Vain Wisdom All and False Philosophy

Author’s Notes: I send all of my gratitude to my dedicated beta, melusin.

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Chapter Six - Before Mine Eyes in Opposition Sits

The steamy aroma of Shepherd’s Pie hung in the air as all the Order members marched into the stuffy kitchen. Instead of seizing her favorite chair by the dwindling fire, Hermione decided to sit by Harry and Ron at the dinner table. Each of them had arrived downstairs early for dinner hoping to catch the other two before the meeting began.

After their row during breakfast, the trio had spent the day ignoring each other as much as possible. But, one whole day was more than enough for the three best friends. In years past, they had each possessed the potential to go days, weeks even, sustaining a grudge for the sake of pride. But now, during times like these… everything was different. One day was long enough.

All three smiled as a pink-haired women flew through the kitchen door, stumbling to prevent herself from falling on the stone floor. Ron quickly leaned back, stretching his arm out to catch her.

“Wotcher, Ron,” Tonks smiled as she straightened herself up.

“Tripped over the rug again, eh?” he laughed.

“Horrible place to put one, I always said.”

Tonks casually took a seat between Ron and Hermione instead of Moody and Shacklebolt, since she was able to effortlessly enter into relaxed conversation with them. While Tonks was engaged animatedly talking to Ginny, Hermione smirked, noticing Ron repeatedly cast longing gazes at the female Auror. Hermione attempted to focus on their conversation to distract herself from a separate pair of thoughtful eyes directly across from her.

“You should speak to Dumbledore tonight, Hermione,” said Sirius from across the table. “I know he said he would give you the details of his mission when you arrived at Hogwarts on Monday, but you are obviously stressed over this.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right.”

She really did not want to think about this at the moment. Thinking of her mission made Hermione think of spying. And spying made her think of Professor Snape.

“Sirius, can I ask you something?”

When his head tilted to the side to signal his complete attention, Hermione continued. “I’m worried about Remus. He hasn’t been looking too good lately, and the next full moon is still two weeks off.”

Both turned their attention to the kind werewolf leaning against the rough kitchen wall. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were taking turns, attempting to draw him into their conversation, but Remus merely smiled stiffly before returning his stony gaze to the floor. His complexion was far more pasty then usual, and fresh scars were etched on his face and hands. He almost never attended breakfast anymore, owning to the need for sleep in the morning since he retired so late each night.

“He’s… uh… doing okay,” Sirius dejectedly answered.

“Can I ask what he is doing when--?”

“No, Hermione,” he interrupted, whipping his head around to look sternly at her. “And, please, don’t ask him either.”

“Um, all right.” Now Hermione had something else to add to her growing pile of potential research.

Sirius quickly attempted to change the subject. “Why in Merlin’s name is Dumbledore always the last one to arrive?” Sirius sighed. He fiddled with the food on his plate while tapping his foot impatiently against the floor.

“What’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Hmm? Oh,you’ll see. Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom,” Sirius mocked, “has given me a rather far fetched assignment as well--”

“This doesn’t sound too good.”

“Don’t interrupt, Harry.”

Harry briefly scowled at Hermione’s instinctual reprimand.

“It’s nothing dangerous, Harry. But, just wait. I know it’s one of the topics that will be covered tonight.”

At that moment, in a flurry of violet robes, Dumbledore swiftly entered the kitchen. He smiled at the assembly before heading straight for the plush armchair by the fire. He began the meeting promptly, instead of trying to enter into light conversation with those seated closest to him. The wise old man appeared very much as he had two weeks ago; incredibly exhausted, shoulders hunched with age.

Hermione tried to pay attention to what the Headmaster was saying, but she could not peel her eyes away from the kitchen door. At the previous meeting, Snape had entered immediately behind Dumbledore. She assumed that they had left Hogwarts and traveled together.

“… has been making much headway with the other werewolves.” Hermione’s eyebrows disappeared behind her short curl, her head snapping towards the Headmaster.

“I just do what I can, Albus,” sighed Remus.

She frowned when Dumbledore began discussing the intelligence obtained from within the Ministry of Magic. She had hoped she would get more information about Remus and his dealings with the other werewolves. Hermione stared at him as her mind refused to grasp the details of the new topic the Headmaster was discussing with the Aurors. But, Hermione’s worrisome gaze wasn’t the only one transfixed on Lupin.

Tonks was staring at him so intently, as if she wished he would look up and meet her eyes.

Hermione’s eyes traveled back and forth around the room, taking in the faces of each of her Order companions. A heart-skipping pressure clenched painfully on her gut. Everyone appeared to be so miserable, as if at any moment with the bringing of bad news, all hope would be lost. Hermione could not help but think that the war with Voldemort and his Death Eaters was not looking very hopeful.

Even if we could say we were winning, must it always be at our expense? At what point does a noble sacrifice turn into a suffocating obligation?

Hermione suddenly stiffened. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the billow of black robes whipping around the kitchen counter. Hers was the only head that turned to glance at the shadowy man as he positioned himself against the wall in the corner furthest from the doors leading to the entrance hall. That is not to say that no one noticed the dark man as he entered the kitchen, just that nobody cared.

Hermione tried to turn her head away from him to face Dumbledore, but her curious light brown eyes stayed firmly glued to his form. Professor Snape was not sitting down this evening nor was he attempting to drink. His sinewy figure tilted back against the kitchen wall, arms crossed. He leaned his head forward to make his long hair cascade over his eyes.

Knowingly, Snape slowly lifted his eyes from the floor to meet Hermione’s stare just as Professor Dumbledore requested her attention.

“Yes, Headmaster?”

“Have you changed your mind since the last meeting, my dear?”

“Of course not, Professor.” She hesitated a moment, thinking if she should bring this question up now or privately at the end of the meeting.

Now. She wanted Professor Snape to hear.

“Although,” Hermione continued, “I must admit that I am a bit apprehensive about what is expected of me. I will do as you ask to the best of my abilities, but I must confess that cunning and stealth are not two of my strongest attributes.”

A knowing snort came from the kitchen corner. Her temper flared.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at her, while a humming chuckle shook in his throat. “Perhaps, my dear, perhaps. But I think we can safely say that you are especially gifted in cleverness, and that, along with my faith in your incredible magical abilities, would most definitely make up the difference.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“As I said before, we will discuss the finer details once you arrive at Hogwarts, but I need to go over a few basics first.” Dumbledore smiled as Hermione sat straighter in her seat. By the twitch in her fingers, he could tell she was itching for a quill and some parchment.

“First and foremost, you are not to speak of this to any other student. This is information strictly for Order members. And also, your main purpose is to observe, and to observe only. No matter how much you may suspect someone of being a potential follower of Voldemort, you are NOT to attempt to gain their confidence. Is that clear?”

Her brow furrowed as she made an effort to quickly analyze all this information. Yes, she was relieved that she did not have to go making friends with the likes of Malfoy, but it seemed almost too easy. This was not the secretive, tough mission she assumed it would be.

It was not enough.

The soft hair on the nape of her neck tingled when she noticed that all eyes were on her. But, being the center of attention in a sea of people never bothered Hermione. In fact, she relished such attention at the times when she thought she was performing at her best. But, if everyone was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her answer, then so was he.

She attempted to nonchalantly look about the room into everyone’s faces, but her gaze did not stop roaming until her vision latched onto a pair of piercing black eyes.

She quickly turned back to Dumbledore.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I assumed… no… I had hoped that I could be of more use to you. Surely, I would obtain more information for the Order if I could speak personally to suspected followers of Voldemort.”

“Are you mental, Hermione? Of course that isn’t a good idea!”

“I was talking to Professor Dumbledore, Ron… ”

“Although I would not use Mr. Weasley’s exact sentiments,” Dumbledore interrupted, “I agree that it is not a good idea. This is not up for discussion, Miss Granger. It was an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, onto something a bit more light-hearted. We are, once again, in need of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, for while Severus performed outstandingly last year, I am afraid he will be far too busy to continue.”

“What?” Harry questioned triumphantly.

Hermione’s annoyance and irritation went beyond her own comprehension at that moment. Her only reaction to Harry’s interruption was a deep groan as she raised her hands to massage her temples.

“Do not worry, Harry. You will still have an equally fascinating substitute for a professor.” All heads in the room, save Snape‘s, quickly followed the Headmaster’s line of vision and looked pointedly at Harry‘s godfather. No one took any notice of the hollow stare Dumbledore exchanged with Sirius.

“It would be prudent if you addressed your godfather as Professor Black among the student body, so I dare say you should start practicing now.”

“Brilliant!” shouted Ron.

“Very brilliant, indeed,” sneered a deep voice from the kitchen corner. “The parents of Hogwarts’ students will be ecstatic to have an Azkaban escapee as a professor against the Dark Arts, I’m sure.”

Hermione’s body quickly tensed as she waited for the expected argument to ensue.

Sirius’ chair loudly scrapped against the stone floor as he turned to face Snape.

“Is that so? Some might find a pardoned Azkaban escapee preferable to a murderous Death Eater,” he chided.

“Sirius!” Dumbledore was not in the mood for this tonight. He sighed as the angry men rounded on each other, clearly ignoring him, both with their right hands hidden in their robe pockets.

A vicious smirk danced around the edges of Snape’s lips. Even though both men seemed poised, ready to attack one another, Hermione instantly caught sight of a destructive flicker in Snape’s eye, filled with anticipation of catching possible prey; a determination which was notably absent in the eyes of Harry’s godfather.

“Now that I think about it, maybe the Headmaster did make the right decision,” Snape drawled. “After all, we cannot have you moping about this house with too much... time… on your hands, now, can we?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Sirius quickly froze, the blood draining from his face. He turned accusing eyes towards the old man seated so omnisciently by the kitchen fire. For a second he hopefully thought to see Dumbledore’s expression filled with regret, but the old wizard’s face only showed knowing determination.

Sirius suddenly became aware of all the confused faces gaping at him. Questioning him. Expecting a performance from him. Fuck them. He could hurl insults and hex Snape whenever he pleased, he didn’t need to do it for them.

He needed to get out of the kitchen.

Hermione watched the kitchen door swing on its hinges behind Sirius. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as Sirius pounded up the stairs toward the entrance hall, slamming the front door upon his exit.

She felt sorry for Sirius. It seemed like Snape’s nasty criticisms of his uselessness to the Order still got to him.

Noticing Harry turn furious eyes toward Severus, Dumbledore loudly cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention.

“I believe that all the crucial information was covered tonight. Meeting dismissed. I bid you all a night of restful slumber.”

Extremely reminiscent of the last meeting, Hermione sorrowfully watched Harry thunder his way through the kitchen door, with an apprehensive Ron and Ginny trailing him.

Rising from her seat to clear the dirty plates and cups from the dinner table, Hermione barely noticed those leaving. Expectantly, Molly materialized at her side to shoo her away from tidying up, but was quickly distracted as she followed her sons to the entrance hall.

Hermione deposited the grimy plates in the rusted sink where a bewitched scrubbing brush waited to clean them. With a tired sigh, she brought both hands up to her temples, slowly rubbing in circular motions. She hadn’t noticed until now how insistent her headache was. It had slowly grown worse throughout the meeting, and now it was horrendous. The pounding felt like someone was constantly snapping rubber bands against the inside of her skull. Not to mention that unrelenting fuzziness that had returned with a vengeance right behind her brow.

Eyes closed, Hermione lazily turned around to lean her back against the sink. She concentrated on the brisk crackle of the hearth fire, relishing her solitude in the expansive kitchen.

Hearing a rustle of fabric in front of her, Hermione snapped her head up, opening her eyes. She gasped at the sight of her Potions master looming directly in front of her before painfully closing her eyes again at the sudden movement.

She scowled as an amused chuckle filled her ears. Hermione was not in the mood to be laughed at. Nor did she feel like being reprimanded for last night. In her opinion, he had punished her enough.

Hermione was just about to rudely demand what he wanted when she spied his hand reaching into his robes. Her body pressed harder into the granite counter top for very justifiable reasons. Hermione fully expected him to pull his wand out and use it on her.

Snape leaned back languorously against the other kitchen counter directly across from her, and gracefully held out a small glass vial towards her.

She merely gaped at him, thoroughly shocked.

Raising an eyebrow in irritation he said, “Come now, Miss Granger. If I wanted to poison you, I would slip the toxicant into your morning tea instead of giving you the option to drink it… or not.”

Hermione hesitantly reached out to take the vial from his hands. She almost drew back as the tip of her finger lightly grazed his wrist.

Quickly pulling the cork out of the vial, she brought it up to her nose.

With a smirk dancing on the edges of his lips, Snape watched her visibly sigh in relief as she swallowed every drop.

Instantly, her headache disappeared.

“Thank you, Professor.”

His only response was a mere nod as he turned to stalk out of the kitchen.

Hermione was about to call after him, but stopped herself when she realized she couldn’t think of a word to say.

*** *** ***

A neat pile of ignored school books rested on the floor against the library settee. Hermione glanced at them as she paced back and forth across the hearth rug, nibbling the back of her index finger. She had completely lost track of time, not knowing how long she had paced the library, deliberating over the decision she had made.

The minute Snape had walked out of the kitchen, Hermione had stood against the kitchen sink for a bit as her mind contemplated an outrageous idea. Even now, in the middle of the night, she still thought it mad, although she had had hours to change her mind.

She was going to follow her Professor again.

At first, Hermione had been incredibly embarrassed that Professor Snape had scoffed at her attempt at furtiveness. He had mocked her assignment and thrown her ignorance in her face. It had been humiliating.

But now, after having had all day to think about it, and after the Order meeting, tenacity began to fester within Hermione.

I wasn’t caught the first night. I followed all three of them and watched them for at least fifteen minutes. They didn’t even hear me leave. I couldn’t be that horribly loud.

She was angry. And, that anger fuelled her determination to prove something to herself and to Professor Snape. The more she contemplated, the more she believed she could actually pull off not being caught stalking around Hogwarts in the middle of the night. After all, she’d been doing it for years already; and she had yet to get caught by Professor Snape at school.

The headache potion gradually wore off as she sat anxiously on the settee. In an effort to appease her growing tension, Hermione gathered her school books off the end table and placed a few in her lap. Opening her History of Magic book to chapter seven, she continued where she had left off in the morning.

“…tired of the preachings of Bernard of Clairvaux, Sir Horatius Balder fled the legion in 1150 to pursue his own desires. In a rebellion against the beliefs of his brothers in The Knights Templar, Sir Horatius became known as one of the first supporters of Radical Dualism, a sect of Gnosticism that he combined with the ancient magic found in The Gospel of Matthias… ”

Hermione stopped reading. She thought she heard a noise in the entrance hall; her ears strained to listen.

It’s probably Ron coming down to nick something from the kitchen.

She could not fully convince herself, however, so she rose from her seat to take a look. Earlier in the evening Hermione knew that she would be attempting to peak through the library door sometime during the night. So, upon entering a few hours ago, she had left it open a crack instead of fully closing it. She figured it was almost impossible to slowly open the library door without making some type of disturbance.

Hermione slyly tip-toed to steady her vision along the waiting crack. The darkness of the entrance hall, compared with the brightness of the library, forced her eyes to take a few moments to adjust to the shadows.

At first, she thought no one was there until she noticed a dark figure resting against the front door.

Professor Snape!

Her heart was pounding incredibly hard in anticipation of what she was about to do. She was almost afraid that he could hear it.

Hermione watched him steady his breathing as he brought his hand up to pinch the bridge between his brow.

After a few uneasy moments, he finally pushed his body away from the door to slowly tread up the dark stairway.

This time, Hermione waited long after Professor Snape’s cloak had vanished out of view before she left the library.

Slowly, step by step, Hermione crept up the stairway as quietly as she possibly could. She paused every few moments to see if she could hear any movement above her. Faint creaks loosened the moulded wood panellings directly above her, causing her to cover her mouth to prevent herself from coughing. Her heartbeat throbbed deafeningly in her ears as she finally approached the last steps to the second-floor landing.

Unsurprisingly, the corridor was incredibly dark just as it had been the previous two times she had walked down it. With no other occupant on this landing, Mrs. Weasley hardly ever came up here to clean. Hermione could feel a thick layer of dusty grit sticking to the bottom of her bare feet.

As she approached the end of the corridor, doubt suddenly swallowed up her fortitude. What would she do if he was already in his room? What point would that prove? He would never know she had come. But, I would know he didn’t catch me.

But what if he did catch her…What on earth could she tell him?

Hermione stared at the darkness shrouding the corner at the end of the corridor. She was scared; she had no shame in admitting that. But, she also knew that no amount of fear was going to prevent her from walking down the corridor that led to Snape’s room.

Now, Hermione.

She didn’t go.

Okay, NOW.

She still couldn’t move.

As her hand firmly grasped the wand in her robe pocket, Hermione’s courage finally caught up with her determination. Already knowing it was a horrid idea, she could not stop herself from screwing her eyes shut as she made the two steps it took to walk around the bend.

Her breath caught in her throat when… nothing happened. Hermione opened her eyes to fully take in the corridor. It was completely void of Professor Snape. It wasn’t until then that she realized she had fully expected him to catch her.

Hermione slowly took a few timid steps toward Snape’s bedroom door. A heavy weight dropped in her stomach as she eyed every dark corner and shadow. Something did not feel right at all, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. The hair on the back of her neck and along her forearms prickled as uneasiness washed over her. And yet, she kept walking.

Halfway down the corridor, Hermione’s steps slowed as she finally realized what was wrong. Her head whipped towards Professor Snape’s door, eyes trailing along the edges before finally settling on the crack below. There was no light coming from his room. He was either asleep or he hadn’t entered yet…

Just as the realization hit her, a movement to her left caught her attention. She gasped as a shadow sprang out from a deep alcove in the wall, lunging at her. She raised her wand at the charging body, but all words seemed to escape her.

Desperately trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating, Hermione thought she would lose consciousness the moment his large, cold hand closed around her wrist.

Snape ruthlessly bent her palm back so her wand pointed towards the ceiling and then fell to the stone floor. With lightning speed reflexes, he spun her body around so her face and chest lay flat against the stone wall, and pulled her wand arm behind her back.

Hermione stubbornly swallowed whimpers from the pain he was causing in her wrist and arm. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. But, as his face lowered to her ear, her breathing hitched as his hot breath and deep voice crushed her bravado.

“Are you intoxicated, Miss Granger?” It was merely a whisper, but sounded much more resonant spoken directly into her ear.

No matter how terrified she was, no matter how she feared the consequences of getting caught, Hermione’s resolve steeled. She was not going to turn into a mumbling mess this time.

“No, sir.”

He yanked on her wand arm, forcing her to spring away from the stone wall, just to be pressed back against it by her shoulders. She cringed when her hair snared in his finger tips. Her lower spine made contact against the stones, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Finally opening her eyes, she instantly made eye contact so he could see the anger threatening from within.

Snape scoffed at her attempt at self-control.

“You are either pissed, Miss Granger, or insane to do something as idiotic as to follow me. Again.”

“I am neither, sir,” she replied tersely.

Snape’s lip curled at her insolence. He snarled as he threateningly brought his arm up to wrap strong fingers around her pale throat.

An insulted grunt escaped Hermione’s mouth. She swiftly raised both arms to swat his hand away.

His eyes widened at her daring move.

Immediately, Snape reached out to capture both her arms, pinning them to the wall above her. A self-satisfied glint flickered in his expression when her eyes finally showed the fear he wanted to see in them.

“One more time. WHY are you following me?”

She repeatedly swallowed the thick thump in her throat before she could answer.

“Just practicing, sir,” she murmured innocently.

Her eyes meandered around, taking in everything she could about his face. She finally settled on his black eyes as they narrowed, scrutinizing her. It wasn’t until then that she realized how deep and clipped her breathing was growing by the second.

“I daresay you should practice more often, if you ever want to rid yourself of that riotously boisterous demeanour. However, I do not appreciate you doing it on my time, Miss Granger,” he hissed.

She stared at him for several long, silent moments as she took in his words. Perilously, she kept glancing back and forth between each of Snape’s menacing eyes, memorizing everything in front of her. His brow was taut from stress. His lank hair curtained his face, exaggerating the severity of his cheekbones. The bags under his eyes seemed as purple as bruises.

Maybe they were bruises.

She finally rested her vision along his mouth. Where most people have smile lines, Snape actually had frown lines. She had never seen such deep frown lines before.

How old is he? He can’t be more then thirty-seven.

Her eyes slowly softened as she studied the skin around his lips. Her heart continued its rapid thudding in her chest, but it was no longer motivated by fear. For the briefest of moments, as she stared at the line by his mouth, random connections started forming in Hermione’s thoughts.

Months of solitude and worry over the war, uneasiness over her mission, and months of fretful concern for her parents, her friends, her very life, seemed to hit her all at once.

Wetness pooled around her eyes. These were worries that the man standing over her had never had the horrific luxury to experience.

Every emotion clamoring in her mind manifested itself in that one frown line. It suddenly hit her that she would be hard pressed only to see him as the unfeeling, unaffected machine of Dumbledore. The danger he lived with; his sacrifices he made to give the Headmaster much needed information, it was all there in front of her. What a life one must lead to have the torment of never experiencing true, heart-warming happiness etched so visibly on their face.

Ever so slowly, with her arms still pinned to the stone wall above her, Hermione leaned her upper body as far as she could. Her eyes never strayed from the faint line on the side of Snape’s mouth.

All logical thoughts or reason fled her mind as she placed the faintest kiss on his lower cheek. Her eyes were lightly hooded, but never closed.

Snape’s eyes widened. He jerked back from her as if burned. But, he never let go of his firm grip on her wrists.

He yanked her arms in front of her. “I stand by my previous assertion. You must be intoxicated, Miss Granger, to do something so reckless.”

“No, sir. I am perfectly sober.”

“I do not know what little game you are playing, but it ends now. I may not understand this odd change in your behavior, but let it be known that I am not the least bit amused by your actions,” he sneered.

His eyes narrowed, watching for any emotions her face might betray. Even she seemed to be as surprised as he was over her incredibly stupid move.

“The next time you are this bored, Miss Granger, I suggest keeping your meddlesome nose in your books, and away from those, like me, who do not appreciate your presence.”

He quickly let go of both her wrists as he whirled away from her to stalk back to his bedroom.

Hermione watched his retreating figure, heart heavy with almost unbearable dejection. But this type of emotion did not make her cry.

Defeated, confused, and embarrassed, she turned to walk down the staircase and back to her bedroom. As she turned the corner on her landing, the soft hums of a brisk conversation distracted Hermione from the mess in her head.

Walking up to Harry and Ron’s room, she gave a warning knock before entering.

“Look, Harry,” Ron continued as he signaled Hermione to sit next to him on the edge of his bed. “You’re doing it again, mate. I don’t expect you to… you know… get all emotional and share your feelings, but something’s up. You’ve been acting… off.”

“I’m NOT touched in the head,” Harry barked, glaring up at them through the messy hair covering his eyes.

“No one said you were, Harry,” Hermione jumped in immediately. “But, Ron’s right.” Hermione had the grace to look uncomfortable as those exact words exited her mouth.

Arms crossed, Harry refused to share more information then he had to. He didn’t want them to be disappointed in him.

Hermione got up from Ron’s bed and crossed the room. “You weren’t at your aunt and uncle’s house this summer,” she questioned delicately as she sat next to him. “Were you?”

“I was.” Harry lifted his head. “For a little while.”

“What happened?” asked Ron.

“I left.”

“With Dumbledore,” Hermione attempted to finish for him.

Harry fidgeted in his seat, preparing himself for their reactions.

“Uh… no, I just left.”

“By yourself!” Hermione gasped. “Why on earth would you do something so foolish?”

Harry growled irritably, jumping up from his seat. “I couldn’t just sit there, in my room, when Voldemort - calm down Ron - when Voldemort was doing who knows what out there.” He finished his sentence by pointing at the night sky outside the high steepled windows.

“Where did you go?” Hermione asked quietly, on the verge of tears.

“To find Nagini,” Harry answered softly. “I worked out how to enter her mind,” he added loudly, expecting a violent reaction.

Ron paled, his mouth gaping as he attempted to find his words. “Are you mad?”

“Dumbledore seemed to think so,” Harry snorted.

“That’s so risky Harry,” Hermione added. “What if Voldemort was controlling her when you projected yourself?”

“He was.” At the sounds of their gasps, he decided to explain further. “And… he wasn’t. She was a Horcrux, so technically she had a bit of Voldemort in her… but… it wasn’t Voldemort.”

Harry stalked to his four-poster, shooting Ron and Hermione irritated looks as he turned down his bed. “It doesn’t matter,” he added. “Dumbledore forbade me to search for more Horcruxes alone, anyway.”

*** *** ***

“The next time you decide to force sleep on me, I would prefer a Bludger to the head rather than a chemically induced solution,” Sirius hissed.

“You are overreacting,” Remus sighed.

“You don’t know what you could have done!”

Remus stopped suspiciously eyeing the customers entering the pub to stare uneasily at his dearest friend.

“What could I have done, exactly?” he insisted. Frustrated, Remus sighed when Sirius turned his head away to avoid answering the question.

“Dammit, Sirius! You can’t keep doing this. It’s been long enough. When are you going to tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

“Forget it.” Sirius fingered the cool metal of the watch in his pocket, hoping Remus would just drop it.

“If you’re so afraid of a chemically induced slumber, I suggest you put that tumbler down.”

“I will decide what I can and can’t handle. Have you got that?” Sirius barked.

“Yes, all right, calm down.”

“When are they expecting you back?”

It was Remus’ turn to steer Sirius away from the question. There were so many unspoken questions and answers between the two of them now; years of swallowing up emotions to spare the other unnecessary pain, the pain of watching each other’s daily horror.

Remus knew Sirius was staring at him. He could see the whites of his eyes from the corner of his vision. They should not be doing this anymore. If they were going to get through this war, they both needed to know what was going on with the other. Remus desperately wanted to know about the hell Sirius lived with every day. He did not understand it, but he wasn’t stupid.

Finally facing him, Remus stared into the eyes of his last childhood friend; the friend for whom he had had to experience the torment of losing, not once, but twice. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would happen again. Sirius’ eyes were so different now from what they were before he passed through the veil. His fire was gone. It was hard to convince yourself that you wouldn’t lose your best friend a third time if his eyes already looked dead.

“Stop it.”

“Then tell me what I can do for you?” Remus pleaded.

Sirius scoffed at the predictable question. “Exactly what it seems I can do for you. Not a damn thing.”

A long, uncomfortable silence passed between them before Remus finally confessed. “Not all of them have bitten others, you know. So, I’m not as much at risk as you think.”

“Have you run into him yet?”

Remus’ eyes narrowed as he chose to ignore the question. Sirius should know better then to bring him up.

“Never mind, then,” Sirius sighed. “Look, I know what they are like. They won’t give you the time of day once they find out you still haven’t bitten anyone since the last time they saw you. And they will know. Your name is as well known among them as mine is among wizards. Especially if they are companions of him.”

“Fucking hell, if you’re going to bring this up then say his name. He doesn’t deserve the status of Voldemort.”

“Fine,” Sirius spat. “Have you run into Greyback yet?”

“No.”

“The others won’t trust you if he doesn’t trust you first.”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!”

Sirius’ only response was to direct his attention to swallowing the contents of the tumbler.

Leaning back in his chair, a surly rumble escaped Remus’ throat as he ran both his hands through his hair.

“You transform in two weeks,” said Sirius.

“And?”

“Are you going to take your Wolfsbane?”

“Yes,” Remus said blankly. He wasn’t ready to stalk under the full moon with the others yet. He had barely started to contact them again. But, eventually, very soon, he knew he would have to stop taking his Wolfsbane. How he dreaded it.

And, eventually, very soon, he would have to build a friendship with the one man he feared more then Voldemort himself. His mind couldn’t wrap itself around the emotional panic his body felt over that future encounter. Every time he thought about it, the glands in his jaw began to salivate.

Sirius continued fingering the cool black metal in his robe pocket as he silently watched Remus flee from the table towards the Gents. He knew better then to follow him or to ask what was wrong, as he, too, had his moments of departing from company because of the absolute need of it; the need of privately coping with the torments of life.

“Life,” he snorted disgustingly.

*** *** ***

“No,” Harry murmured in his sleep. He didn’t want to see this. Not again.

Sweating profusely, Harry’s body tangled within his sheets as the same nightmare raged through his mind.

Blank, lifeless eyes were staring at him. He wished the woman would look away, so her eyes could not see his disgust and fear. But, he knew she couldn’t, because she was dead.

“Because of your stupid pride,” screamed a tall, ghastly wizard, “you have ruined everything!”

The enraged wizard forced his wand against a Muggle man’s skull. The middle-aged Muggle cowered further into his seat.

“But I’ve done as you asked!” he screamed. “Even now, the camps are still open. Every name you requested has been put at the top of the list!”

Harry continued to watch from his hidden place against the wall. As both men spoke, he understood them perfectly, even though he could not speak their language.

“You fool!” the wizard rasped. “How would you know? Have you ever visited them, to make sure all under your command are doing as you say? Are you stupid enough to trust your officers so blindly? The furnaces have been cold for weeks! Your orders mean nothing to scared men fighting a blind, losing battle.”

The Muggle frantically shook his head. “No, that’s not true-”

“SHUT UP! Pick up your gun.” His head motioned toward the pistol on the side table.

“I SAID PICK IT UP.” Spittle was flying from the wizard’s face. “NOW.” His mad eyes flashed as the scared Muggle extended a shaky hand towards his pistol.

“Coward. Hiding here as you let others fight a losing battle above you. Your name will have its rightful place in history, believe me.” The furious man moved his wand from the Muggle’s temple and pointed it between his eyes.

“NO!” the man barked angrily. “Wait, it’s not over yet!”

“Imperio!”

Harry watched, breathless as the Muggle’s mouth fell slack. He knew what was going to happen; he could have stopped it. He didn’t want it to continue, but as he eyed the Muggle who dared to beg for his life, Harry knew that this was no less then what that despicable creature deserved.

Eyes unblinking, the Muggle reached into his coat, removing a small pill from his pocket which he placed in the back of his mouth. Mechanically, he grasped the pistol firmly, raising it to his own temple. A second later, he pulled the trigger, spraying the back wall with brain matter and hair.

“AGHHH!” Harry jolted at the feel of his bed being violently shaken.

“Harry… Harry! Wake up!”

Heaving, Harry choked as he tried to inhale great gulps of air. Opening his eyes, he panicked at the sight of a tall shadow looming over his four-poster. The shadow descended on him, arms stretched out.

“No!” Harry wheezed. Pulling his arm free of the blankets, he swung recklessly at the figure. His reach missed; knuckles crunching against the wooden headboard.

“DAMMIT!”

“Merlin’s balls, Harry. Calm the fuck down!”

At the sound of Ron’s voice, Harry finally relaxed against his mattress. He looked up at the shadow, finding solace at the slight gleam of red hair illuminated by the faint moonlight.

Ron tentatively reached his hand out again. When Harry failed to react violently, he attempted to untangle him from the sweat drenched bed sheets.

“Bad dream?” Ron questioned quietly.

Harry didn’t answer him. With his heart pulsing madly in his throat, Harry didn’t think he would be able to find his voice.

“You-Know-Who?” Ron cautiously probed further.

“Not even close,” Harry finally wheezed.

---

Author’s Notes: Story beta’ed by the very talented melusin.

-Chapter title take from John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book ii. Line 803.

-Thanks for the review, TenderQuaintWitch!

-Next up: Severus POV as he meets his master, dreading the lasting effects of the visit. The first day of classes has come for Hermione, filled with odd interactions with a certain female student.TenderQuaintWitch