Snape Redux

Snape Redux

By April Grey

Chapter Three – The Silver Thread

It all belongs to Rowling, except for the parts you don’t recognize.


Hermione Granger was having the worst week of her life. Of course, losing Professor Dumbledore was a terrible blow that had depressed Harry, Ron and her. The entire Wizarding World was in deep mourning. But to make matters worse, there was talk of Hogwarts closing—for good!

After the funeral a subdued group got on the Hogwarts Express. No one felt like talking much. Harry swore that he was only going to spend a short time with the Dursleys, but Hermione pointed out that the reason Dumbledore had asked him to be there was that the magical protection for him would still be in effect until July 31st, his 17th birthday.

Ron then stated that though Fleur and his brother, Bill, didn’t quite have a date picked out it was bound to be much sooner than Harry’s birthday so Harry should just pick up and come over whenever he felt like it.

Harry was inclined to head straight to the Burrow. Hermione shook her head. That would not be honoring the Headmaster’s wishes at all!

Harry and Ron got annoyed with her and refused to talk about anything but Quidditch for the rest of the trip. And the situation continued downhill. Both her parents were quite unlike themselves in the car trip to her home. And once home, she discovered why. They had talked and decided that Hermione was not to return to Hogwarts, nor was she to be associating with Harry and Ron until that “monster” Voldemort was put to rest.

Hermione explained to them that it was actually Prof. Snape that had killed Albus Dumbledore and, too late, realized her mistake. If a Hogwarts professor could turn out to be a homicidal maniac, then anyone in the Wizarding World was suspect! Hermione was told to put it all behind her and that was that.

Being treated that way, after all the years of respect from her parents, was the part that hurt her the most. Hermione was a girl with a keen sense of responsibility and able to handle herself intelligently in any circumstance. How could they have stopped believing in her?

In the couple of days since they received her owl, her mother had been busy contacting Hermione’s various college choices. She had already passed three “A” levels exams: English, French and Mathematics. Having spent a portion of each summer studying for them and then sitting her exams last winter, as far as her parents were concerned it was high time to do the “sensible” thing and leave an obviously dystopic world to return to the “real” one. Her mother had called all four Universities that Hermione was interested in and managed to procure her a placement for the Fall semester in one of them!

Hermione skipped dinner that first night and spent the evening in her room brooding. She had told her parents that in the Wizarding World she was of age, but they were unimpressed, insisting that what mattered was being of age in their world.

She couldn’t understand them a bit. Well, yes, she could understand that having a Ministry Auror sit all day everyday in the waiting room of her parents’ dentistry practice might be a bit off-putting. And the round the clock watch on their house by the Ministry was also difficult to accept even though their assigned watcher’s sense of Muggle clothing had improved significantly once Hermione’s mum had explained to him that most men wore trousers and that plus fours were only for playing golf.

Unfortunately, the night after Dumbledore had died, Hermione had had a nightmare where she dreamt of returning to her parents’ home to see the Dark Mark floating in the sky over it. The dream had left her confused. She didn’t want to leave her parents, but in her heart of hearts she knew that the only way to keep them safe was for Harry to succeed in his quest for the remaining Horcruxes--the sooner the better—and for that he’d need his friends by his side.

Around four A.M. after tossing and turning all night, Hermione made her decision. She wrote a note to her parents that she was leaving, and she Apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place. It had been a difficult choice where to head, the Burrow with all her friends or 12 Grimmauld Place. What eventually decided it for her was that Grimmauld was unplottable and therefore safer than the Burrow. Also there was a chance, albeit a very slim one, that Molly Weasley would side with Hermione’s parents and send her back.

Although much of Grimmauld Place was still dark and forbidding, Harry had arranged for certain rooms, like Hermione’s, to be painted in warm, cheerful colors. Her walls were a creamy white with teal trimming all around. There was a new rug on the floor in shades of purple, teal and orange and both her bedspread and her drapes picked up the colors. Crookshanks purred loudly as he made himself comfortable on the bed. And stroking the half Kneazle, Hermione fell asleep. She slept late the next morning. Close to noon she went downstairs to the kitchen only to find a gloomy looking Remus and a worried Tonks sitting there at the table drinking cups of tea.

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Remus’ face was haggard, more so than usual.

“Harry gave me permission to stay,” actually Harry had jokingly made a general invitation to both Ron and Hermione to come only if things got too raucous at the Burrow.

Tonks and Remus gave each other a look, “So will Harry be showing up soon?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know.” She sat down at the table. “And what’s been going on with the Order?”

“We almost caught up with him this morning. Must have missed him by minutes,” said Tonks.

“He may have been tipped off,” said Remus. “His robes from the battle were on his bed and there were damp towels and the bath was still wet.

“Whose robes and towels?”

“Snapes. There was an anonymous owl sent to the Ministry giving a street address in a small industrial town up North. The Muggle tax records showed that taxes had been kept up on it all this time. Paid for by Severus Snape.”

“Half blooded—just like Remus and me!” said Tonks. “Sort of a blood traitor in reverse.”

A cold feeling settled in the pit Hermione’s stomach, “Who would have suspected anything? None of us did.”

“Well, we all trusted Albus Dumbledore’s judgment, didn’t we?” bitterness crept in Remus’ voice. He sighed. “Yet, I’m still having a difficult time accepting it all. Harry said that Dumbledore believed Snape regretted James’ death. My mind just keeps going over it and over it. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Unfortunately, that was probably our one chance at getting him.” Tonks sighed and drummed the table with her fingertips. “Pure bloods can’t go to ground in the Muggle World very well because they just aren’t accustomed to making do without magic. They slip up, either use magic or draw attention to themselves in other ways by not understanding Muggle culture and they get caught. But someone who is half-blood or Muggle born-- becomes untraceable.”

Remus’ smiled and took Tonks’ busy hand to quiet it.

Hermione felt a little like she was in the way. “Well, I just need to grab a bite to eat and then I’ll be back in my room reading.” She got up and looked in the cupboard, which had a lot of condiments, such as sugar, powdered milk, and some Bovril, but nothing like the cereal she was counting on for her breakfast. “If I’m going to be staying here I should do some grocery shopping and get some supplies laid in.”

Remus’ looked chagrinned, “Normally there would be some food here, but I’ve--” he blushed.

“We’ve been mostly at my place,” Tonks jumped up. “I’ll escort you for the shopping. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be Apparating by yourself all over just yet.”

Remus also stood up. “I’ll come with you two. Safety in numbers.”

Hermione looked at them both, “I feel like I’m seven years old or being held a prisoner. Why can’t I head to the store by myself?”

“Hermione, be reasonable. It’s a war.” Remus sounded very sad. “And as Harry’s friend, you are an important target.”

Hermione felt a twinge of shame. Maybe her mum and dad had been right? “Well then, I’ll accept your offer. You’ll be my convoy,” she smiled.


By the time she got back it was mid-afternoon; she was tired and wanted to be left alone. She had a box of books, many of them rare and out of print, that had been lent to her by various professors, perhaps out of a fear that there would be no more Hogwarts? She had also gone on a shopping spree at Flourish and Blotts, taking advantage of a sale that she suspected was related to the fact that no one was leaving their home to go shopping at Diagon Alley anymore.

She took the book, “Advanced Arithmancy at a Glance” which had been lent to her by Professor Vector.

She sat and mentally put herself in the Hogwarts Arithmancy classroom as she read it. Hermione had been surprised to learn a few weeks ago that what she did when she studied was considered unusual. All her learning went into special rooms in a mental mansion she’d set up. Most of the rooms looked like the places she attended classes at Hogwarts. But there were other places, like the imaginary French bistro she sat in when reading Dumas in the original language for her French “A” level. And there was a small crofter cottage where she kept all her British Nineteenth Century novels. Any time she needed to remember a detail she simply went to where it was kept.

She was on the tenth chapter of the Arithmancy book when her eyes closed and she fell into a dream. In it, she was kissing Zacharias Smith in Hogwarts library. Normally this would have been cause for alarm. In her waking life she didn’t find him attractive at all. However, Hermione was a lucid dreamer. Since childhood she could force herself to wake up from any nightmare by telling herself that it was only a dream.

She continued to kiss the boy, starting to enjoy the experience and feeling wet.

“Well, thank Merlin it’s not Potter or Weasley,” came a droll voice.

Hermione panicked. This was a dream. Wake up. Wake up.

“Miss Granger,” came the voice, “you are not in control here.” Smith faded away and she watched as Professor Snape approached her study table and sat down.

How did Professor Snape get into her dream? Hermione knew the answer. It had been the same with Harry and Voldemort, hadn’t it?

“It’s my dream, Professor. So get out!” She shook her head, “I don’t know what you are doing here, but please leave. This is an invasion—“

“Isn’t the little know-it-all curious? Oh my, a first.” He leaned back and interlocked his fingers.

Hermione was trembling. “You killed the Headmaster. You betrayed the Order. We all trusted you.” Her fury at him flared up and then was replaced by fear. “I—I assume that you are going to make me do something bad. Something that would hurt Harry.”

He unlaced his fingers and tilted his head to the side, as if he was studying the quality of a new shipment of Abyssinian shrivelfig. “You want to believe that, but you can’t, not really. Your attempt at self-deception will fail. Insufferable little twit, I taught you for six years and this is the most faith you have in me?” He rapped his hand on the table sharply making Hermione jump.

“GET OUT!” she screamed. She could fight him: it was her dream space.

Eyes narrowing dangerously he stood up and grabbed her arms. “Stop and think.” He gave her a little shake. “Calm yourself.”

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes. “How can I be calm? You murderer! You don’t belong here.”

Snape modulated his voice, making it less harsh. “I have need of your service.”

“I won’t help you. I won’t be manipulated.”

He let her go and turned his back on her. “I shall return tomorrow night. Your assignment is to compile questions. I will answer them to your satisfaction and prove to you why you should help me.”

Now that he had let her go. Now that it looked like he was leaving, she felt a rush of determination. “I have questions you can answer right now.”

His back still to her he said, “I shall answer your questions tomorrow. Take your time and think carefully. The future of the Wizarding World depends on you.”

And then he was gone. Hermione was still asleep, still dreaming. But to her shock she saw something glitter where Snape had stood. She walked a little bit forward in her dream and knelt on the stone floor. She shivered. It was suddenly very cold and dark in the library.

She made herself think of a safe, well-lit place. Suddenly there was afire crackling only a few feet away from her and she found she was in the Gryffindor Common room. That was better. And on the well-worn and faded carpet was a silver thread. A thread left behind by her ex-professor. She tried to pick it up, but it was too thin.

What would happen if I followed it? she wondered.

Hermione sat back on the floor, folding her legs and staring at the silver filament. Harry had had a connection with Voldemort’s mind. But that link had theoretically been forged in response to the magic that happened from his mother’s loving sacrifice of her life for his.

No such event had happened here. Had Snape’s Legilimency left a back entrance to his mind? She continued to contemplate the thread. If she were to wake up now, would the thread disappear for good? Or could she preserve it in some way? She needed to think about this. She strongly doubted it was a trap, but with her in a dream state she was too vulnerable. What if she waited a bit? Yes. It was time to wake up.

Hermione awoke to find herself safe and warm. Actually, she was a bit too warm and she threw back the covers. She was soaked in sweat. Putting on a bathrobe, she walked down the hall to the bathroom and got herself a drink of water. She noted how her hand trembled as she held the glass.

A dream, but it wasn’t a dream. Snape had been there using Legilimency on her. She needed to study the old book on the subject she had bought at Flourish and Blotts in anticipation of her Occlumency studies planned for this summer with a Ministry expert sympathetic to the Order. Fortunately it was still in her trunk along with thirty other books that she had brought to keep her entertained.

She stopped. What was she thinking? That she was going to take on Professor—ugh, he wasn’t her professor anymore--should she call him, Severus? She flinched. He needed a new name. The Half Blood Prince or maybe just Snape? Good-o. Did she think she could take on Snape all on her own?

She should alert the Ministry. But maybe she should tell the Order. Professor McGonagall, or Remus? Tonks? Prof.-the Prince hadn’t told her not to tell anyone. Had he assumed she wouldn’t?

Hermione got back on her bed and rested her chin on her hand. He knew she did think he was innocent. When she had weighed all that she knew from Harry, like Remus, doubts had surfaced in her mind. Although she wanted to hate him for what he had done, after being his student for so many years she was having problems accepting it all. As nasty as he could be, killing Dumbledore just seemed out of character for him.

Harry had tried to hex Snape, so Harry had told her and Ron, but it was obvious that Snape was able to ward off anything Harry sent him. Snape could have taken Harry with him directly to Voldemort. But he didn’t. Instead he’d lectured Harry about not broadcasting his hexes.

It hadn’t made sense. If Snape was truly bad, why did he pass up the opportunity to kill Harry or kidnap him? Why give him notes on how to cast better hexes as if they were in a DADA class? And it went further. The headmaster had trusted Snape. Harry thought the old wizard had been mistaken in his faith. But what if Dumbledore couldn’t reassure him because--

Hermione sat up a bit straighter.

Harry had failed at Occlumency with Snape. Therefore his mind was still open to Voldemort. The past year it had been Voldemort shielding his mind from Harry. If there were proof, something the Dark Lord mustn’t find out, that Snape was working for the side of Light it would ruin Snape’s cover--all because Harry had failed in his studies with Snape. Therefore, it was much better that Harry believed Snape had been evil all along.

But to kill Dumbledore? She sighed; the pain of the loss of him was sharp. Dumbledore had begged Snape to help him and Snape had killed him. Snape had killed him? He was already weak and poisoned. Draco hadn’t been able to do the killing. Why had Dumbledore bespelled Harry, when if he’d released Harry things would have been fine? Harry could have protected the Headmaster. Why did Dumbledore tell Harry to go get Snape when they’d first arrived, was it only because Dumbledore had been poisoned or…?

It had all been prearranged.

Hermione padded downstairs in her slippers and robe to make herself some coffee. It was an audacious plan. Reinforce Voldemort’s trust in Snape and have him in place to help Harry when the time came.

There was one problem. If Snape came up with information to give to the Order or for Harry, no one would trust Snape enough to accept it. Except Hermione. Snape knew she still had a spark of faith in him! And she so wanted to believe in him, but… how could he prove that he wasn’t manipulating her feelings as a way to entrap Harry.

Use the thread!

The sun was rising as Hermione finished her first cup of coffee. Her mind was racing, even as her eyes burnt and itched from the lack of sleep. She was in a hell of uncertainty and Snape had put her there!

Hermione showered and got dressed.

The clock showed five forty-five a.m. Going into her trunk she sorted through the books and found it: a thin, grubby edition of “Adventures of the Mind,” by Glady B. Wiltworthy.

She took it downstairs and lit a fire in the study hearth. One more trip to the kitchen and she refilled her coffee cup. She then brought it back up with her to sit by the fire in the study and read through the little book. It wasn’t very useful. Miss Wiltworthy was a chatty Witch making it all sound like some sort of quaint travelogue rather than a study of the assault and defense of the mind. However, it confirmed that indeed, sometimes if a Legilimens was not cautious a tiny back door might be left behind. Such devices did not last very long; they were ephemeral and had to be used and re-enforced or they would fade away. And once the owner realized his mistake, the door would be slammed shut. Hermione closed the book, ran back upstairs and threw herself on her bed.

Hopefully it wasn’t too late. She relaxed her body, just as if she was going to mentally go over her classwork for an exam. She closed her eyes and put herself back in the Gryffindor Commons Room. She didn’t see it at first, but after getting down on her hands and knees and squinting, she found it.

The thread was less material now, barely a shimmer of light on the carpeting. Hermione reached out and put her finger on it. She focused her will through that one filament and was rewarded by a tugging sensation. Follow it, she thought. Suddenly, she was moving very fast through darkness and then she stopped. She looked around her at a small, claustrophobic library.

Hermione smiled. She didn’t know if Snape stored all his memories here, but she guessed not. It was probably just an annex. Still she had to be careful not to alert him of her presence. She needed to find what she was looking for and quickly get out.

The question uppermost in her mind was: Could she trust him? The answer her mind immediately supplied was: it all depended on the situation. Slytherins were notorious for being on their own side. If they shared a common goal with you then they could be trusted. But once the goals diverged, they would be off again pursuing their own interests. But what had made him choose to be a double, or perhaps triple, agent?

“Hermione?”

Hermione gasped and looked behind her. “Professor Dumbledore?”


AN: Please keep feeding the Author. And many thanks to TheAngelOfSilence, dryade, Lynda, nesscafe, NegativeNine, LittleBird, Rebecca and Lyndie578.