Tension in the Laboratory

To siriuslysnogged, sheherazade, DB1, neko36, catysmom, phistolemon, Im_eating_my_face, pittwitch, LillySnape, chelleybelle, Mrs_Brown, aliciana, Dresoul, Megan, chyara, amsev, AnyaGreyback, Rosedown, Jocy, Cruel Angel, newera4ever, Jesse, Leri, and a_reader that I've really enjoyed your comments, encouragement, and even your needling!


*

As soon as Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eater had clambered through the window, yanking the clawing, cursing Bellatrix Lestrange with them, Dumbledore raised his wand in his remaining hand and said weakly but clearly, “Renervate.”

“Don’t waste your energy, Headmaster,” said McGonagall severely, lifting her own wand. The other staff murmured agreement, but Hermione saw Flitwick look troubled. Harry fairly crackled with vengeful intent. But Dumbledore held up a placating hand in their direction, unable to muster the strength to answer. Though ashen-faced and shaking, he didn’t appear to be bleeding. Hermione thought Snape’s spell might have cauterized the wound.

Snape stirred. Hermione didn’t budge; he wouldn’t want it. But her face was pale with worry and shock. At last the black head lifted from the floor. Snape looked furious to have been taken down in front of them.

Stiffly, he regained his feet and looked around. His eye took in Harry and each Head of House, all poised for attack. Then it rested briefly on Hermione, her wand held tensely at her side, weighing how she might best protect him. At last he turned to Dumbledore sprawled on the stone floor. He took out his wand. Five voices cried, “Oi!” and five wands came out to point at his head. The sixth was pointing at Harry.

“Hermione!” Harry snapped. “Put your bloody wand down or he’ll kill Dumbledore!”

Snape waved his wand, and Harry fell to the ground, hard. Hermione shot him a warning look. Coolly, Snape strode across the room to the where the severed hand lay, shriveled and almost monkey-like, against the wall. First he said some words Hermione had never heard before, waving his wand in odd patterns over it. Then he said, “Evanesco,” and the hand vanished. “That should be a spell you’re familiar with, Potter,” Snape added, without turning around. Harry struggled to rise, green eyes promising payback, but whatever spell Snape had used kept him pinned and silent.

Snape turned to eye the staff and said coldly, “It appears the headmaster is need of medical attention.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said weakly.

“First period is about to begin,” Snape continued, still in his sneering voice. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a class to conduct.” He swept a scornful gaze over the Heads of Houses, and started toward the door. As an afterthought, he jabbed his wand in Harry’s direction, before leaving the classroom with a billow of his cloak.

Harry groaned and made feeble clawing motions toward the door.

“We’ve got to get Dumbledore to St. Mungo’s before the students start arriving,” McGonagall said, her mouth a thin line.

Hermione crossed the room and knelt by Dumbledore. “Sir, do you feel well enough to walk?”

“Not St. Mungo’s,” Dumbledore said clearly. His quivering arm, the one with the hand, gripped Hermione’s arm. “Do you know the spell for shock?”

Hermione nodded. “I’ve read about it. But I’ve never cast it before.”

A trace of a smile lifted the corners of Dumbledore’s mouth, then faded. “I’d bet on your unpracticed spells before I’d bet on Chudley Cannons on the Quidditch pitch. Cast it.”

Hermione bit her lip, raised her wand, and said with the proper arm sweep, “Tranquillo.” Dumbledore’s trembling lessened, but didn’t stop.

“Again.”

“T-tranquillo.”

“Tranquillus, Serenus, Confuto perculsus,” McGonagall cut in, waving her wand in figure eights, “and Dumbledore, you really should go to St. Mungo’s.”

“Not in front of the students. I’ll be fine. Really.” He stood up and smiled benignly at McGonagall and the other Heads of Houses, less Snape. His handless arm was lost somewhere in the folds of his robes. “Ah, and here we are.” The first students had prized open the heavy dungeon door and were looking around, their eyes showing a lot of white as they took in the pale faces of the staff and the sight of Harry, pulling himself to his feet with a murderous expression on his face. “Mr. Potter, thank you as ever for your assistance. In my office, if you don’t mind. Minerva, Filius, Pomona, Hermione, carry on.”

Hermione dearly wanted to ask some questions, but she put on her best teacher face and said brightly to the students, “Take your seats, please. Wands out. Put away your textbooks. We’ll be doing lab work today. The Impedimenta spell, I should think… .”

Some hours later, when classes were over for the day, Hermione trudged wearily out of the dungeons toward Dumbledore’s office. On the way, she passed Harry, haversack in hand. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Harry said shortly.

“Harry.”

He stopped and glanced up.

“Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know how you can be with that, that git!” he burst out.

“I think he did it to help Dumbledore—" Hermione began, but Harry cut in, “That’s what Dumbledore says. But it doesn’t make it any better. In front of everyone, nearly killing him! One of these days, I am going to make Snape pay for all the things he’s done!”

“Harry, you’ve got to put your feelings aside,” Hermione said anxiously. “He’s saved your life—"

“Not on purpose, and only when it helped himself! Ah—" he spun away, “I can’t talk about it any more! You-you—enjoy him!” And Harry strode away.

Hermione watched him go, feeling torn and unhappy. Then she mounted the stairs to Dumbledore’s office. She turned the knob and was about to walk in when she heard Dumbledore say, “How much time do I have?”

Hermione backed up.

Snape’s voice came to her plainly, “It’s impossible to tell with a curse like this, but I should say, perhaps another year, year and a half. I’ve bought you some time, at least.”

“Well,” Dumbledore said affably, “then I’ll be able to plan things a bit better.”

“Dumbledore! I could have done it months ago, in private, and saved you the humiliation, bought you even more time! There’s still more I could—"

“I think not,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “But I appreciate your efforts, Severus, as always.”

A tight silence followed. Then Snape said, “My standing with the Dark Lord is unchanged. He is happy with my work, if a bit dissatisfied with my aim.”

“Has he made you pay for this…dissatisfaction?”

“Not as such,” Snape replied neutrally. “But there are no second chances.”

“I see. And Bellatrix?”

Snape gave a bark of a laugh. “She knows I’ve made that Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa, so she’s holding her tongue, for now, though she’s even less pleased with my hand-eye coordination than the Dark Lord.”

Then Dumbledore said, “Hermione? Is that you?” Hermione got the distinct impression that he knew she had been there all the time, and now Snape did, too. She also knew that her lessons in Occlumency were not helping her disguise the pink in her cheeks. She walked into the office as composedly as possible.

“Yes. Sir.”

“You may call me Albus now. Or Dumbledore, if you prefer.”

Hermione’s blush intensified. She felt unable to try either, so she said only, “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks to the efforts of Madam Pomfrey, who has visited me, and Severus’s potions. And naturally, I’ve appreciated your concern and that of the other staff. But now there are some seasonal matters that now require my attention. The Yule Ball Planning Committee will be in any minute. Thank you both, and I’ll see you in the Great Hall for dinner.” Dumbledore gave them one of his amiable smiles, but Hermione knew they had just been dismissed.

She and Snape descended the spiral staircase together, not speaking. When they reached the bottom, Hermione could have sworn the gargoyle turned to her. Snape’s voice, in an undertone, said, “My rooms tonight after dinner.” And, still lower, “I have something for you.” Then he was gone, heading in the direction of the Great Hall, with all the appearance of having told her off.