed long ago. I would have thought that Moody would have seen to that."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid that's my fault." Hermione braced herself. Snape was going to be furious with her.

"Pardon?"

"He asked me--just before he died, he asked me if I wanted them destroyed."

"He asked you?"

"Yes."

"And you--"

"I told him no. Sir, I'm sorry! I knew right away I had made the wrong decision, and I swear, I was going to tell him I had changed my mind. He just caught me by surprise! And then he died," she said.

"Tell me that you did not go into the Ministry to undo your mistake."

Her mistake. "I would never lie to you, sir. We went to get this... this thing of You-Know-Who's. That I ran across our records was only chance."

He was quiet again. She waited.

"And you want to keep them. For the trial."

"Yes."

She took his silence for assent. "You realize that you need to keep moving?"

"I thought one more night here and then we'll move on."

"Fine. If you could let me know where you've been--after you've left, of course--that would be useful information."

"Certainly."

"You said Weasley was Splinched, did you? Were you able to heal him?"

"Yes, sir. I wish I could have done a better job, but I healed him."

"I'm sure you did adequately."

"Thank you. And you, Professor? Are you all right?"

"I am fine, Miss Granger," he said softly. "Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir."

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

The wind picked up and scattered more leaves onto the forest floor. The sounds of the night, furtive scratchings and plaintive, lonesome calls, seemed louder than ever without the portrait to distract her. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly two in the morning. Her watch ended at four. She looked back at the portrait--it had seemed for a moment... she thought she had seen movement in the corner. She leaned toward the portrait--it appeared blank, unless that spot in the bottom left... was maybe a touch darker than the rest?

She heard shuffling, scraping. A chair being pushed back. And then... voices... muffled at first, and she pressed her ear nearly all the way against the canvas. Had Phineas Nigellus stayed? Did he mean for her to hear this?

"...rather more than I had suspected," said a voice. Dumbledore?

And then Snape's answer, much more clearly. "I am sure I don't know what on earth you are rambling about."

"You never mentioned to me that you felt you had ascertained the true nature of your marriage to Miss Granger."

"It was hardly a leap of the imagination, Dumbledore. You've made it clear in the past that Potter's success is your only priority."

"And you've shared it with her."

"I didn't have to share it with her, as you say. Aren't you the one who likes to insist that the girl is some kind of genius? Besides, it was hardly a secret. Potter needs assistance, and she is there to make sure he receives it. And while you seem to be in a rather transparent mood, I might ask why you did not have the marriage papers destroyed."

"I'm afraid I'm just learning about that this evening, myself. I don't know why Alastor felt the need to consult Miss Granger--"

"Hermione, Albus. You wrecked the girl's life. Call her Hermione. And perhaps he consulted her out of simple kindness! You did not consult her before you whored her out for Harry Potter!"

"I gave her every opportunity to choose--"

"You did not allow her to make an informed decision. She thought she was protecting me."

"And you seem to be taking full advantage of her attentions."

There was a crash, and Hermione released her breath without having realized she was holding it. It sounded as if Snape had broken something. In fury or in shame?

"Exactly what are you implying?"

"I married you to Miss Granger because I believed that you were devoted to Lily Evans' memory."

"Yes, that much was clear, Albus. You banked on my twisted, blackened heart."

"For the girl's own sake, Severus. Girls of her age can be easily swayed by --"

"Girls of her age," Snape growled, and had Dumbledore been more than a portrait, Hermione would have feared for his life. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly at the irony of that thought. "Girls of her age. You have sacrificed a teenaged girl, just as you intend--"

"There is a chance she will survive the war," Dumbledore interrupted. "I haven't consigned the girl to death. I simply thought that it would be best if she were not caught up in any romantic notions. Hermione is practical; she is motivated by duty, but she--"

"Do not speak of her as if you know her heart, Dumbledore. Hermione is not like girls of her age. She is motivated by honor, by light. She is a witch raised in wartime. She does not care for pretty things or--"

"And why are you so sure of that, Severus? Are you one of the ugly things she cares for?"

"You are crossing the line, old man!"

"Let me see your Patronus."

There was a long silence, in which Hermione's head spun with what she was hearing. Snape had been devoted to Lily Evans? Lily Evans was Harry's mum! And why was Dumbledore asking to see Snape's Patronus? She wracked her brains. What was Snape's Patronus? Had she ever seen it? But underneath the surface of her thoughts, there bubbled something warm and thick, something that enveloped her and strengthened her against the cold and the dark.

"Expecto Patronum!" His voice burst from the frame strong and clear, and Hermione's eyes shot to the canvas as if she would be able to see his silvery Patronus there. But, of course, there was nothing.

Dumbledore spoke. "Very well. But you said something earlier that concerned me, Severus. Something that concerned me very deeply. You said, 'You realize that if you'd been captured, I would have had to--.' What was the ending of that sentence?"

"I don't know what you are referring to."

"I think you do. And I think we both know what the ending to that sentence would have been. I am warning you, Severus--"

She had to strain to hear Snape's next, as his voice was barely more than a hiss of breath. "I wish you were alive so that I could kill you again. With pleasure, this time."

Dumbledore chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. "Be that as it may. You'll want to think hard about your choices. You are placing your faith in a seventeen year old girl."

"I trust Miss Granger implicitly. As you should, Dumbledore. Need I remind you that it was you who forced us into this infernal marriage?"

"All I ask is that you remember where your loyalties lie. Because the day you put that girl above the plan is the day the wizarding world is lost."

There was another crash. "This discussion is over," Snape said.

***

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, and his voice had returned to the soft, serene tone he favoured. Snape itched to take his wand to the portrait, to slash it to shreds.

"You have nothing further to add?" Phineas Nigellus purred nastily. "Nothing else you'd like to tell Miss Granger? I'm sure the poor girl is in quite a state by now."

Snape turned on his heel to face the portrait of Headmaster Black and took several heavy steps forward.

"Do you mean to tell me that you kept the connection open?" he asked dangerously.

"Of course I did. You did not tell me to close it. And I certainly would not presume to interject. Not after the reprimand I received for daring to offer an opinion on what might be appropriate earlier this evening."

Snape did not know which portrait he would like to destroy first. Good God, what had he said? What had she heard? How long would it take to undo it, to regain--?

"Miss Granger," he barked.

He could hear her deep breath. "Yes, sir."

"I apologize for any distress--"

"Professor," she said firmly. "Think nothing of it. You have been pushed to extremes. Please assure former Headmaster Dumbledore that we are both quite aware of where our loyalties lie."

The smirk flew to his lips nearly against his will. Hermione was made of steel. And that she very clearly wanted to attack Dumbledore as greatly as he did himself made him long for her so fiercely that his eyes burned and stung. He closed them quickly. She sounded every inch the lioness. No one had ever...

"I will do so," he said evenly. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I'm going to ask the esteemed Headmaster Black to shut down the connection between his portraits now."

"Of course. I will be in touch as soon as we have safely moved on."

"Very well." He paused and decided she would not be opposed to one last jab at Dumbledore. "Goodnight, Hermione."

He just caught her chuckle. "Goodnight."

"Headmaster Black, if you would be so kind."

When he had ascertained that all of Headmaster Black had returned to his portrait in the office, Snape made a show of righting the chair he had kicked over earlier with a deliberate and self-satisfied air. He straightened the papers on his desk, took off his outer robe and hung it on the tree by the door. With his wand, he extinguished all but one of the lamps and walked toward the door to his chambers.

Dumbledore stared at him from the portrait all the while. Snape could feel the old man's eyes upon him, but he refused to speak.

"She is very faithful to you," Dumbledore said finally.

Snape looked up sharply into the man's clear blue eyes, for there was no tone of accusation in Dumbledore's voice as there had been before. He had the fleeting thought that it was really too bad one could not perform Legilimency on a portrait.

Snape turned and left the room without a word. He entered his bedroom and set about removing his robes. It was after three, and he was aching with fatigue, yet his mind would not slow. He thought again of Dumbledore's steady blue eyes. Why did he get the feeling that the old man had known what Phineas Nigellus had been up to? What he meant by his last words?

Snape crawled into bed, feeling the creaking of limbs unbending, limbs that had been held rigid in terror and anger all day. She is very faithful to you.

He could not imagine where she was. Several times during their discussion, he had thought he'd heard leaves rustling and the hoot of an owl, but that could have been Potter's ostentatious bird. It was impossible to say. Although his blood still sang with terror at the thought that she had been in the Ministry that afternoon, he was reassured that there was some kind of plan in place and that she was successfully guiding her idiot companions through it. Suddenly, he was seized with fury once more. He wanted to rise from his bed and storm back into the office. Dumbledore had no right to belittle her, to insist on equating her with the rest of the silly, hormone-driven fools of her age. No one but Hermione could have gotten Potter and Weasley in and out of the Ministry of Magic unharmed.

He shut his eyes and began to breathe, slowly and deeply, in a facsimile of sleep. It was late, and reliving his discussion with Albus was not going to change the outcome of anything. Snape had long suffered sleepless nights, and he had learned that by pretending to sleep, he could sometimes coax his body into the real thing. He took another deep breath and pictured a dark, black sky.

Slowly, he gave in to the image. Against the sky, he saw the stark, lonely limbs of trees, rapidly parting from their leaves now. As he relaxed first one leg and then the other, he heard the sound of the wind and saw the branches waving their protest. A cloud crossed over the sliver of moon. He unclenched his fists. The stars twinkled on implacably in the sky. He exhaled.

His last thought was of Hermione sitting calmly on the ground among the leaves and waiting. She is very faithful to you, his mind said. And he slept.