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Twenty-Four Little Hours	By : andihooper Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 10749 -:- 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.

Chapter List
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ONT ONT FACE="Courier New">Chapter Five

7pm-9pm - hushed and white with snow

7pm-8pm - At least the bed was a little softer on her bottom than the floor had been. She sat to the back, leaning against the wall.
The snow, still blowing hrouhrough the window, didn't reach them, although the extra chill that came with it, did.
w"> How could she complain? Harry, Ron, Ginny and all the others were out there fighting for their lives. It would be a miracle if every one of them survived.
Which of them would still be around at the end of all this? Not many if Voldemort won. Harry would certainly be dead...
FONTFONT FACE="Courier New"> She felt herself sinking further into morbid thoughts, terrified how easily they could become a reality.
What about Professor Dumbledore? He might be a very powerful wizard, but he was also very old. She had noticed he was looking very weary lately. She didn't doubt he had the power to ward off Voldemort's attacks, but did he have the stamina any more?
She couldn't imagine a world without Professor Dumbledore.
Or Harry.
Or any of her friends...
...but then, if Voldemort won, she wouldn't be around to see a world without Harry or Ron...
"Professor, why didn't they kill me?"
He was sitting forward of her, on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. At her words, he straightened and turned his head slightly.
"I imagine they had their orders to take you alive as a precautionary measure. If the battle fails to go as the Dark Lord plans, he will have you to barter with."
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
"You mean, he'll hold me to ransom to get to Harry?"
"If he needs to, yes."
"But that mustn't happen! Harry mustn't have me to worry about. He has to do whatever he needs to win - I'm expendable."
"You know Potter will not look at it way way. You and he are very close, I think."
"He's my best friend - and I'm very proud to say that! But I shouldn't even begin to be a consideration when there's so much more at stake. OH! I'm so angry with myself for getting caught so quickly. I was so stupid!"
"You should not be so hard on yourself," he said, standing and beginning to walk from one end of the cell to the other and then back again. "The Death Eaters are ruthless, precise and sly. You have done well to survive coming face to face with them as often as you have."
She looked at him and couldn't help imagining a time when he had been a Death Eater. She tried to picture him running around Hogwarts, fighting against her and Harry and Dumbledore, causing death and destruction like the other Death Eaters.
However he treated everyone; however rude and nasty he'd ever been; however cold and heartless he appeared, the picture just didn't seem to fit.
Yes, there had always been a feeling that he was teetering on the edge of evilness - that if that mark on his arm burned fiercely enough, he would answer the call; but still she felt there was a core of decency about him; a sense of loyalty - of doing the right thing however much he hated it.
What had he said earlier?
'We all do strange things in adolescence...'
Perhaps becoming a Death Eater had been one of those things. She didn't know when he had become one, or for how long - all she knew was that one day, for some reason, he had turned, and come to Professor Dumbledore.
"It's just so frustrating and frightening not ing ing what's going on," she said. "The first we'll know, is when that cell door eventually opens and we see who's standing on the other side."
She wed hed him turn as he reached the wall and began walking back again.
"I believe we shall know in ade ife if Potter has succeeded in defeating the Dark Lord. There will be a sign."
"What sort of sign?"
"I do not know - but we shall know it when we see it. If we see it."
She watched as he continued to pace back and forth.
"Would you like your cloak back for a while?" she asked. He must be freezing.
"No, keep it. You have fewer clothes than I."
He walked past her again.
"Is something wrong?"
"No."
"Why are you pacing up and down like a tiger, then?"
"I am merely trying to keep my circulation going."
"Oh."
He walked past her a few more times, a look of grave concentration on his face.
"Are you sure you're OK?"
"YES, Miss Granger," he answered, irritably. "I am perfectly 'OK'."
He stopped, and his shoulders sagged in defeat as he sighed,
"Very well...in your own words, Miss Granger, 'I need to pee'."

8pm-9pm - She was crying.
Usually, if a female student cried in front of him it was because he had been spiteful, and quite honestly, he couldn't care less. If the student concerned bore a complete dunderhead approach to his classes, then frankly, it was all they deserved.
But this was different. This was her. And they were in this situation.
Of course it was a typical reaction to danger, recalling the mother. He remembered reading a study on people who had survived grave peril; nearly every one - young and old - had admitted to wanting or thinking of their mother at some moment during the crisis.
He stood still as he looked at her, arms hanging useless by his side. He had never felt so emotionally inadequate in his life. He had a strong urge to put his arms around her and comfort her, wipe away the tears from her cheeks; but he held back, unable to do so.
Now who was the dunderhead?
His brain fidgeted, trying to work out what to do next.
"The venom of a cobra; one quarter ounce of powdered armadillo claw and three drops of sap from the Sonchus oleracus?"
She raised her hand to her face, wiped her eyes and sniffed before answering,
"Intemperies Vocis - a potion which causes the drinker to shout involuntary obscenities ."
"A tisane of Myosotis, Daucus carota and dried dragon-fly wings, infused for five hours during the spring equinox?"
She turned to look at him. At least she'd stopped crying.
"A basic memory-restoring potion," she answered.
"And what would you add if you wished to delve into the subconscious?"
"The ground cornea of a python and...one drop of Veritaserum - making very sure to stir in the Veritaserum thoroughly."
"Equal measures of Farina, Saccharon and Butyrum, mixed with two Pullus Ovum?"
She blinked and then laughed in amazement.
"Ingredients for a sponge-cake!"
Still grinning, she went and sat on the bed.
"I wouldn't expect you to know how to make a sponge-cake, Professor."
"My mother was a scribe for a witch who wrote recipe books as well as potion books," he said, sitting on the bed beside her. "My mother was frequently...unwell and unable to work so I used to copy the drafts for her..."
He stopped, surprised. Why on earth was he telling her this?
"So that's where your knowledge of Potions came from?"
"Initially, yes."
"And sponge-cakes..." she smiled up at him.
"But my cauldron cakes were quite successful, too." He gave a tiny smile back.
"My parents are dentists, but I don't know much about teeth."
"And yet you soak up knowledge in every other sphere and approach your studies with great maturity."
"'an old head on young shoulders' is how I'm usually described. My parents never spoke to me as though I were a child, they always tried to treat me as an equal. Of course, I had my moments of childish behaviour, but I suppose their attitude helped shape the way I think." She looked at him. "Is...is your mother still alive?"
"No."
"Do...do you have any family?"
He looked at her.
"I think you should get some rest."
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Twenty-Four Little Hours