Biding Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing; I make nothing from this.

A/N: Thanks for all of the lovely reviews so far.

Chapter 10: A Tangled Web

Hermione pulled away from the make-shift pensieve, her sepia eyes almost as round as the soup bowl before her. She rounded on Harry.
“Harry, is this true?” She pointed at the soup bowl, her hand shaking. “Did Professor Snape help you destroy Voldemort? Did he free you and defy Voldemort?” Harry pulled his adoring gaze away from the Professor.
“I’m not sure if you saw everything there, Hermione, but, yes, he helped me. I was terrified when I saw him there, offering his help to Voldemort. I was sure he’d laugh as Voldemort tortured and killed me and Neville. But then he took so long with searching for my wand. I realized he was stalling for time, but I couldn’t reckon why he’d do that. Then, when I heard his whisperings behind me and then the magical bonds were gone, I understood that he was there to help me. Without his help, I doubt Neville or me would have survived. I don’t know what Dumbledore knew all those years ago, but I now know that he had a very good reason for trusting him.” He nodded his head gravely.

“Dumbledore trusted him, but he killed Dumbledore. Do you not remember that? Has that slipped your mind?” She shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Professor Snape. He shot her a mildly shocked look from where he was perched on the edge of the stage. With his normally immaculate robes askew and his normally sleek hair tousled, he looked more like a surly schoolboy. All he needed was a cigarette dangling from his lips to complete the rebel attitude.

“I beg to differ, my dear.” He drawled. “Dumbledore asked for my complicity in this plot, come what may. He was the one who wanted me to lead a double life: by day a devoted professor, by night a voracious Death Eater. He wanted me to gain Voldemort’s respect and trust. In the final battle, all of that paid off. I, alone, stood by Voldemort’s side as a willing and able aide; I, alone, was his only hope of assistance. I did not lie in that memory when I said it felt delicious to be his last confidante. It meant he still trusted me; he still relied on me. I would not have to contend with other Death Eaters. Peter Pettigrew, you might like to know, died two years ago at the hands, er, paws of your cat Crookshanks. I understand they didn’t get on well in your third year at Hogwarts. Well, Crookshanks made a ratty appetizer of him in the end.” He chuckled.
“Gave the cat the most frightful indigestion.” Ron chimed in. Hermione turned and looked at him to see his coppery head nodding eagerly.

“It felt delicious because I could taste my freedom – I would soon be free of him. It’s something I had dreamt of for years. As for Dumbledore’s death, he had heard speculation, rumours, that Draco Malfoy had been recruited to assassinate him. I was instructed to stop him from doing so but to maintain my cover at the same time, even if it meant actually killing Dumbledore myself. Dumbledore didn’t want Draco to live with the guilt, the stigma, that could come with that act. Unfortunately, I must live with the decision I made that day. If I could have done it any differently, I might have done so. But, then again, maybe not. Dumbledore always did have his reasons for things, even if he did keep them to himself. I have broad shoulders; I have shouldered burdens before and could handle one more. Such a burden on young Draco could destroy him.”

Hermione opened her mouth to spit out an unkind retort, but she was interrupted by a loud coughing noise. She swiveled her head wildly, her amber hair flying this way and that. The coughing seemed to grow louder and finally Hagrid lurched awake. He muttered a little to himself and then peeked under the tablecloth. Then, the tablecloth dropped down and he straightened in his seat. Another series of coughs erupted from beneath his table.
“Hagrid, might I ask you what is underneath your table? Not one of your pets, I hope.” The Headmistress was stalking towards his table, looking ready to deliver a reprimand.
“Oh no, Headmistress McGonagall, it’s nothing. Nothing at all.” He did not look terribly convincing. He distractedly pulled on a strand of his bushy mane and toyed with a button on his jacket that was roughly the size of a dinner plate. Another fit of coughing caused the silverware to clatter and the table to shift. The Headmistress whipped her wand out and pointed it at the table, causing it to rise into the air and hover above all of their heads. A long, flat parcel lay beneath the table. The Headmistress stripped the paper away and gasped. The portrait of Dumbledore was beneath the layers of paper, the Headmaster’s eyes gleaming mischieviously.
“I’m sorry, Headmistress. I know I’m not supposed to touch the things in your office, but he insisted he come here tonight.” The Headmistress shot a dark look at the painted figure and scolded him.
“Come to see your handiwork, Albus? I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” The painted face grinned like Alice’s Cheshire cat.
“In fact, I am rather pleased with myself. I was getting rather tired of hanging on the wall in your office, Minerva.” He sneezed loudly. “It seems my portrait is not dusted nearly often enough.” He twinkled at Hermione, who still felt very confused.

“I think it is time to explain my motives in all this. To begin with, Severus was an ideal spy for us. He was just disenchanted enough with Hogwarts and the Ministry to turn to dark magic. He had been affiliated with Voldemort for years when he came to work at Hogwarts. By then, he had become equally disenchanted with Voldemort. Instead of being merely a renegade wizard, Severus realized that Voldemort was evil. He agreed to act as a double agent, giving us insight into Voldemort and his activities while pretending to leak information about our cause to Voldemort. It was a complicated ruse, but Severus excelled at it. By day, he was the abhorrent and proud professor; by night, he was a fearsome Death Eater. He is quite an actor.” The painted figure grinned at Snape, whose mouth hung agape. “As the battles brewed, word of the plot to assassinate me reached my ears. There is very little that I do not know, and I knew of that plot almost at the time of its inception. Under no condition would I allow a young man to be used and tainted in that manner. He’d be doing the dirty work for Voldemort and would be assuming all the guilt and shame for it as well. Not terribly sporting, if you ask me. If Voldemort disliked me so much, why couldn’t he come after me himself? Then, a thought blossomed in my mind. What if Draco were to be spared that burden and one of the Death Eaters do it instead? I think Voldemort had started having doubts about Severus’ loyalty by then. What better to prove Severus’ devotion than his murder of the wizard Voldemort most hated and feared? I called Severus to my office and, to his credit, he was suitably appalled by what I was asking of him. It took much convincing and debate before he finally agreed. So, on that fateful night, Draco was spared the shame and Severus fulfilled the terms of our agreement. He did just as I asked, to the very letter.” Hermione rushed to the portrait, forefinger wagging as she chided the Headmaster.

“You asked him to kill you? I can’t believe it! That’s a horrible thing to have done! Couldn’t you have done it any other way?”
“There was no other way to ally Severus with Voldemort so completely. By his murder of me, Severus became Voldemort’s most trusted follower. He would become someone who would almost certainly be at that final battle. Then, he could help our side in whatever way he could. We needed the element of surprise and Severus was it. Not that it wasn’t without risk. Severus had shouldered so much blame and responsibility before that his believing that he killed me could send him over the edge. He could kill himself from the guilt. And that would not do. Not at all.” The Headmaster clucked his tongue and then winked at the disapproving Hermione.

“And that is where you came in, my dear. Despite his cold demeanour, Severus is rather a romantic. He had hoped to settle down, even start a family some day, but, while he was allied with Voldemort, he couldn’t risk that. There would be too much to lose if Voldemort were to discover where his true allegiance lay. When Severus ran and went into hiding, I was afraid he would destroy himself. He needed an incentive, something to live for. You were it. You were lovely, young, energetic and brilliant: qualities that would be attractive to Severus. You are also more alike than you might care to think: you are both proud; you both crave knowledge; and you are both unfailingly loyal. Also, you both tend to retreat when you feel overwhelmed. I used you as leverage with Severus. I bound you to one another and, suddenly, Severus had the promise of normalcy, a family. I suspect the news of his betrothal did not go over so well with Severus at first, but he must have grown accustomed to the idea. Had I bound him to, say, Pansy Parkinson, I suspect he would have flung himself from the nearest cliff in dismay.” Ron and Harry chortled at this from somewhere behind Hermione. Even the Headmistress snorted.

“To make an already long story short, you became a reason for him to live and see it through. He may have had other reasons, but I don’t wish to speculate.” He stroked his silver beard with one hand, looking very wise, contemplative. Hermione slid her gaze over to Professor Snape who was back to staring at her, his onyx eyes seeming to bore through the frothy wedding dress. She felt a scarlet flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. She hurriedly turned back to the portrait.

“You said something very strange a moment ago. You said that Professor Snape, Severus, believed he killed you. What…” She broke off and quirked an eyebrow. The painting before her looked very strange, as if it were more than just paint and canvas. The hand that stroked the beard seemed to be outside the canvas. The eyelashes that flickered did not look painted.

“Well, you have just shown why you are one of the brightest witches of our age, Miss Granger. You always were observant. I believe it is time for me to make a confession of sorts.” He drew in a deep breath which puffed his cheeks comically. Slowly, his form filled out as if he were a balloon being inflated. One hand, then the other, emerged from the canvas. Then, his head poked out, silver beard trailing and sapphire eyes flashing. Finally, the rest of his body clambered out of the canvas. A dark outline was all that remained on the canvas where he had once been. He exhaled in a gust, bowed dramatically and laughed.

“You see, Severus didn’t kill me. In fact, I’m not dead at all.” He tugged on his beard, kneaded his cheek with his fingers. He did a couple of jumping jacks and stretched vigorously. “It feels so good to be me again. A painting is rather confining.” All of the faces around him were in shock, eyes wide and staring, mouths dropped open, everyone in stunned silence. Then, a lonely clapping of hands erupted into an energetic round of applause.

“But why?” Hermione whispered. “Well, there goes your last reason for hating Snape!” Her inner voice piped up helpfully. Dumbledore clapped a hand on her shoulder.
“With my apparent death, Severus proved his loyalty to Voldemort. With my apparent death, Voldemort developed a swaggering confidence. He made mistakes afterwards, small ones but mistakes just the same. He felt unbeatable and that confidence was his downfall. For this to work, Severus had to truly believe that he had killed me. He would not be able to deceive Voldemort so easily otherwise. I cast a simple charm on myself - after all simple charms are so very often the best ones – to give the impression of my being grievously harmed. In reality, the wards I had around me deflected Severus’ curse. I feigned death and then was able to substitute a metamorphmagi-ed corpse to take my place. Then, I set about apparating into my painting. It was all a simple trick like Muggle magicians do – draw attention elsewhere, effect a substitution. Now you see me, now you don’t.” He had turned over three cups, hid a lemon drop beneath one, and then moved the cups about. He lifted the three cups to show that the candy wasn’t there. Then, with a flourish, he lifted his cap and the lemon drop was jauntily perched on his hair.

“Now, I think you and Severus have much to talk over. Go on.” He prodded her towards the Professor.

As Hermione passed her table, she heard Gemma sigh “Lucky girl, that Hermione. He’s dead sexy.” She tossed her kelly-green hair petulantly. Severus had leapt off the stage and came forward to take her arm, as if he were squiring her to a country dance. He led her from the room and, when she looked up at him, she saw that wolfish smirk on his face. She felt a frantic fluttering in her stomach and a tingling feeling that traveled through her body like electricity.

“Frankly,” Snape drawled “I doubt we’ll be doing much in the way of talking.” He ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. “The better to eat you with.” Hermione’s inner voice recited.

Somehow, Hermione didn’t think she’d mind being devoured.