Tension in the Laboratory

When Hermione and Snape entered the Great Hall, dinner was already underway. Only one seat was unoccupied at the Head Table—-Snape’s. Harry sat in Hermione’s usual spot on the side of the table to Dumbledore’s right. He raised his tousled head and smiled encouragingly at her when she made her appearance. But an unexpected face looked up from the left side of the table. Igor Karkaroff also smiled at her, his yellowed teeth showing above his neat, gray goatee, and his eyes cold.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, rising. “A pleasure to have you with us so soon. We’ll get another place set for you.”

At once, to Hermione’s dismay, house-elves began scurrying about setting out a place for her next to Snape. Hermione began trying to snatch the china and cutlery from them as they dodged her, intent on their tasks. “Please...really, I can do it myself...Jinky, really...give me the—-really—-"

Snape clasped his hands in front of him and observed the proceedings as though he were sitting in on a dull lecture.

At last, despite Hermione’s best efforts, the house-elves had her place ready.

Dumbledore, with a flourish, gestured for her to be seated. Hermione noted with shock that his hand seemed to be black and withered. The meal resumed.

“So nice to meet again, Miss Granger,” Karkaroff said. “I understand you are teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Hermione was uncomfortably aware of Snape on her opposite side giving his full attention to her, without seeming to.

“Yes. What brings you to Hogwarts, Headmaster Karkaroff?”

Karkaroff smiled arrogantly at the mention of his title. “Prat,” thought Hermione, smiling humbly. “He thinks it’s his due.”

“I am here on unexpected business,” Karkaroff replied unctuously. “So strange that it coincides with your—-unfortunate experience.” Here he smiled at her again, and again she couldn’t help but notice the almost tusk-like appearance of his teeth and the lack of warmth in his eyes. Still smiling in her direction, and evidently ignoring Snape’s interest, Karkaroff stretched out his arm toward his stein of butterbeer, which pulled back his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his arm. He glanced at the Mark, then at her, and his smile grew wider.

A jolt of alarm shot through Hermione, but she smiled back gamely and took a sip of her own butterbeer. She felt Snape’s foot cover hers and apply light pressure. She didn’t need reminding to watch her step. She gave Karkaroff her most unassuming smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you under any circumstance, Headmaster.” She nearly gagged saying the words, but the butterbeer fortified her. Snape’s foot eased off hers, and she took a forkful of roast chicken.

The rest of the meal passed unremarkably. When the pudding dishes were cleared and everyone began to stand up, Snape said in tones that suggested she hadn’t picked up much since First Year, “Miss Granger, I need to discuss some matters in your lesson plan for tomorrow. I don’t think you have adequately grasped the basic concepts of the Dark Arts.”

Karkaroff smiled a small, cruel smile into his goatee. Hermione saw Harry looking furious.

Hermione paused. Now she had the choice of looking as though she were knuckling under to Snape, or making a small scene and stymieing his true intent. She threw Harry a pleading look and said mildly to Snape, “I’d be interested in anything you have to say, Professor Snape.”

Snape tilted his chin back and regarded her from down his nose. “Then I’ll escort you back to the classroom,” he said, sounding as though even this bit of reluctant chivalry was a chore.

They headed toward the dungeons, passing torches in wrought-iron sconces on the rough stone walls as they descended. Hermione felt her spirits droop. She would have vastly preferred going to her rooms. Just as she was on the verge of saying so, Snape began speaking in a very low tone. “Whatever happens, keep your mind blank and do whatever I say.” His voice dropped even further, but Hermione thought he added, “And please Merlin, let’s hope you’ve more aptitude for Occlumency than Potter.”

They continued their descent. Every one of Hermione’s nerves felt preternaturally alert. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind them. Snape halted and turned. Karkaroff stepped into the torchlight.

“Severus.”

Snape nodded once.

Karkaroff jerked his head at Hermione. “We can’t talk here.”

“We can,” Snape said. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand in front of Hermione’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Igor. She’s Imperiused.”

Karkaroff looked frankly distrustful. “Imperiused? You, Severus? You seem to be saving many people of late, not offering them up to the Dark Lord. If she is Imperiused, prove it.”

“Very well,” Snape sounded bored. “Miss Granger! Curtsy to the ground at my foot and tell me that I am your lord and master and that you will do whatever I say.”

Hermione arranged her features into what she hoped was a befuddled expression. Clumsily, she sank into a deep curtsy just over Snape’s feet, keeping her face cast downward, and said in her most subservient voice, “Professor Snape, you are my lord and master, and I will do whatever you say.”

After a second of silence, Snape said, “You may rise now, Miss Granger.”

“That proves nothing!” Karkaroff hissed. “Tell her to do something else. Perhaps—-" Hermione glanced up and saw him leering at her—-“there is something she can do for me.”

“This is not a circus act, Igor, and I am not your pimp,” Snape said, still in bored tones. “You will see and believe tomorrow, with the Dark Lord.”

Something twitched in Karkaroff’s jaw, and his smile again did not reach his eyes. “See that it does, Severus. I bring you this message. See that it does.” And he pushed past them deeper into the dungeons.

When his retreating form had disappeared into the darkness, Snape took Hermione’s arm and pulled her into her classroom. He pushed open the door, they entered, and he swung the heavy door shut. “Lumos,” he said, and the glittering wandlight threw his thin face in high relief. “Now listen to me. We have to stay here for some minutes, in case Karkaroff is watching. Let’s have a little chat. Tomorrow you will say what I told you to say. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Hermione ground her teeth at his high-handed manner. “The Dark Lord will never accept that,” she said. Then understanding dawned on her. “You know that. You think he’ll force the class to become his—-that he’ll take over Hogwarts! But Dumbledore would never allow it!”

“Clever girl,” Snape said. “But he’s counting on me to kill Dumbledore.”

Hermione gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Snape gave her a pitying look. “His days are numbered, Hermione. Have you seen his right hand lately?” Hermione could only stare at him. Snape now met her gaze squarely. His eyes were glimmering in the wandlight. “Dumbledore is dying.” Hermione felt her throat constrict. “He knows it.” His mouth tightened and he added grimly, “It’s already arranged between us.”

A tear slid down Hermione’s cheek. Snape watched its path before reaching out with an ink-stained, rough thumb and brushing it away. His thumb lingered on her cheek before he withdrew his hand.

“You wouldn’t kill him,” Hermione said thickly.

Snape gave her a fathomless stare. Then he said, “The Dark Lord thinks this is his moment. He has the Ministry in all but name. He has an army of Death Eaters. He thinks he has me. But he has miscalculated. Dumbledore isn’t ready to die. The Dark Lord isn’t at full strength yet, though He doesn’t think we know that. And he doesn’t know my true allegiance.”

“And we have Harry,” Hermione stated.

“Potter?” Snape loaded the name with contempt. “He’s a target, not a weapon.”

“He’s beaten You-Know-Who many times. ...And it wasn’t just luck!” Hermione added, in response to Snape’s skeptically raised eyebrow.

“Arrogant little git,” Snape muttered. “Big Quidditch hero—-"

Hermione looked at the man before her, sunk in bitter memories, and a wave of pity swept over her. She put both her hands around one of his. “Harry’s father must have been awful to you,” she said quietly. “But Harry’s nothing like that. He’s never bragged about Quidditch. And he’s always kind to other people.”

Snape clenched his hand in hers. Hermione could feel it tremble.

“They say he has his mother’s eyes,” she said after a pause.

The trembling stopped.

“I misspoke,” Snape said flatly, not looking up. Hermione guessed this was as near to an apology as she was likely to hear on the subject, for now, at least. “I have already talked to Dumbledore while you were resting. We will fight the Dark Lord tomorrow. But don’t be surprised if I appear to be—-playing both sides.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. Snape looked at her then. He reached out and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she felt his long fingers on her throat, then in her hair. “Let me take you back to your rooms,” he said.

He turned, still holding her hand in his, and pulled her out of the room. Once he stepped beyond the doorway, he dropped her hand and made a formal gesture to her to step into the corridor. They proceeded to her flat without speaking. When she opened her door, Snape said in a put-upon voice, “Yes, Miss Granger, I’ll see you inside.”

But once the door clicked behind them, he put his arm around her neck and pulled her to him in a gruff embrace. Her head was nestled under his, her body pressed to his from the thighs up. She thought she felt his lips on her hair. Before she could put her arms around him, he pushed her gently away from him and said, “Sit down.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips at his autocratic tone.

He spared her a glance. “Sit. Down. Was I unclear?”

Very reluctantly, Hermione eased herself onto the couch. Snape flicked his wand. The lights dimmed and a fire sprang to life in the grate. “Accio bedclothes.” Hermione’s night dress, the same one she’d been wearing since Sixth Year, the practical, faded red flannel one that came up to the neck and down to the floor, floated in from the bedroom. Snape eyed it with frank disappointment. “I’ll get you some...more interesting things to wear in time.”

Hermione’s head suddenly filled with images of herself in stockings, garters—- She felt suddenly very warm.

Snape pushed the gown at her. “Get dressed. I’ll, er, turn my back.”

The warm feeling intensified. She felt that now-familiar fullness below.

True to his word, Snape turned his back and seemed to be regarding her growing library. Books were overflowing her shelves and spilling in neat stacks on the floor. Hermione took off her clothes and pulled on the sensible nightdress.

“Erm,” she began, not knowing what to say.

Snape turned. He seemed unwilling to look at her too long. “I’ll get you settled,” he said.

The unpleasant shock hit her: “You’re not staying, then?”

He gave her his full attention. “How are you feeling?”

“Er-better.”

“Not well, you mean.”

She refused to plead or beg. “I’m better.” She wished desperately he would stay. She needed to feel his arms around her, feel his presence near her.

He seemed to hesitate. “Hermione. I can stay here, share your—-very narrow bed. But I don’t want to put too much temptation in my way.”

Relief flooded her. He wanted to stay! She looked him directly in the eyes. “I understand. But, I want you to stay. I want you to... I want you.”

He gave her a strange look. “Very well.” He slung his cloak off his shoulders, plucked some nightclothes from thin air, and removed his shoes and socks. Without asking her to turn her back, he began undressing. Hermione swallowed as his long, wiry torso came into view. He removed his trousers and pulled on a pair of black pajama bottoms. Then he put out the light, took her arm, and headed toward the bedroom.

Hermione turned on the bedside lamp, but Snape pushed the shade toward the wall so that only a dim light was cast. He lowered himself onto the bed and pulled Hermione into the crook of his arm. “Let’s try to sleep,” he said, pulling her close.

Hermione put her head on his bare shoulder, her hand across his chest, and closed her eyes. Never had sleep seemed so far away. Her breasts were pressed to his side, only the flannel separating their skin. Her fingers itched to stroke his chest. Her vulva was uncomfortably congested. She shifted her legs. Her fingers skated across his pectoral. She opened her eyes. His were shut, and she got a rare glimpse of his face in repose, with his features softened.

Then the eyes opened, glittering.