Ring Of Fire

Hermione Granger stared out her bedroom window, her eyes glazing over as she watched the thunderstorm rage outside. She lazily stroked the softness of her quilt as she returned her attention to her book, Arithmancy Of Alchemists.

"…even the most skilled alchemists made errors in the weight and buoyancy calculations—"

She slammed the book shut, giving an angry sigh, and resting her head on the quilt. There hadn’t been any word from Harry or Ron all summer. She drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were of Harry.

Hermione awoke to annoying tapping at her window. She glanced at her clock. The bright red letters burned 7:42 into her eyelids. Groaning, she slid off the bed and unlatched her window, sliding it open.

Rain trickled onto her hands as she ushered a snowy white owl inside.

Hedwig shook her feathers, giving a violent shake before allowing Hermione to untie the letter on her foot. Unrolling the letter quickly, Hermione sat on the corner of her bed, biting her lip. Harry’s untidy scrawl calmed her a little.

Hermione—

Everything’s fine at the Dursleys’. Dudley is convinced that he’s about to die, and is eating everything in sight. Scar hurts all the time now, but with Dumbledore gone, there’s no one to tell. I had a nightmare about Snape last night… I dreamt that he came to kill you and Ron.

I’ve been talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he’s been giving me any information he can about where Snape might be. Lupin and Tonks have been doing well, it’s a little bit weird to see them holding hands, though. Ron told me he caught them snogging in the kitchen one night, and Lupin hasn’t stopped blushing for a week. But they’ve both been giving me some lessons in the more complex jinxes. Tonks reckons I should look into becoming an Animagus, but I wanted to run it by you first. I mean, I’d be unregistered, but whose side is the Ministry on? Scrimgeour actually stopped by here not too long ago, offering his “condolences”. The Dursleys were there, thank the Gods, so I didn’t have to deal with anything more threatening than his brownnosing and carefully inserted suggestions—like becoming the Ministry’s poster boy, again. Would Scrimgeour go so far as to attack me or anything? It probably sounds silly to you, Hermione, but we can’t trust anyone anymore. See you in two weeks.

Harry

Hermione set the letter down slowly. She wasn’t surprised Harry would want to become an Animagus, his father was one after all, and but Hermione just couldn’t see the value of becoming one, unless you ended up becoming a bird, or a cat. But weren't people always commenting on how similar Harry was to his father? Was it a possibility that Harry could assume the same form?

She scanned the letter again, her eyes falling on the name “Snape”. Oddly enough, reading the name didn’t make her blood boil with anger or her stomach clench in fear. Was he really in league with Voldemort? Hermione stared out the window again, until she was jolted back to reality by an impatient nip on her finger.

“Oh, sorry, Hedwig,” she said softly, opening the jar at her desk and giving Hedwig a biscuit. As she crunched away noisily, Hermione sat at her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, and her quill.

Dear Harry,

If your scar hurts, you should tell Lupin or Mr. Weasley. Just because Dumbledore is gone doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t tell others about it. As for the dream about Snape, well, it was just a dream. I’ve got so many wards on my house, an entire army of Death Eaters couldn’t get in. Don’t you worry.

Don’t go looking for Snape, Harry. I know you’re furious—we all are, but he’s not worth getting killed over. He’ll get his. It’s more important that you build up your jinxing skills and defense mechanisms. I’m glad Tonks and Lupin are together now, they’ll be good for each other.

I’m not surprised you want to become an Animagus. But Harry, how useful would being an Animagus be? You’d be wasting loads of time that you could be spending on learning new spells. I don’t think Scrimgeour would hurt you. I think he’ll try to coerce you a little, but not hurt you. I know you don’t want to hear it Harry, but it’s important that we trust each other.

Much Love,
Hermione

When she had read it over and was satisfied, Hermione rolled up the letter and tied it to Hedwig.

“Thank you, Hedwig,” she said as she hopped up onto the windowsill and flew away. She watched her receding form grow more and more distant. The sky was darker now, the wind picking up speed. Shivering, Hermione shut the window, rubbing her arms.

“Petrificus Totalus,” said an all-too familiar voice. Hermione was frozen before she could react. Strong arms slowed her descent onto the floor. She could hear him check the rooms upstairs, and ward hers. When he returned, she stared up into the face of Severus Snape. He bent over her.

“When I release you, you will not scream, shout, or make any attempts to harm my person,” he warned before muttering the counter-curse.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by Snape, who raised his hand.

“I know that you have an ungodly amount of questions. Let me explain. I chose you because you’re the only sensible one…and it’s a full moon, or else I would have chosen Lupin. Will you let me continue?” he asked smoothly.

Hermione nodded, a million scenarios flashing through her thoughts; none of which were positive.

His hair was greasier than usual; it hung limply and had grown well past his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and weary—he did not look like a man who had been reveling in the demise of Dumbledore.

“I know you think I murdered Albus. It is, in a sense, true. The Unbreakable Vow I made to Narcissa was to protect Draco from his task—killing Albus. To tell Albus that I had made that Vow would technically be putting Draco in danger, even though Albus would not raise a wand against the boy. Dumbledore, sensing this, told me that if it was necessary, I had to kill him. I regret making the Vow—sometimes I wonder if Draco was worth saving, but I know Dumbledore would have wanted Draco to be safe,” Snape said calmly.

“How can I believe you?” Hermione whispered incredulously.

Snape studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Alastor,” he sneered, “gave you each a small vial of Veritaserum before you returned to your houses for the summer, did he not?”

Hermione remembered Moody telling her, Ron, and Harry to use it if they suspected an imposter in their family—since the specialized questions had failed many.

Hermione nodded shortly.

“Direct me to it,” he ordered.

“It’s in my desk…just over there. In the second drawer on your right,” Hermione said quietly, her eyes searching frantically for some escape.

“Don’t even think about it, Miss Granger,” Snape said almost lazily while opening her drawer. He grasped the small vial with two fingers, holding it up to the light. When he had scrutinized the potion and it seemed to meet his satisfaction, he returned to where Hermione was sitting.

“I will drink a little—”

“Like hell you will, you’ll drink the whole thing!” Hermione interjected hotly, glaring at him.

He stared coolly at her for a moment.

“Very well,” he conceded, and uncorked the potion.

Once he drank it, he closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Hermione with a quirked eyebrow.

Hermione squirmed a little under his scrutinizing gaze, and took a deep breath.

“What is your full name?” she asked, taking extra care to steady her voice.

“Severus Tobias Snape,” he replied.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I am here to re-affirm the Order of my allegiance,” he stated.

Hermione was silent. He could fake these questions. She needed to ask him something that he wouldn’t expect, something that would prove the potion was working.

“What do you think of me?”

“I think you are brilliant, selfless, and beautiful,” replied Snape, his face turning a blotchy red. No, that was not the reaction of a man who had rehearsed his replies.

Hermione felt her face and ears burn.

“Explain ‘beautiful’,” she said quietly, curious.

“Your collarbone is well defined, particularly prominent, very touchable. Your waist is small and your stomach flat. You have a habit of scrunching your nose when you are reading something difficult— ”

“Okay,” Hermione interrupted, lifting her eyes up to her old Professor. He thought she was beautiful, desired her even. She would not pretend she wasn’t flattered. It wasn’t as if she was completely without an attraction to him. Her stomach fluttered as his eyes bored into hers—she could tell he was furious. It excited her.

“Have you ever thought about me in a s-sexual way?” she whispered, her voice quivering.

“Yes,” he replied through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing. She met them once more, feeling braver.

“With whom does your allegiance lie?” Hermione asked.

“My allegiance lies with you,” he spat furiously.

Hermione’s blood roared in her ears. She felt dizzy. She slid closer to him, her fingers sinking into the plush carpet. She could just barely smell him, and smell he did. He didn’t smell like sandalwood or any other rubbish Hermione had always imagined; but rather he smelt like someone who hadn’t bathed in a few days. But Hermione didn’t care. She inched closer. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

“Did Dumbledore ask you to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Will Voldemort kill Draco?” Hermione whispered, as Snape flinched at the name.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“Did you know Harry had your book?” Hermione asked, her eyes fixed on his thin lips.

“Yes.”

“Why did you let him keep it?”

“To learn the jinxes; to learn all he could.”

“How long do we have until the Veritaserum wears off?” she asked quietly.

“Five minutes,” he responded.

“Is Voldemort pleased with you?”

“Yes.”

“How did you fool him?”

“Occlumency.”

“Can you continue to fool him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you plan to die in the final battle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because there would be nothing worth staying for.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.

“When did you become a Death Eater?” she asked hastily, glancing at the clock on her wall.

“Seventeen,” he replied tersely, seemingly relieved that she had not chosen to continue asking him about her.

“Is Dumbledore alive?” she breathed, not daring to move.

“No,” he hissed, glaring at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Hermione asked flatly.

“Because you asked a stupid question,” he snarled.

“Are you an Animagus?” she ventured, holding her breath.

“Yes.”

“What form do you take?”

“A bat.”

There was a silence, and a heady nagging in the depths of Hermione Granger that wanted to know more about him, and how he felt about her. Better to ask now, analyze later.

“If I said I wanted to see you again, how would we do so?” she asked, her voice quavering. The cold, black tunnels he had for eyes flickered with something Hermione could not decipher.

“I would visit you in Animagus form,” he said smoothly, the idea of him “visiting her” sent a series of lewd images through her mind’s eye.

“How would—”

“There’s no point, Miss Granger. Time’s up,” he said flatly, standing.

Hermione bit her lip. Her head was screaming at her to do something, or she would never have another chance.

“Iwanttoseeyouagain,” she said too quickly to be understood, a mad flush spreading over her face.

“Do repeat that,” Snape said, bending down so that his eyes were level with hers. He was so close to her, she could feel the heat coming off his body.

“I want to see you again,” she breathed. For a moment, he stared at her. Taking the opportunity, Snape delved into her mind without warning. Hermione felt him pull up the raw emotion she was feeling; as if he had just reached into her gut and pulled it out. And Snape felt it. Pure, unadulterated lust mixed with confusion and hesitancy.

“Very well. I will send you a sign. You will know when you receive it,” he said as he stood.

“So do you want me to tell them? I don’t quite know what you expect. If I tell them now, they’ll put so many wards up—”

“Of course you’re not going to tell them now, Miss Granger,” he interrupted smoothly, “I will tell you when to tell them.”

“Until we meet again, Miss Granger,” he said with a jerk of the head, and he began to spin on the spot, his robes turning into black fur as he became smaller and smaller. A bat now hovered where he had stood, cocking its head at her before flying out the window.

Her stomach lurched again. Why was she so emotional? Why did she want him? More importantly, could she believe him?