The Potions Master

Over the next weeks, Hermione spent almost all of her free time in the Potions Dungeon. She and Snape spent hours at a time talking. He told her all about his childhood, growing up with no mother and a Death Eater for a father, then his schooling, when he was ostracized and mocked by his classmates. She told him about making the transition from the Muggle world to the wizarding world and how out of place she felt sometimes, even amongst the other Muggle-borns.

Finally, Hermione gathered up all her courage and decided to ask the question she had been wanting to ask since that detention more than two months before. She waited until they were laying in bed together after a leisurely lovemaking session. The sex had become more tender and less frantic lately; she felt he was coming to care for her, and though she hated to admit it, she was beginning to care for him as well.

“Severus,” she said, leaning on one elbow across his stomach, her hair draping over his chest, “I’ve been wanting to ask – could you tell me now why you are so harsh on us in class?”

Snape sighed and sat up in bed, forcing Hermione to sit back. “Hermione, I trust you, and I’m going to tell you the truth. But you must promise me not to tell anyone what I tell you.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, it would change the way Harry and Ron acted around me. Secondly, it could put a lot of people in a lot of danger if it got out.” Hermione’s eyebrows raised and she started to open her mouth, but Snape raised his hand to stop her. “You’ll understand once I’ve explained,” he said. Hermione nodded and Snape began.

“As you know, I was a Death Eater for many years. Prior to the deaths of Lily and James Potter, I became a spy for Dumbledore, bringing him valuable information. In fact, I was the one who informed him of the Dark Lord’s downfall at the hands of the infant Potter. Last year, Professor Dumbledore announced to the school that Dark Lord had returned. What he did not announce was that I was in the cemetery that night with Harry. I responded to the summons, as a good Death Eater would.

You see, Hermione, the Death Eaters, as well as their master, believe that I am one of them. They think that my actions as a spy were merely a ruse and that I was feeding Dumbledore false information. In fact, Dumbledore staged several mock ‘raids’ to make the Death Eaters believe that I was misleading him as to their locations and identities. So they believe I am on their side, while in fact I am working for Dumbledore, attempting to bring down their organization from the inside out.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you treat Harry the way you do!” Hermione cried, intrigued but exasperated.

“I’m getting to that,” Snape said patiently. “I must be harsh with Gryffindors and Muggle-borns simply because I am a Slytherin. It would seem odd if I wasn’t. I must be doubly harsh with Harry and his friends because he was the cause of the Dark Lord’s downfall. Do you see? If I showed him any measure of kindness or allowed him any leeway whatsoever, it would cast doubt on my reputation as a loyal and trustworthy Death Eater.”

Hermione’s face suddenly changed and Snape knew she understood. “I see,” she said, “but isn’t it hard?”

“Immensely. It is difficult for me to be harsh and unmerciful to a good student like Harry,” he said, “but it was a thousand times harder for me to be harsh and unmerciful to an outstanding student such as yourself, Hermione. You were always the best in your class at Potions. What am I saying – you’re best in your class at everything!”

Hermione flushed with pleasure. “You’re only saying that because I’m sleeping with you,” she teased, “besides, you should’ve seen me in Divination!”

* * *

“Hermione,” said Harry one morning, “can I talk to you?” It was a clear Saturday morning in April and Harry had managed to catch Hermione free for the first time in weeks. She was always either studying frantically or missing.

“Sure, Harry,” said Hermione, raising an eyebrow at his serious tone. “What’s going on?”

Harry led Hermione to an empty corner of the Common Room and cast a quick silencing spell around the two of them. “Hermione,” he sighed, “I know where you’ve been going every night. I’ve been so worried about you and you wouldn’t tell me anything and I hardly ever see you outside of class anymore and I was worried that Malfoy or somebody was blackmailing you into doing their homework or something like that except you seemed so happy and I just…” He stopped short when he saw Hermione’s face contorted with rage. “I used the Marauder’s Map,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Hermione stood, trembling with barely repressed anger. “You SPIED on me!” she spat, “you violated my privacy when you knew I would tell you when I felt the time was right! How DARE you!”

Harry grabbed her hand before she could storm off. She snatched it away and raised it to slap him. He ducked away and took her by the shoulders roughly. “Hermione, LISTEN to me!” he demanded, shaking her, “you’re going to get yourself into trouble, messing around with a teacher! And don’t tell me you’ve been cleaning cauldrons or practicing Potions or something because it would be a lie and we both know it. What kind of a man seduces a vulnerable 16-year-old girl and carries on a secret affair with her within the very walls of the school?”

“Not that it’s any of your information, but I seduced him!” Hermione said. Harry’s jaw dropped and he was struck dumb for just long enough for Hermione to escape.

* * *

“Severus!” Hermione burst into the Potions classroom, startling Snape as he was grading essays.

He jumped up and rushed to her. “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

She buried her face in his chest and burst into tears. “Harry knows and he’s so angry,” she sobbed, “and he thinks you’re a lecher and what if he tells and what are we going to DO?”

Snape sighed and thought a moment. “Go find Harry. Bring him here. We’ll talk with him and work things out.” He raised her chin and wiped away her tears. “He’s a reasonable boy. Don’t worry, it’ll be ok.” Hermione nodded and obediently left to fetch Harry.

* * *

“I still don’t like it.” Harry and Hermione sat before the fire in the common room, sharing a plate of chocolate chip cookies they had snuck out of the kitchen on their way back from the dungeon.

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, “but I’m still going to do it. Can I trust you to back me?”

“I’ll back you,” said Harry, snatching the last cookie as Hermione reached for it, “but I reserve the right to complain about it whenever I want. And I still want help with my homework.” He crammed the cookie in his mouth, grinning squirrel-cheeked at her.

“Deal,” she said happily.