Chapter 18 — More Questions and More Answers

Severus watched Granger cross the kitchen to her chair. The crunch of porcelain pulled his gaze down to the scuffed floor. He frowned slightly, before realisation hit him, bringing with it a shamed heat that suffused his cheeks as memory returned. Mortified at his loss of control — temper and magic-wise — he tilted his head, allowing his hair to slide forward, hiding his face from the girl's notoriously sharp gaze. It was bad enough that she'd been witness to his loss of control. She did not also need to see his mortification.

For all that he tended to sneer at Gryffindors and their rampant emotionalism, he knew that he had his own weaknesses. That his temper had led him to lose control of himself like that was inexcusable. He hadn't had an uncontrolled burst of wandless magic like that since the Headmaster had told him that Lupin was taking the Defence position. At least then, he'd maintained control until he'd returned to his rooms. That he'd lost control now in such circumstances and before the girl was inexcusable. With his almost daily interaction with the Dark Lord, he could not afford a single slip. More than his own life rested on his ability to keep his temper and his secrets.

Pulling out his wand, he made a broad sweeping gesture and cleaned up the mess he'd made. Maybe it was time that he asked Albus for whatever potion or spell the old manipulator had used before to put him to sleep. It was obvious that Severus was losing his edge.

Feeling a dull throb begin behind his eyes, he resigned himself to this new responsibility the girl had laid at his feet. Part of him revelled in the trust that was implied in her actions. She'd come to him with her concerns; not Molly Weasley, not the Headmaster nor even Lupin. Another part of him wished that she had gone to one of the others. He resisted the urge to heave a melodramatic sigh. Before he could rest, the girl had to be dealt with.

The girl. Hermione Granger. He might as well get used to referring to her by name. She was, and by his own choice, tied to him now by the bonds of mentor and student. Referring to her as 'the girl' as if she were simply one more of the brainless idiots he dealt with on a daily basis would be doing her a disservice. For a moment he was reminded of that year he'd returned to Hogwarts. He'd been just as eager to prove himself to Albus. He could still remember the day the old man had first called him Snape, rather than the more formal Mr Snape.

He eyed the girl sitting there expectantly, hair in sleep-tousled disarray and still in her night clothes, yet her eyes were open and trusting and waiting for him. Merlin, help me. But to deal with Potter he'd need her trust and her assistance before it went pear-shaped and they all ended up dead. It was, of course, a calculated gamble — a decidedly Slytherin approach that would have Albus chiding him for his use of tactical manoeuvering in the realm of human relationships — but extending the girl the courtesy of familiarity would help him in the long run.

His course decided; he moved to take his own. "Now, Granger, I believe you were about to tell me everything."

He hid his smirk as her eyes widened slightly at the use of her surname alone. He was rather pleased that she recognised the import of that. He did not, however, hid his smirk as she registered what he was asking of her, as her wide-eyed look changed and her face drained of colour. He needed no Legilimency to track the thoughts that raced across her expressive face. Gryffindors he thought with derision.

"Calm yourself, Granger. I could care less for your secrets and school girl fantasies. You many confine your answers to those that deal with Potter."

The quick flash of indignation followed by relief that crossed her face confirmed his suspicions. Children are always so sure that others are interested in their little lives and secrets. As if a seventeen year old girl had secrets that I'd be interested in.

"Tell me of Potter."

"I –"

A loud series of thumps on the ceiling interrupted her. The thumps were followed by a hideous shriek reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard that could only have been the portrait of Mrs Black. Severus' first thought was filled with black humour. Can I never get a break? Do the Fates despise me that much? But even before the sounds from above died, he was on his feet.

"The others in the house will be up and moving now. And as I would rather not suffer the false hospitality of your compatriots, we will continue this discussion at a more opportune time."

Granger had also risen to her feet, again looking at him as if he held the answers to her every question. Merlin, was I ever that young or trusting? She made him feel old and tired, which contributed to his waspish tone. "I trust that you can keep your suspicions to yourself until we can meet again?"

"Of course, sir."

Again he got that quick flash of indignation as she answered, but her own tone was still exceedingly polite and respectful. He almost smiled at that. She was definitely learning. Even just a few months prior, she'd have been incensed and fuming at his remarks and attitude.

Hearing more movement and noise upstairs, he gave her a small nod of his head and left her in the kitchen. He'd await Kinglsey and Lupin in the parlour. Perhaps there he'd have enough time to clear his own still-roiling emotions before returning to the Dark Lord's side.Though she kept an eye out for him, Hermione didn't see Professor Snape for the rest of the morning. Several Order members were seen coming and going from the front parlour of the house though, and their presence drew the attention of both Ron and Harry. Extendable Ears had been employed, but the privacy shields on the room were impregnable. Hermione had no doubt they'd been cast by Professor Snape.

Lunchtime, with still no sight of her professor, brought the realisation that Snape was long gone from Grimmauld Place, returning to do whatever it was he did for Voldemort during the long summer months. That thought left her with a feeling of disquiet that left her pensive and silent for the remainder of the day.

Unwilling to inflict her mood on the others in the house, she retreated to the library where she'd found a fascinating book on properties of magical creatures. There she stayed until a shout and a clatter from the hall outside announced what could only be Tonks' evening visit.

Hermione suspected that Tonks' continuing visits had to do with a certain werewolf, although, being treated to Mrs Weasley's home cooking wasn't something that Tonks, or anyone else, turned a nose up at.

Tonks was also the official post carrier for those who were ensconced behind the protective wards of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She arrived with an arm full of letters, parcels, bags of food for Mrs Weasley and several papers including the Daily Prophet, The Quibbler, Witch Weekly and the London Times. Mr Weasley used the enforced captivity of Hermione and Harry to his advantage in getting them to explain things in the Muggle paper. The Times also served to give everyone an idea of how the Muggles were explaining the deaths and property damage that was being wrought by the increasingly-frequent Death Eater attacks.

So book in hand, Hermione leapt from her chair and headed for the hall, throwing dignity and decorum to the wind in the race to get post. Rounding the corner of the library into the hall, she skidded slightly as her stockinged feet slid on the floor, which had been perfectly polished by Molly Weasley.

From the floor above she could hear the pounding feet of the boys as they led the charge down the stairs. As the old house had a tendency to echo, it wasn't long before Mrs Black woke from her painted slumber: "MUDBLOOD FILTH! Blood Traitors! Filthy mongrels desecrating my house and dishonouring the Black family name!"

Two seconds after Mrs Black started up her usual litany of curses and insults, Molly Weasley added her own considerable volume to the cacophony. "Ronald Bilus Weasley! Harry James Potter! What have I told you two about setting off that horrid portrait?"

In the midst of it all stood a rather chagrined-looking Tonks, a broken vase at her feet and arms stuffed full of parcels, letters and parchment rolls.

Seeing the boys round the last landing of the staircase, Hermione put on an extra burst of speed, using her momentum to slide across the smooth boards of the hallway until she was nose-to-nose with Tonks.

Ron's shouted, "No fair!" echoed around the place as Hermione successfully blocked Ron's grab with a sharp elbow as he jumped the last few stairs to land next to Tonks.

In the mad scramble to get the day's latest news, Hermione grabbed the first paper in sight, grinning as she came away with the Daily Prophet. A few days earlier, she'd ended up with the latest edition of Witch Weekly and had been utterly bored until Mr Weasley had given over the Prophet.

Letting out a rather unladylike whoop of victory, Hermione retreated to a safer distance from the others as they circled around Tonks. A few minutes later the chaos was sorted out to everyone's satisfaction except Ron's.

"Why do I always end up with Witch Weekly?" It was a sign of just how starved everyone was for news from outside the Black house that Ron wasn't giving up his tight grip on the magazine, even as the picture of the blonde witch on the cover kept making shooing gestures at the places where his fingers dug into her picture.

Remus clapped a hand onto Ron's shoulder. "Luck of the draw, Ron."

Ron shot a mock-glare in Hermione's direction. "My luck would have been better if someone didn't have such sharp elbows."

Hermione smiled prettily and batted her lashes at Ron, which earned her a snort from Harry and a laugh from Tonks.

Clapping her hands together to get everyone's attention, Molly did what she was best at and got the group moving again. "Tonks, can you see if you can quiet the old harridan down? Remus, if you would be so kind as to help me get the groceries down into the kitchen. Ron, Hermione, Harry — dinner will be ready at half past so do your reading now."

With that, everyone retreated to wherever and whatever they were doing before Tonks' timely arrival — mail, parcels and reading material firmly in tow.

Retreating back to her favourite chair by the fireplace in the library, Hermione snapped open the paper only to be confronted with a blazing headline that blinked off and on in alarming, bold type. The story was dominated by a picture of a modest wizarding home with the Dark Mark hovering like oily smoke in a cloudless, blue sky.MINISTRY OFFICIAL TAKEN BY DEATH EATERS

Terror strikes at the heart of the Ministry when Bingley Glossop, Under-Secretary to the Secretary of Wizarding Records was abducted from his home yesterday afternoon. Mrs Glossop, long a gardener of rare plants, was found dead at the Glossop's home where she'd been partially eaten by her famed Fanged Geraniums. Aurors on the scene confirmed Mrs Glossop had been dead before being fed to the flowers.

Mr. Glossop's whereabouts are unknown, but he is also believed to be dead.

The reasons for this latest attack by You-Know-Who's Death Eaters are unknown. However, this reporter has some serious questions for the Ministry: What is being done to protect the wizarding population of Britain? What kind of protection does the average citizen have if even Ministry officials are targets? And finally, how could this have happened in broad daylight? Where are our Aurors in this time of crisis?

Story continued on page six

Glossop. That had been the name Professor Snape and the Headmaster had been discussing. Glossop, who was likely dead. Glossop, who undoubtedly had been an Order member, or at least one of the network of Order supporters — those people who passed along bits and pieces of information that allowed the Order to make decisions.

What else had they said that night? Hermione wracked her brain. She'd really been more focussed on Snape and her own anxiety about speaking with him than about the overheard conversation. What had Snape said? Biting down hard on her lip, she recreated the scene in her mind trying to force the memory back up. I was nervous and bored and tired and . . . Professors Snape and Dumbledore had come out of the room . . . Professor Snape didn't look happy and he was arguing with the Headmaster about . . . .

Protection!

She sat up abruptly in her chair as the memory returned. They had been talking about protection. Professor Snape had said that Glossop needed protection. The Headmaster had argued that they didn't have enough people — Order members or Aurors — to provide protection to everyone who was a potential target.

A chill, much like the one she'd gotten from Professor Snape, raced down her spine causing goosebumps to prick across her skin. The professor had said that Glossop had needed protection. Past tense.

Her eyes tracked back up to the news article and with a feeling of dread she confirmed the date of the Glossop's deaths. It had been the same day she'd spoken with Snape. He'd been there. Maybe he'd even killed Glossop and his wife. Tears welled up in her eyes. Blinking furiously, she willed them to stop, although several fat drops still fell across the paper in her lap.

Was she crying for the Glossops, two more victims of Voldemort's insanity, or was she crying for Professor Snape and what he'd done?

She shivered again. This was the type of man she was associating herself with. Did she really want that? This was the man who she was trusting to help Harry.

She eyed the Dark Mark spread across the front of the paper. Snape was dangerous and deadly. Yet, remembering the bleakness in his eyes that night, what Snape he did obviously affected him.

Reaching up, she rubbed her arms to bring back the warmth. She had some thinking to do and the irony of that thought definitely wasn't lost on her.In the end, Hermione simply reaffirmed her decision to continue working with Professor Snape. It wasn't as if she hadn't known he'd cast Unforgivables. She had, but knowing, and being confronted with the evidence had shaken her a bit and once again she'd had to re-evaluate the rather simple framework of her assumptions regarding her professor.

The more she discovered about him, the more interested she became. That he was sarcastic and rude with little patience for those around him was but a surface layer and a rather thin one at that. That he was a hard and dangerous man was also quite obvious. In truth, he both fascinated and scared her. She had to wonder if the Headmaster really appreciated the fact that Professor Snape willingly submitted to his commands and direction.

Once or twice, she even wondered what it would be like to be a person to whom Severus Snape feely gave his loyalty.

And so her thoughts continued to circle around Snape, thoughts made all the more dire by the constant reports of more Muggle and wizarding deaths and by Snape's continued absence from Grimmauld Place.

Maintaining her new regimen of keeping her mouth shut and her eyes and ears open proved to the most effective way to determine what the other Order members knew about what was going on in the wider world. Occasionally, she would hear snippets that mentioned Snape, but nothing that eased her mind. She used the Extendable Ears with the boys but the Order was on to them and all meetings were warded against their prying. She had on one occasion sat with Harry at the top of the stairs while an Order meeting was being conducted in the library, but again they had learned nothing useful and Harry had been quiet and withdrawn.

She'd discovered, quite by accident that she didn't really even have to be sneaky about the whole process of listening in to other peoples conversations. If she was sitting in a chair with her eyes cast downward to a book in her lap, the adult members of the Order talked rather freely in front of her, secure in their assumptions that she was so engrossed in the written word that she was insensate to the world around her.

Sitting now in the shabby library with her feet tucked up and an oversized, musty tome in her lap, she fought the urge to smirk like Malfoy at his smarmiest as she eavesdropped while Moody and Tonks discussed the growing safety issues of the Order. Making sure she continued to flip pages at regular intervals, she couldn't help but wonder if this was how Professor Snape got a lot of his information. It was quite easy to imagine her professor sitting quietly, gleaning information.

He'd be sitting in some seedy wizarding bar. Smoke would hang thickly in the air and shadows would cling to the far corners and low ceiling. The only lights would be the occasionally flickering candle on a tabletop that would fight a seemingly losing battle with the darkness. A few questionable patrons, with cloak hoods up around their faces, would be sitting at tables stained black from centuries of grime and spilled drinks.

The professor would be dressed in his usual black attire but he would be wearing the more elegantly cut travel cloak she'd seen him wear when not in his teaching robes. He wouldn't have his hood up. He'd be bareheaded, his hair sliding forward to brush against the curve of his cheek and hiding his eyes from the others in the room.

Getting lost in the fantasy she was building in her head, Hermione let her eyes close to better concentrate on the images she was creating. On the table in front of him, she decided, in the pool of light cast by his candle, he'd have a thick book — something old, but not too rare that it would be risked in the dirt and grime of the bar. A glass of Firewhisky would rest on the table in front of him, just in front of the book. She wanted to make it heavy cut crystal, but decided that this type of bar would have chipped glass tumblers instead.

He'd be concentrating on his book, or so the others would think. They'd whisper and natter to each other. Boast about things they shouldn't, and tell each other they weren't afraid of the man sitting quietly reading his book against a back wall. And all the while, her professor would be listening and remembering.

And after a while when he didn't do anything more threatening than reading, one brave — or perhaps foolhardy — drunk seated against the far wall would get up out of his chair fuelled by liquid courage and the goading of his mates. He weave his way through the shadows until he stood in front of her professor, and Snape — eyes still closed, Hermione's lips curved up in slight smile — Snape wouldn't say a word. He'd simply look up and give That Look. The one that made Ravenclaws bury their heads back in their books, that set Hufflepuffs to crying, made brave Gryffindors tremble and that the Slytherins all tried to imitate with more or less laughable results.

Then would come the sneer, and-

"Hey, Hermione. You awake over there?"

Hermione opened her eyes with a start, reflexively grabbing at the book on her lap as it started to slide.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Tonks said, grinning good-naturedly at her as she held out a letter with a Muggle postmark. "I just wanted to give this to you. I'd forgotten that I'd stuffed it down in my coat pocket earlier and you didn't get it during the usual melee for the post." Tonks shook her head in obvious bemusement. "I have a whole new respect for the Owls. They deserve every treat their little hearts desire."

Seeing her mother's neat handwriting, Hermione took the letter with a murmured "Thanks." Curious as to what her mother had to say, Hermione tore open one end of the envelope and let the letter within slide out into her palm.

Dearest Hermione,

I'm sending this to the Weasleys in the hopes that it will find its way to you. They at least have a proper post address. You know, it really may be time to invest in an Owl of our own. Goodness knows what we'd tell the neighbours, or nosy Mr Peterson down the street, but it would be so much easier to get in contact with you. Especially since I suspect that once you graduate, you'll be spending more of your time in the magic world. But I digress.

Your father and I are doing well. In fact, we're going to be attending a dental conference in Strasbourg next week. Your father is quite looking forward to it.

Hermione grinned as she read through her mother's letter. She was rather glad and a bit relieved that her parents would be out of England for a while, especially with Voldemort's escalation of violence. She'd never told her parents about the things that she and Harry and Ron had done. Now, after so much time and so many secrets she didn't know how to tell them. But if they were leaving the country, that would be one less worry off her mind.

She'd have to remember to tell Tonks or Moody that they could take the Auror detail off her parents while they were away. That would at least free up some people to help watch over other potential targets. Mental note made, she returned to her mother's letter.

But, darling, that's not the reason I'm writing to you. This letter concerns your short friend with the overly large ears. I won't mention his name since you hinted before that he could get into a bit of trouble for his, shall we say, extracurricular activities. I know that you thought that once you left the house that he would return to his own home permanently. That has not been the case. And while I can't say that I'm upset at having fresh strawberry scones ready for me in the mornings, I really don't wish him to have any difficulties.

In fact, we had a nice chat the other evening.

Hermione chuckled softly. The mental image of her mother and Rink sitting down for tea and a chat was an amusing one.

Did you know that I can call him as you can, even though I'm Muggle? Your friend says he just has to be actively listening for me. Not that I completely understood the explanation he gave, for I have no idea ho one actively listens for someone that is several hundred miles away. Not to mention he tends to ramble a bit. He reminds me a bit of your Great Uncle Dennis. Actually, now that I think about it, Dennis had some extremely large ears and a rather obsessive habit of picking up after your Great Aunt Dorethea.

But, now I'm starting to ramble. I just wanted you to be aware of the situation, just in case it caused any problems.

Do let me know you are well. There are some strange and horrible happenings occurring in England this summer. I worry about you.

Mum

Ch 19: Really Just Ch 18B

 

Author's Notes #1: I've only heard back from one beta on this so far but I'm an impatient sort so I'm going to go ahead and put it up. Once the second betas sends in her changes, I'll update corrections. In the meantime, if you eagle-eyed readers spot an mistake, feel free to let me know. You won't be hurting my feelings. Thanks to Keladry for the smashing beta job.

Author's Note #1.5: The first time I uploaded this I was missing a scene divider that was causing some issues. So, if some of you get notification of "New Chapter" it's just that I fixed that divider.

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