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LMinuMinute Crisis	By : Quillusion Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3577 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Last Minute Crisis

By Quillusion

I started writing this in December of '02 and hinted at posting it for a while... now I'll start posting it with the thought that this will encourage me to finish it! It won't be a very long piece, probably only a handful of chapters. But what the heck. Enjoy, and if you do, please let me know!

Anti-Litigation Charm: JKR would never- but I would, strictly on a not-for-profit basis, of course. Which is not to say that neither Severus nor Hermione will profit... adaredare I hope, dear reader, that you will too?

Chapter 1

Albus Dumbledore and Hermione Granger were absorbed in their chess match. It was going fairly quickly- after all, the former Head Girl was known more for her affinity for books than the chessboard, and she was far from a formidable opponent for Albus's 125 years of practice.

Hermione Granger sat back in the winged armchair and sighed with defeat.

"I think this is about to be another conceded match," she confessed as the white bishop took her knight. "I was never any good at this game. This is more Ron's department.>

The Headmaster's blue eyes twinkled in the firelight.

"Perhaps," he said slowly as he studied the board, although it was no longer his turn. "But skill at chess was not what we needed when we asked for you, Miss Granger. As you well know."

She nodded, worrying her lower lip witr ter teeth as she considered her next move. She decided to make the Headmaster wait- all of the moves left to her were disasters anyway- and turned her gaze to him instead.

"Do you honestly think we'll find a way to remove the Dark Mark with a potion? Even knowing that it was burned on with other spells?"

"I do," replied the Headmaster calmly as he adjusted his spectacles on his nose. "There are several instances in which a potion is the only way to undo an incantation- and I believe that this is very likely to be one of them."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I hope so," she said tiredly. "This process is rather exacting. But once this stage of the preparation is complete, we will be able to divide the base into batches and test additives one at a time. At least that will feel like progress."

Albus smiled at her. "You were always patient," he said kindly. "Far more so than Severus- although he can show great patience for potions, if not for people. And whether or not he's said it, I know that he is grateful for your assistance. He's never let anyone- and I mean anyone, my dear, including myself- use the cauldrons and scales he's lent to you. I think he'd loan out his toothbrush before loaning those."

Hermione chuckled; most of the student body would be inclined to doubt that the Potions master even owned a toothbrush. Hermione, on the other hand, had actually seen said toothbrush firsthand during the intense work they'd done together of late, and knew it existed. And needed replacing, she thought idly. At least he used it.

Their progress over the last four months had been slow, but noticeable. She had been specially assigned to Hogwarts by the Ministry of Magic at Albus's request, removed from what had been a rather dull project on slander-proof ink for the Daily Prophet and sent to consider ways to remove the Dark Mark. Specifically, to remove it from Severus Snape.

She watched her chess pieces slowly dwindle in number, well aware that Albus was toying with her before moving in for the kill. Might as well; there was another ten minutes before the potion would be ready to pull from the fire, and little else to do with the time. She turned her mind from the black of the chess pieces and settled instead on another figure in black- her former Potions master.

He had changed little, if at all, from her school days; he was as irritable and short-tempered as ever, perhaps even more so now that the war with Voldemort was escalating and his need to rid himself of the Mark grew ever more urgent with each passing day. But where he had treated Hermione Granger the student with disdain and something very like loathing, he treated Hermione Granger the adult with a distant sort of politeness that, if cool, was nonetheless welcome. And he no longer insulted her intelligence. That was even more welcome. After the intellectually stimulating discussions they'd had, the things they'd come up with together, tested together, she had begun to see the side of him she was never permitted to seen sen she was still a child- before she'd become a part of the world in which he was not just a teacher, but a man. A human being, with flaws and fears and risks and peril, and graceful hands that she'd never before noticed.

The chessboard before her was mostly covered with white pieces. The black ones lay in a neat row at the Headmaster's elbow. The black king turned to stare up at her, and with a dramatic flourish, drew his sword and pressed it to the breastplate of his armor with a meaningful look. The point- no pun intended- was not lost upon her.

"Yes, yes, I know. You might as well," she gritted out irritably.

The king suddenly gave her a stricken look, dropped his sword, clutched his chest, and keeled slowly over onto the chessboard. The queen squealed with fright, but could not leave her space. She glared up at Hermione and shook her fist.

Horrified, Hermione looked up at Albus. She had no idea if one could even do cardiopulmonary resuscitation on a chesspiece.

"I didn't mean for him to die, Albus! Can you tell a chesspiece to die, and have it really die?"

The Headmaster was leaning over the pieces with a frown, his wand extended to prod the king gently.

"Nice try, but you're not getting out of your predicament that easily. This is not a nice t to to do to someone who doesn't know any better," he told it in a no-nonsense tone. "Get up now."

The king made no move.

"Now, sir, before I offer to let Professor Sprout play you for another match."

The chess piece sprang up with renewed vitality, his expression sour as he stared up at his owner. After all, these were Albus's pieces.

"Much better. Now apologize. Miss Granger is doing her best; it isn't her fault that I am unable to play chess without trying to win."

Clearly, the black king was given to sulks. He crossed his arms over his chest and stomped back to his square, and Hermione could have sworn she could see steam leaking from beneath his helm. He did not apologize to her, but he did pick his sword back up and turn to face the field again.

The Headmaster did seem to find his sense of mercy after that.re wre were only a few moves made before he gleefully told her, "Checkmate."

"Finally," Hermione muttered under her breath. "It took you long enough," she told Albus, tipping her king over to lie on the chessboard. The little figure scowled up at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Get over it," she told it. "He beat me with you last time. It isn't as if it's your fault, you know."

The k kik king struggled to his feet again, shrugged wearily at her in acknowledgement, and trooped over to shake hands with the white king.

Hermione stood and stretched, moved lazily over to the window to stare out at the frost-whitened grounds. For all the times she'd been in this dungeon workroom since returning to Hogwarts to help work on this project, she'd never grown used to the idea that the dungeon had windows. Snape's classroom had a window, of course, high up and small, but this was a beautiful window with a lovely view. Snape's office had a double-arched Romanesque window that looked out on the grounds, but this was different. This room, one of the smaller ones down the hall from his office and regular laboratory, was usually used for separate research projects like this one. It had one of the ancient deep-set windows that peppered the castle, with a three-foot-deep sill and lovely leaded glass. She leaned into the recess around the window, nearly pressing her nose to the glass, enjoying the snug feeling of security that came from being in such a small, hidden space.

The moon was bright, though not full, and she imagined that she could see each blade of grass outlined in its own shadow. Funny, how she noticed the shadow as much as- if not more than- the thing that cast it. As if the shadow were somehow what hid the truth of what a thing was- despite its easily manipulated form, its tendency to distort when cast over other objects. It was the things that were not said, not defined, that made all the difference.

Snape was that way, she thought to herself slowly. There were so many things he did not say, but they were true nonetheless. And that was what intrigued her about him. Never, in all her years as a student, had she looked beyond the image he projected, to what might actually be there. He hadn't shown her that, not yet- but he'd stopped pushing her away, stopped forcing her to remember who he wanted her to think he was.

She wanted to think that meant he didn't hate her, after all. That maybe he, too, had accepted that she was not defined by the role she'd played as his student here. She just didn't know why it mattered to her.

When the door burst open, startling her out of her reverie, she instinctively shrank back into the cover of the deep windowsill. Cautiously glancing out of her hiding place, she fixed alarmed eyes on the figure of the Potions master, standing still in the dark tide of robes that swirled about his legs, testament to the speed with which he had moved.

"We have a problem," he said flatly. "A big one."

Malfoy's communiques were never particularly welcome, but this latest one had at least seemed innocuous enough. The Dark Lord had wanted a potion prepared for the Death Eater gathering he was planning for that night. As far as Severus was concerned, it had actually been nice to have advance warning of a summons; it was damned inconvenient to have the Dark Mark go off in the middle of whatever he was doing. Which, of course, was why Voldemort had designed it that way. To remind everyone who followed him just how much he controlled them.

All the more reason to get rid of the damn thing. If this one potion took him away from working on their main project, then at least Hermione and Albus could continue working without him. He had spent the afternoon obediently concocting the base of Voldemort's commission, after discussing the matter with Albus; the Headmaster and Hermione had taken over responsibility for their own partially completed base. Once it was done, they could test some of the possibilities. But first, he had to survive the Death Eater gathering tonight.

Which led him back again to his problem.

Severus still held the parchment from Malfoy in his fist. It was crumpled, but a soft charm re-smoothed it so that he could hand it to the Headmaster, who had leapt up in startlement at his entrance.

"Problem, Severus?" he asked in his calm way; this was how he reacted to everything, no matter how grave. It always inspired both admiration and exasperation in the Potions master. Just once, he wanted to hear Albus Dumbledore swear aloud at the inconvenience of it all, at the perverse nature of the universe that caused it to order events as it usually did.

"Yes, Albus," he ground out as politely as he could, given the nature of his difficulty. "A rather large one. You know that Voldemort wants the Eye of Sarudai made for him."

"So you had said," said Albus neutrally. The Eye of Sarudai was an obscure mind-augmenting potion which had been invented by a wizard emperor of Japan, and used to assimilate information from his generals, his spies, and his political advisors to concoct military strategy and foreign policy, such as it was in those days. It was rather effective, but in addition to requiring great skill with brewing to make, it also required one to possess a network of reliable information sources who would be willing to participate. The potion ingredient list included a drop of blood from each person who would be contributing information to the big picture in the potion user's mind. Voldemort, naturally, already had just such a network as the potion required. Albus and Severus had agreed before he had started brewing that the Dark Lord was likely planning on making a move soon, and was testing the wind to see what direction would be most favorable for success. While he'd never used this particular potion before, he had often employed similar strategy in the past. Such as right before he'd killed Lily and James Potter. And right before he'd faced Harry after the Triwizard Tournament.

Severus thrust the ingredient list toward the Headmaster. "Review the other ingredients, and see if you can find the problem I've discovered," he said, and Albus's brow furrowed as he studied the parchment. This was an unusual mood for the Potions master to be in; irascible was one thing, but this seemed almost personal.

"I do not see anything amiss," said the Headmaster cautiously after a few moments of study.

"No, I thought you might not. Review the list again, and tell me what would happen if you were to put virgin's blood into the potion." Never in his life had Snape come this close to lecturing the Headmaster like an ignorant first year.

A few moments later, Albus's eyes widened with understanding.

"The clarity of vision conferred by the virgin's blood would make this a mind-reading potion," he said softly. " It won't be as powerful as it would if all of the donors were virgins, but it will be strong enough to read everyone at the gathering. Voldemort could learn everything."

"Precisely," said Severus shortly.

"Voldemort is not well enough versed in potions to be aware of this fact," Albus said. "I highly doubt he is planning to make such a substitution. He does not suspect anyone in your number of being an informant, does he?"

"I do not believe so, no. But he is no fool, and he will quickly discover the alteration in the potion when he takes it- even if he does not understand it. I will be very high in the Dark Lord's good graces for the five seconds it will take for him to look my way and learn a few things I'd rather he didn't."

Albus frowned slightly.

"Do you think he intends to harm a virgin for the sake of this potion, Severus?" he asked in a troubled tone.

"He won't have to," said Snape, and his expression hardened slightly at Albus's mildly puzzled expression.

"For Merlin's sake, Albus," he ground out. "Are you going to humiliate me by asking me to spell it out for you?" The normally smooth voice was rough with emotion, and he snapped a great deal harder at the Headmaster than he usually permitted himself to do. In response, Albus raised an eyebrow in a manner that the Potions master did not know how to interpret. Frustrated, Severus made a noise of disgust in his throat and turned away from the Headmaster, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

"Do you have any idea how many crimes against women Voldemort thinks I have performed at his request- and how many of them I have not done? The moment he drinks this stuff and thinks in my direction, he'll see in my mind exactly what's different about it and exactly who is responsible. The fact that I am still a virgin is proof that I have lied to him many times over. If that isn't enough to send him rooting through every memory and thought I've ever had, then I'll kiss every goblin in Gringott's on both sets of cheeks. The magnitude of such a disaster hardly bears consideration."

He could feel his face heating with embarrassment, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep himself silent as something dangerously close to the line between sympathy and pity dawned on his superior's face.

And that was when Hermione Granger's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"You're still a virgin?" She stepped out of the shadows of the windowsill, and he groaned inwardly. He'd had no idea she was still in the room- if he had, he would have thrown her out posthaste, and no recent nagging thoughts about how different she was from the student he remembered would have stopped him. Given the direction this conversation was going to take, they might well have encouraged him.

"Miss Granger," he said coolly by way of greeting, and by way of pointing out that she'd been eavesdropping.

"I apologize for not making my presence known," she replied, equally coolly. "But you seemed most anxious to speak to Albus. For good reason, it would seem."

"I hardly think the reason is any of your business," he said acidly.

"No," she agreed, but there wamethmething in her face that rankled him.

"Miss Granger, kindly do not feel the need to put on a polite façade for my sake. If you're shocked at the discussion, have the courage to look it." He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression stony.

"I'm not shocked," she said quietly. "Just surprised."

"Meaning?" he snapped.

"Meaning I'm surprised to learn you’re still a virgin. I wouldn't have thought it."

"I suppose you expected that I had, in fact, taken part in the usual Death Eater activities," he said, his tone low and dangerous.

"No, I did not," she replied tartly. "I just- well, you were a student here, too, Professor. And you were- are- Slytherin. I don't think any of the Slytherins in my year made it past fifth year as virgins."

The color drained from his face, and he looked angrier than ever. Hermione took fleeting comfort in the fact that he could no longer give her detention- but the victory was a hollow one. The look in his eyes was one she'd never seen before, because she'd never angered him with a personal remark. Until now- when she was just beginning to know the person hidden beneath the carefully crafted facade. His spine was stiff, his hackles clearly raised, and he made only the barest effort to refrain from snarling his rejoinder at her.

"Thank you for pointing out my inadequacies, Miss Granger," he said icily. "If this is the part where you tell me that even Neville Longbottom got laid once, I will kill you, and then myself."

Hermione drew breath to make a reply, but he forestalled it with an impatient movement of one hand. His eyes glittered with something dangerous, emotion roiling just beneath the tightly calm expression on his face. His voice dropped to the whisper of steel springing from its sheath as he moved toward her with slow, measured steps.

"Take a good, long look at me, Miss Granger- in case you never have." He held his arms out to his sides in a gesture of self-mocking display. "I can assure you that I am hardly any different at 45 than I was at 18. Given what you see, Miss Granger, is it really surprising that no woman ever wanted me?"

She stared up at him for a long moment, surprise in her eyes.

"Yes."
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