Down in the Dungeons

Chapter Three

Down in the Dungeons

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It was well past dinner before Madam Pomfrey let Hermione be taken to her rooms by a house-elf, named Bimpy. Hermione felt emotionally exhausted from the days events. She hadn't been able to get much sleep in the hospital wing; Madam Pomfrey had talked her ear off. It turned out she wasn't worried about Dumbledore's health; she was just avoiding her sister, whom she had a falling out with the past summer over some new Healer from Russia. Hermione hadn't paid much attention, but the distraction had been nice.

Hermione was not pleased with her chambers; they were spacious, home-like and inviting. She would have found them to be wonderfully lovely if it weren't for the fact that they were too close to the dungeons for her liking. She wasn't sure how she would feel if and when she saw him, though she knew it was a matter of when not if. How could she possibly avoid him? At least she knew he wasn't in the dungeons at this time of night. It was late, but she was wrong.

Deep in the underbelly of Hogwarts, Severus was hard at work. He was tired, sore, and filthy. His skin was slick with sweat from the hot fumes of his bubbling potions, causing both his clothes and his now matted hair to cling to his body like a wet cat's fur. He longed to be in bed even though he feared the nightmares that he knew would come. Severus felt too tired to even Apparate home. He would be staying at Hogwarts that night. Despite how worn he felt, Severus still had several more batches of potions to brew if he was going to keep up with his work load. And so he worked late into the night. While Hermione bathed, Severus worked; while Hermione read, Severus worked, and even when Hermione was safely asleep in her new bed dreaming about the life leaving his dark eyes, Severus worked. He worked until he was so tired he collapsed and slept on the drafty dungeon floor for three hours. A house-elf found him there and used her elf magic to carry him to his proper bed, where he dreamed about the broken girl he had carried to Hogwarts. Her dried blood still clung to his clothes; he would have to have the house-elves burn them in the morning.

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The morning hit Hermione hard and fast. She was in a panic before breakfast, trying to figure out how she was going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was, after all, her worst subject, not counting Divination, which Hermione never did. She had still been in the top five per cent of her class, but she didn't feel that qualified her to teach the subject.

Hermione needed to make a syllabus for all seven years, assign books, and figure out what subject matter was appropriate for each age group. She, herself, had experienced such a wide variety of DADA professors, only two of whom were really running the classroom up to standard: Professors Snape and Lupin... well, three if one counted the Moody imposter, but Hermione concluded that introducing the Unforgivables to fourth-years was not appropriate for their age.

That week was spent remembering all of the DADA books she had used as a student at Hogwarts and tracking down the correct version of those books for this year so as not to assign books from the future. She reread all of them, even the ones she had memorized, and created a syllabus for each year. She familiarized herself with the DADA classroom and found a few boggarts to use for classes.

It was relieving to throw herself into work, cutting herself off from the others in the castle, except for the house-elves, who delivered all of her meals to her office. Dumbledore hadn't stopped by, though Hermione suspected he was having the house-elves keep an eye on her.

With work to consume her time, she didn't have to worry about all of her other problems. She had done the same thing in her own time. After the war and all of the losses, including when she had failed to retrieve her parents and restore their memories, she had been devastated but determined not to break down, not to stop, and she hadn't. It was how she had earned a record-setting number of N.E.W.T.s, and it was what had driven Hermione and Ron apart. Even after that, she hadn't stopped. Being thrown into the past didn't stop her either; if she stopped, Hermione knew she would break, crumble, shatter, and fall.

She was finished. Everything was prepared, and Hermione felt empty. It would be two months before the school term started, two months in which she had nothing to do. She thought about trying to find that blasted jewelry box that had caused this entire mess, but she had a feeling that showing up at the Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries would only cause more problems for her... If only she had Harry's invisibility cloak with her or knew where she could find it in this time. She entertained the idea of using Polyjuice Potion like she had done when she was younger, in the future, but she would have had to impersonate someone who was already working in the Department of Mysteries. Even if she did that, she had no idea how to get in the Department itself. There would be no Death Eaters making sure that she gained entrance.

Out of desperation for something to do, Hermione began wandering around the castle, re-familiarizing herself with Hogwarts' many secret pathways and hiding places, excluding the dungeons. Several times that day, she found herself at one of the entrances into the dungeon; the same ones she would take to get to her Potions classroom when she had been a student. It was hard for her to think of him as alive, much harder than it was with Dumbledore. But I didn't see Dumbledore die. Hermione knew that she should stay as far way from him as possible. Knowing what she knew now, about everything he had done and all that he had gone through, she wondered if she would see him differently than she had before.

It was on her fourth trip down near the dungeons that she heard the crash and, without thinking, ran to his office. The door was closed but not locked. He wasn't there, but another door further in the room was left slightly ajar. She could smell the fumes from where she stood. What if he's hurt? She worried. It was illogical, even impossible, but all Hermione could think was that she couldn't bear to let him die again.

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Severus Snape was having a horrible week. Not that any of his weeks for the past few years had been anything resembling good, but this one was particularly dreadful. He kept dreaming of that silly chit lying on the ground at his feet, bleeding. Ever since Lily's death, he had been tormented by dreams of his imagination's version of the last few moments of her life. He was both relieved and devastated that, for the first time since that dreadful night, his dreams were of something else. Instead of being haunted by the woman he had failed to save, he was taunted by the one he had. On top of that, he was still behind in his brewing. Severus was so stressed that he had ruined three batches of burn paste, something he had never done before in his life. Severus Snape did not botch potions!

He tensed when she entered his lab but did not turn around to face her, praying that she would just go away so he could pretend she hadn't come in the first place. Hermione stared at him, standing there, his back turned to her, stirring his potion in graceful figure eights, not hurt at all. Next to him was an overturned bench and some broken glass on the floor.

That explains the noise, she thought.

After a moment of nothing, Severus sighed and turned to her with his most vicious scowl plastered on his face. He froze, his harsh words dying before they ever reached his lips. He did not see her as she was before him but as the broken, bleeding girl in his dreams. She, too, was horror-struck; even as he stood there in all his proud, livid glory, she saw the fallen man on the floor of the Shrieking Shack with red and silver pouring from his mouth, ears, and throat as he lay dying. She had seen him die, seen him as a dead corpse, and now it was like the whole thing had never happened because it hadn't happened... not yet.

Both of them were pulled from their dark memories by the orange potion, hissing and bubbling over.

"Shite!" Severus swore, starting to slowly stir in the same smooth figure eights as he had been doing prior to the bushy haired woman's arrival in his lab. He sprinkled in some white powder horn, trying to save his potion even as it bubbled up and burned his wrist and palm. He kept stirring, ignoring the pain. I will not ruin another potion! The potion hissed at his thoughts and turned a pale brown.

"Damn it!"

The potion was ruined. He had failed. Severus knocked the cauldron to the floor, letting the wasted potion spill and steam into the air.

"You're hurt," Hermione whispered, suddenly at his side, grabbing his right arm and inspecting his injured hand.

"No thanks to you!" he roared turning on her like a rabid dog, baring his crooked teeth that weren't quite as stained as she remembered them.

"Me? I didn't do anything!" She glared, deftly undoing his cuffs and pulling his sleeve back so she could examine his injured wrist as well.

"You! You distracted me."

"You can be distracted?" she asked doubtfully.

Severus clenched his jaw and growled in the back of his throat. How dare she!

"Get. Out," he hissed in his most venom-filled tone.

"You're going to need some burn paste on this. Do you have any?" Hermione asked, ignoring his fierce glare. She could deal with this; she had seen him acting like a spiteful child throwing a temper tantrum before.

"I said out!" he repeated louder then before.

"Oh, that's burn paste potion on the floor that you just botched. Did you make anymore?" she turned away from him, looking around his lab and the many crates filled with potions on the floor.

"I did not botch the potion; you did," he accused as she knelt down at a crate labeled 'Burn Paste'. "Stop! That's for St Mungo's. You can't use that."

"Fine," she sighed, "I suppose I might have some."

"I don't have time for this nonsense! I have potions to brew, and I want you out of my lab now! You have no right to be here... no reason to come here!" he yelled at her as she searched through her purse before pulling out some burn paste and gauze.

"Just let me treat your hand," she conceded, taking his arm again. Hermione was a little surprised that he let her.

"So you're a medi-witch as well as a DADA professor?" he spat bitterly as she squeezed the orange goo onto the gauze and wrapped it around his wrist and palm.

"One picks up a lot of skills to help protect the ones we care about during war-time." She froze, and he stiffened at her words. Fear struck Hermione. Had she said too much? But of course the war had recently ended in this time, as well. Poor Harry, Hermione sighed, thinking of her best friend as a small toddler living with the Dursleys. It took her a moment to the realize that the man who's arm she was still holding onto was staring at the floor looking completely ashamed.

"I... I shouldn't have said that..." she stuttered. Severus pulled his arm from her small hands and glared.

"I'm very busy; please see yourself out as you saw it fit to see yourself in." he spoke in a cold, polite voice with his anger and grief in check.

Hermione studied his face closely for the first time since she had entered his lab. How?... he almost looks the same... Unlike Madam Pomfrey, Severus did not look younger. He looked half- dead, skinnier than Hermione had ever seen him, even with his bulky robes. His face was thinner, more sullen; his skin was just as pale with his standard sneer and hooked nose. But his eyes, they were different. Blood-shot with deep purple bruises under each. What is he putting himself through?

"Let me help you!" Hermione blurted, desperate to do something for him.

"GET OUT!" he bellowed, unleashing his anger again, but Hermione would have none of it. She stood straight, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She was ready for a fight.

"When was the last time you slept?" She demanded.

"My sleeping habits are no concern of yours!"

"Have you even eaten anything today?"

Severus turned from her at that, clenching his fist as he leaned on his workbench, breathing heavily.

"Get out! Or so help me, I will throw you out, woman!" He swung around, grabbing Hermione by her upper arms roughly and shaking her for emphasis. She had her wand at his throat in a heartbeat.

"Severus Snape!" His eyes widened in shock as she hissed, "unhand me this instant!"

Severus dropped his arms to his side, stepping back with his eyes again glaring at his boots, looking dejected.

"Please... at least let me brew the burn paste I..." she paused to swallow her pride, "ruined for you?"

"You'll just waste my ingredients. I doubt you can brew anything to my standards," he said to the floor.

Hermione gasped. That stung more than he knew; she never did meet his picture of the ideal student in Potions. "Perhaps not, but I can brew to St. Mungo's standards."

"I don't need anyone's help!" he barked. "Now leave, you insufferable woman."

Hermione sighed, "Fine."

But I'm coming back... with sandwiches.

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Author's notes: thank you to all for reviewing and to my lovely beta bookofsecrets