Fic: Brave New World (14/28): Harry Potter

[patriciatepes]

Title: Brave New World
Author: patriciatepes
Artist: twisted_slinky
Fandom: Harry Potter
Chapter: Prev | Next
Rating/Contents: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.
Summary: Partially DH compliant, most AU. Voldemort arrived at Malfoy Manor quicker than expected, and like that, the war was over. Now, Hermione is Snape's "assigned companion," and as determined as ever to stop Voldemort and save her friends. But that's hard to do in Voldemort's new world…

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Chapter Fourteen: Wounds

"I'll go," Hermione said, eyes swiveling to her.

It was past midnight, two weeks after her self-defense fueled murder—a little story about herself she had not shared with anyone else. She was in another abandoned building, somewhere in some little nowhere town. The resistance was ready to make its move in regards to getting the book and the quill from Hogwarts. And this was the meeting to suss out the details of said raid.

"You can't," Neville responded.

Her mouth opened, ready to fire out protest after protest, but Ron, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, sighed.

"He's right, Hermione."

Hermione had come here, sneaking out of Spinner's End after convincing Snape to lift that damnable charm off the door. After all, it had almost gotten her killed. He had acquiesced after that very same argument had been made, but had looked more sour than usual afterward. She had been quick to share the information she had gathered after spending a couple of weeks slowly prodding it out of Snape. As it turned out, only the Carrow siblings remained permanently at the school, patrolling it as needed. It was a large castle, and though being caught by the Carrows was a daunting thing in and of itself, the size of the castle and number of its guardians at present was definitely encouraging.

"Why not? Why can't I go with Neville?" Hermione demanded.

"You're our closest informant to the Dark Lord," Ginny said, crossing her arms.

She was surprisingly unmarked that night, but she still looked a little uneasy and not quite herself. It was hard for Hermione to put her finger on it as to why, but Ginny just seemed a little… off. Ron looked unsteady with himself as well, but Hermione attributed this to his upcoming nuptials—a matter everyone present had silently sworn not to speak about.

"Voldemort's gonna be at… well, at the wedding," Ron said, determinately not meeting her eye. "According to Pansy, he wants all the Death Eaters there… said he plans to reveal something huge to them."

"That sounds like it could be something to do with his plans to conquer the rest of wizarding kind," Neville noted. "Which is why I stand firm. You've gotta go with Snape to the wedding, instead of raiding the castle with me."

The plan to get the Book of Admittance and the Magic Quill stood as thus: during Ron and Pansy's wedding, while the vast majority of Death Eaters and Voldemort himself would be distracted, Neville would use his secret passage—located, he revealed, somewhere within Hogsmeade—to deposit himself inside the Room of Requirement. He would then skirt the Carrows to the tower, retrieving the items, and come back to his self-made safe house. Hopefully leaving Voldemort and his followers none the wiser.

And it was selfish, but… Hermione would much rather risk her life getting that book rather than go to Ron's wedding.

"You're the only one," Ginny reminded.

Hermione blew out a hard breath through her lips. She nodded. "Fine. I'll try to find out all I can… at the wedding."

Nobody met anyone's eyes for a moment. Finally, Neville cleared his throat.

"I think that ought to do it. We know the when and the where. And we know the what. I say this meeting is adjourned. Be safe."

With that, people began to apparate away. Ron turned, catching Hermione's eye briefly. He looked on the verge of saying something, and Hermione felt a little feathered hope well up inside of her heart. Then, he sighed, scratching at the back of his head while looking at his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Good luck," he muttered.

"You too," she whispered back.

He and Ginny were gone, and Hermione heaved a breath before she too left for Spinner's End.

##

The next few days passed without incident. It was quiet and oddly peaceful in Hermione's little bubble of a world. Too peaceful and too quiet. It felt like the calm before the storm or the last flash of light before the fall of night.

Snape had not been called to any meetings since the last one, and since they had shut the school down earlier, this meant that he spent just as much time at home as Hermione did. The former Potions master wasn't what Hermione would have called a flurry of activity in his home life—unlike he had always appeared to be in the classroom. He spent most his time reading or working on some spell or potion or another. She remembered Harry's sixth year potions book—formerly Snape's, although they had not known that at first. Snape was quite the accomplished wizard, creating his own spells and potions that were very effective.

Hermione, for her part, felt like something akin to a wraith. There, but not really there. She would begin by watching him work on some potion or spell, the way he would quietly mutter to himself, nose half in a book, half on his work. It was soothing to her, to be around something so purely academic. It made her feel like her quiet study times in the library. Something she had always enjoyed, Harry and Ron or no Harry and Ron. But after several minutes of watching, she would drift away. Her brain would start to emit a buzzing noise she knew as nothing but her mind playing tricks on her, and she would just feel like the room faded away.

She would begin to get lost in the maze of her mind, reliving flashes of the things that had happened to her since her first arrival at Malfoy Manor. It was like constantly reliving a nightmare in the waking world. She began to rethink her past decisions, trying to map out alternate roads though what could be considered alternate timelines, trying to figure out where everything had gone so wrong. And, more importantly, how she could fix it.

This began to happen, increasingly, in potentially dangerous situations. There had been one instance where she had been cooking and the oil in the pan had caught fire. It had burned for several seconds before she had even realized it. Had it not been for Snape, the whole house might have burned. There were more close calls, but at least nothing else that had had to do with fire.

It continued on like this, with Snape and Hermione barely speaking—unless, of course, out of necessity, or when Hermione felt like she needed some new information for the resistance. She would catch her former teacher staring at her, when she had stopped staring at him. He always looked… worried. Or maybe that was just how he looked when he was deep in thought. Whatever it was, he never vocalized his thoughts.

Until, one night, weeks after she had killed Crabbe. They were sitting, much as they usually did, across from one another. He sat in the chair that sat in the corner across from the sofa, and Hermione was curled into the end of the sofa next to the table—where Ron and Pansy's invitation still lay. She was already lost in her own thoughts, the room faded away to nothingness before her. It was Snape's sigh that brought it all back into view.

She blinked, as if emerging from the dark into the light. She looked up to see Snape staring intently at her, his black orbs seeming to hold her as still as a statue. She didn't say anything, only returned his stare, waiting. Finally, he sighed again, setting aside the book he had been leafing through.

"I'm… concerned for your well-being, Granger."

So she was "Hermione" when she was a murderer, "Granger" every other day of the week. That was an interesting distinction. When she didn't respond, only continued to stare, he went on.

"You've experienced something traumatic, I know. The taking of a life is not something to be so easily brushed aside. And with the upcoming wedding of Weasley and Miss Parkinson… I'm worried that when you drift away into your own mind, that it might become more of a trap for you, rather than a sanctuary."

Her eyes widened. He had… noticed. It was strange, but… she had just assumed he didn't care. The problem, as far as he was concerned, was taken care of. He had disposed of Crabbe's shrunken body, deliberately withholding details, and she had always assumed that Snape viewed that whole instance as a "that is that" scenario. But here he was… worried. Her… vanishings into her own mind weren't going to harm him, or their story. Rather, they would probably enhance their cover story, given what everyone apparently thought of their closed door lives. He could let this all go.

But he didn't.

"I'm okay," she replied.

He didn't look like he believed her. She smiled.

"Really. I'm fine. Or, as fine as can be. I will be fine."

"You're stronger than this," he muttered.

He had broken eye contact for that little revelation, and it made Hermione grin. It was comforting, that it seemed to pain him to give her a compliment. It felt familiar.

He was picking up his book again, his job apparently done, but Hermione had found a new curiosity taking root in her. She uncurled herself from the sofa, planting her feet firmly on the floor.

"I can really trust you, can't I? You've told me the truth about everything you've done, right?" she asked, putting a little force behind her words.

He needed to understand how important this was. How terribly important it was that he was being forthright with her.

"I've already answered that question, Miss Granger," he answered, not taking his eyes off his book.

"I… I just need to hear it again."

He looked up at her. He closed the book with a snap, sensing that this was obviously going somewhere. He nodded.

"Very well. Yes, I've told you the truth. Yes. You can trust me."

"I believe you. Really. For the first time, I truly, truly believe you."

"Well, now that that's settled…"

"But it's not."

He seemed taken aback. "Pardon?"

"I mean, yes, I believe you've told me the truth… but not all of it. Just the parts you felt were pertinent. I think… I think I need the whole truth."

"… About?"

Hermione swallowed a big gulp of air. This was going to take everything she had in her.

"You said you had your own motivations for killing Voldemort. What are they?"

Snape stood, shaking his head. "I'm not talking about this."

She stood too, reaching out and grasping his wrist. He turned, a flash of anger in his eyes, but that look faded when he saw her own eyes. She needed this answer. He sighed.

"He… he killed someone I… someone I loved," he muttered, looking away.

"Oh."

It wasn't grand. It wasn't deep or meaningful. But that was all he had. In all of the reasons in all of the world, Hermione could honestly say she would've never picked that one as the reason Snape wanted Voldemort gone.

"Who was it?" she asked.

Snape straightened, turning to face her full on. He stared down at her, as if he could frighten her away like a first year. But Hermione was knee deep in this now, and she wasn't backing down.

"It doesn't matter," he answered, lamely, trying to turn away.

This time, Hermione darted around him, blocking him from leaving the room. It seemed like forever since she put her brain to any decent usage, but this little mystery seemed a worthy one.

"You don't want to tell me. That means… that means it's someone I know!" she declared.

"Let it go."

"You've done so much for the fight against Voldemort, including guarding Harry, despite loathing him. And Merlin, do you loathe him. I mean, just because he's the son of the guy who was your tormentor—"

The proverbial light bulb shined on in Hermione's mind. She blinked at her former professor, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Harry's mother. Lily Potter… that's… that's it, isn't it? You loved her?"

Snape continued to refuse to meet her eye. He simply strode back to his chair, sinking down into it. But Hermione could feel it. She could feel the pain just radiating off of him. She pursed her lips, going back to her seat on the sofa. She stared at him, as he pulled back out his book—his personal shield, as it were.

She considered telling him about the resistance, and their plans, in that moment. She felt so solidified now in his loyalty that she knew he would not betray them. But the moment the thought entered her mind, she pushed it away. Neville was still considered a fugitive, and those secrets did not belong to her alone. It would be selfish to divulge them.

"Are you quite sure, then, Miss Granger, that you'll be well enough to attend Weasley's and Miss Parkinson's wedding?" he asked, lowering his book to peer over the top.

She nodded. "I don't have a choice but to be okay."

He put the book away once more, shaking his head.

"For what it's worth, I wouldn't take you with me if I didn't have to."

She smiled. "I understand. Because of my so-called status, right?"

Snape grimaced. "Not exactly. You see, the Dark Lord is aware of your former… shall we say, friendship, with Mr. Weasley. He specifically asked that I bring you, so that you could witness a 'proper union,' as he put it."

Hermione's nose curled in disgust, and just when she thought she couldn't hate Voldemort any more, she found a little more room in her heart to do just that.

"He's sadistic. That's sadistic."

"You'll hear no arguments from me."

Hermione rose, nodding. She stretched, a yawn escaping. She made her excuses, heading off to bed, when she paused. She thought about what she had learned tonight, and she took what she knew of Snape into account as she strung the story together in her mind. Frowning, she turned around, hugging the wall of the alcove.

"Snape?"

He looked up at her.

"I'm sorry… for everything you've had to go through. Really, I am."

He stared at her, flabbergasted. Without waiting for a verbal reply, Hermione left for her room.