Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130141 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 62
- 63
- 64
A/N: Brace yourselves, because this is a biggun that explains my four-month absence:

At the end of November my mother had a stroke, which resulted in emergency surgery to remove the clots from her brain. The doctor said surgery was successful but only time would tell concerning the extent of her recovery. She was in the hospital for a month, and then rehab for another month, and came home last month. She is doing EXTREMELY well-the surgeon said her recovery was miraculous because things were that bad- and gets better every day.

So my mind wasn't there and I was back and forth to the hospital every day while dealing with other adulty things and this chapter, which I knew was going to be hard to write for a number of reasons, proved to be one of the most difficult to finish. (but I did muahahahah take that, chapter!)

THEN the passing of dear Alan Rickman... I still can't believe that man is gone. I think I am still in utter denial about him no longer being on this earth. Bowie's passing messed me up, but Alan...

But it's done. I actually finished this chapter. I think the next few chapters will be a lot easier to write. A few of you knew about mom and sent me messages so thank you SO much because it helped keep me sane (relatively speaking). Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who is reading this story, whether you've been there from the start, began reading, stopped, and came back, or have just found this fic. THANK YOU! I appreciate every single review and message and squeal, and to those who have been neglecting school and work and all boring adulty things in aims of reading this gargantuan-sized fic, I'm sorry! Sort of sorry... :D

I'm sort of rushing so I'm sure some errors are lurking, but C'sMelody is the most awesome person on the planet (along with all of my other uncredited betas) and I will be happy to fix what needs fixing!

"Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes."

-The World Was Wide Enough, Hamilton Cast

The next few days were uneventful. It was business as usual for the headmaster, and most of his mornings and afternoons were spent tucked away in his office. Rumours of Potter's supposed closeness had Dumbledore's portrait on edge all the time, which in turn forced Snape to remain somewhat tethered to his office. His only reprieve was the little routine that took up his evenings and nights. The majority of Snape's life consisted of ever-changing variables, and there were very few things he could look forward to. Hermione and their two annoying cats were three constants that Snape was unaware of needing or even wanting, until realising that anticipation was what had him happily hiding away from the world at sundown.

The previous night's tête–à–tête with Dumbledore had run longer than Snape anticipated, and he was later than usual in returning to his rooms. He'd found Hermione in his armchair, an open book in her lap as she struggled to stay awake to read. She was gently scolded for not going to bed but Snape was unable to get upset as he knew that Hermione had been waiting up for him. Yet between his previous late night and early rise the next morning, the two were exhausted by seven that evening.

After dinner and a shared bath, the usual evening read was ignored in lieu of turning in for the night. Snape was surprised when Crookshanks and Loki remained in the sitting room instead of heading him off at the pass to claim their favourite spot on the bed.

"I won't close it all the way," he murmured when he saw Hermione's eyes fixated on the door. "Remember the last time I made the fatal mistake of actually shutting it? Loki saw fit to claw at the bottom until I let him in. Fortunately your familiar is more dignified and didn't need to be threatened."

Hermione did in fact remember, and she smiled at the memory of Severus swearing up a blue streak in the middle of the night when the black cat refused to cease his attempts at gaining entrance to his master's bedroom.

Once they were buried beneath the duvet and lying close to one another, it was a matter of minutes before sleep kicked in. Briefly before dozing off Snape found himself somewhat amused by the way Hermione's hair gave the impression that it wanted him to suffocate. Her curls were scattered on her pillow, as well as his, and the tips of a few strands tickled his nose.

"You should have let me plait it for you," he mumbled drowsily into Hermione's ear when she lifted her head to tug the entire mass free, draping it behind her over the pillow.

Her response to that was nestling closer to Snape and exhaling softly when his fingers tangled in her hair. His hand remained buried in Hermione's curls long after they had both fallen asleep. A dull, pinching sensation eventually woke him up, and his foggy mind attributed the annoyance to sleeping with one arm awkwardly extended. But then an urgent, shrill greeting at his ear followed by small, non-human fingers tugging at his wrist abruptly snapped him into a conscious and highly defensive state.

"Dobby?" Snape spat upon seeing the house-elf. It had taken him all of a second to extricate himself from Hermione's hair and arms and snatch up his wand, pointing it in front of him before the threat, which he soon found was non-existent, came into focus. "What the devil do you mean by barging in here like this?"

"Dobby is dreadfully sorry, Professor Snape, sir, but Professor Dumbledore says he needs to see you right away."

"And he sent you," Snape muttered, exhaling hard in annoyance as he threw back the duvet. "I don't suppose he told you why."

"He did, sir."

Snape dragged his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, wand still in hand as he stared expectantly at the elf, who was now balanced atop his pillow with his lumpy sock covered feet inches away from Hermione's nose.

"Dobby, it's past midnight. I'm in no mood for guessing games so either tell me what you know or get out."

In addition to the clumsily knitted odd socks, the house-elf was dressed in a child's jumper that had a dog or a reindeer stitched onto the front; in the dim lighting it was hard to tell. Now Dobby's fingers were plucking nervously at the jumper, distorting a small portion of the stitched animal's face.

"Dobby was told that Harry Potter is here!"

If Dobby could have possibly sounded more excited, Snape would be worried that the elf was on the verge of wetting himself. That wouldn't have ended well since he was standing on his bed, and two, standing next to a sleeping Hermione.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Snape deadpanned, staring so fiercely at Dobby that it caused the elf to wring his fingers tighter into his jumper.

"Dobby wouldn't tell lies, sir. Dobby was sent for by Aberforth and Aberforth told Dobby that Harry Potter was seen in Hogsmeade and tis true, sir! Dobby saw Harry Potter and his Wheezy! Dobby wanted to stay and talk with Harry Potter but Aberforth says Dobby must go at once to tell Professor Dumbledore. And then Professor Dumbledore says I should tell Professor Snape, and Dobby does what he is told, sir."

Prone to rambling and knocking around when overexcited, Dobby began doing just that. Before he was able to move back and step on Hermione's face, Snape caught him by a tiny wrist and forced him to stand in one place.

"Dobby, stay here with Hermione. If I'm not back in a few minutes then you are to remain in this room. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor Snape. Dobby understands."

At the back of his mind Snape pondered how Hermione managed to remain asleep throughout all the commotion, but there was little time to brood over that. A litany of non-too-kind sentiments ran through his head as he moved from the bed, taking care to not jostle his mate. After dressing in record timing, the professor hurried out his room and into the darkened corridors.

All seemed in place in the dungeons, which was no surprise. If Potter had in fact already entered the school, chances were he would have met up with members of Dumbledore's Army, and the group always met at the furthermost reaches of the castles. Speaking of Dumbledore, Snape found it interesting that Aberforth was sending messages to Albus' portrait via Dobby. He didn't like Aberforth and Aberforth didn't like him, and Snape had the idea that Aberforth especially resented Albus for giving him a second chance. That small fact aside, Snape had the impression that the two brothers were on the outs with one another. Albus had always been so damned secretive that he never gave anything away concerning his erstwhile relationship with his brother. Aberforth, on the other hand, was more transparent and made no bones about his feelings.

Thinking about Aberforth made Snape remember the day where he'd been tossed out onto his arse for eavesdropping at the Hog's Head. His life had already been shite, but that day when he'd made one of the poorest decisions of his life merely added to his misery.

With grim determination, Snape climbed yet another set of steps and reached the seventh floor of the castle. That business with Aberforth was being placed back into the tiny box in the depths of his mind when a flash of red hair began heading in his direction, causing him to halt and move quietly behind a large hanging tapestry.

Ginny Weasley was quite adept at sneaking around; better than the majority of her classmates, Snape would privately admit. But despite all her subterfuge she was unable to go undetected beneath the headmaster's watchful eye, and her brown eyes grew wide as an owl's when Snape moved out the shadows and directly in her path.

"Good evening, Miss Weasley. I've just been made aware of some recent events, and before you decide to behave as though you know nothing, I urge you to choose your answers carefully."

Ginny's jaw was set obstinately as she stared at Snape. She maintained a brave facade, yet he immediately honed in on the way she kept swallowing nervously.

"It has been brought to my attention that Potter is nearby."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ginny replied tartly, clenching both hands into fists and furtively easing the length of her wand out from her sleeve.

"I think you do know," Snape replied softly, his dark eyes glittering shrewdly. "I think you know a great deal more than you are willing to admit."

That statement was followed by a tense stretch of silence. Ginny attempted to maintain her haughty disposition but it was clear that she was trying to find a way out of her debacle. Snape knew he had the power to diffuse the tension, but at that moment he was more concerned with making sure that he found Potter before the Dark Lord or his followers found him first.

"Miss Weasley, things are rather pressing at the moment and I don't have the luxury of time. One way or another I will find out what I need to know, but it would behove you to make that sooner rather than later. And trust me, you do not want it to be later."

It was Ginny's turn to return his shrewd look with one of her own, yet her body language continued to speak of the need to flee in the other direction; one, to avoid his intense scrutiny, and two, to alert the members of the D.A. that the headmaster was in the know about Potter.

"Damn it, girl," Snape hissed impatiently, moving one step closer to a now visibly alarmed Ginny. "I've had it with you lot. First there was that business with the sword, now I have to deal with you brats tagging up the school and pushing your luck at every turn. You got off easy with the graffiti and the blatant mention of Dumbledore's Army. Now tell me—do you want your little boyfriend to die? Because that is exactly what will happen if you don't open your mouth."

The girl remained unaffected, and moved a half inch towards the headmaster with a ferocious glare. "With all due respect, sir, you're one of them. I don't see a single reason why I should tell you anything."

"If I really was 'one of them', do you truly believe you would still be standing here unharmed?"

That seemed to turn her thoughts around and a fraction of Ginny's hostility faded away.

"Miss Weasley, I understand the need to be secretive. I am also fully aware that you lot have likely used some sort of charm to bring any tattlers into the light. I'll make this simple for you and all you merely need do is nod. Is Potter here?"

The girl was still apprehensive but gave a tiny, reluctant nod.

"Is he currently inside this school?"

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then nodded her head again.

"Very well. Run along, Miss Weasley. You and I both have some work to do. Now kindly ensure that you are not seen by certain members of the staff. It is hardly a secret that the Carrows have it out for you wayward students."

The girl looked completely poleaxed at being sent on her way, likely because she assumed that she was going to be strung up by her thumbs and subjected to several rounds of Cruciatus. When she scampered around a corner and completely out of sight, Snape used that opportunity to rush back to his own rooms. It was a matter of time before certain daft members of his staff would come banging at his door, and he needed to come up with some sort of plan.

"Dobby, go and find Filch," Snape ordered in one breath as he rushed into the bedroom. "Now. Bring him here."

"Yes, sir," Dobby answered, Disapparating from the bed with a loud crack.

Crookshanks and Loki were also on the bed, and they jumped when Dobby disappeared. Loki immediately rushed over to Snape and began batting his head against his sleeve, and he nudged the feline away.

"Get away, cat. I don't have time to play with you," Snape grunted as he snatched up Hermione's clothes and moved to her side of the bed. She was still sound asleep even after being tugged upright, and her head tipped forward over his forearm.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he said, patting her cheek with just enough force to rouse her. Finally she awoke, blinking up at Severus in confusion, likely trying to figure out why he was hovering over her while clutching onto her jeans and jumper. "I don't wish to alarm you but I won't lie to you either. Potter and Weasley are supposedly in the school and I need to find them before the Carrows do. I've sent Dobby to find Filch and you three are to remain in this room."

Snape hastily got Hermione into her clothes as he spoke. He had just finished tying the laces on her trainers when someone knocked on the bedroom door.

"Professor Snape, sir? Dobby has brought Mr Filch and his Mrs Norris," the elf called out, his voice muffled through the wood.

Hermione was fully awake by now and staring at her mate with panic in her eyes. She was also trembling mildly from being unceremoniously yanked from the warmth of the bed, and Snape ignored her states while guiding her to stand before the hearth before opening his door.

"Wot's all this, then?" Filch asked grouchily, holding onto an equally grouchy Mrs Norris. The caretaker looked as though he'd also been in bed and redressed in a rush, for his ancient waistcoat was buttoned wrong and the collar on his brown coat was half-tucked inside. An oil lamp dangled from his other hand, and Snape took it from the older man as he shuffled his way into the room. "I don't ask much questions and you know I'd do anything for you, lad, but this is a bit much—" Filch stopped abruptly when he saw the nervous young woman standing behind Snape, franticly peering over his shoulder.

"Severus, isn't that—" Filch was cut off again when Mrs Norris jumped out of his arms and tottered across the room to sit between Loki and Crookshanks. "Isn't she the one who ran around with those two rabble-rousers?"

"Indeed she is," Snape answered, swearing under his breath as a loud yowl rang out, followed by Loki darting across the room and over his feet. Mrs Norris tucked herself in the corner in a defensive stance, her tail in the air. The two had got into some sort of scuffle, likely instigated by Loki who always started trouble yet would quickly flee when the tables were turned. "And those two rabble-rousers are said to be inside the castle and I need to find them before the Carrows do. That's why I need you to—get down!"

Mrs Norris had run full speed at Loki when his head was turned, and the black cat immediately ran for safety by means of crawling up the length of Snape's teaching robes. Loki didn't listen, but before he had a chance to further sink his claws in, Snape picked him up and tucked him into the crook of his arm. Filch did the same with his familiar although she was carefully picked up, and earned a few gentle strokes atop her head laced with murmurings about the headmaster's naughty cat.

"It's about to be Waterloo at Hogwarts and everything is sure to fall to ruins, but of course it's beneath the cats to give a damn," Snape continued, snarling at Loki to be still when he began squirming and shuffling about in his saviour's arm. "As I was saying, I need you to stay in here. Miss Granger already knows that she is not to open the door under any circumstances, and the same goes for you. The wards on my room will keep you safe so long as you keep the main door shut, although I would prefer it if you confined yourselves to the bedroom."

"What am I, some dippy, doddering old fart what needs to stay hidden?" Filch argued, his jowls quivering as he puffed up with offence. "I may not be like you with your spells and all but that's never stopped me before."

"I am well aware, Filch, and I would never question your abilities," Snape told him softly. "However, this has fuck all to do with what you can and can't do and everything to do with you needing to look after yourself and Miss Granger." Snape paused to look down. "As well as a wayward house-elf and three calamitous cats."

"Dobby can look after himself, Professor!" Dobby squeaked from his place on the floor. "I can look after Mister Filch and Hermy and Loki and Crookshanks, but I don't know about Mrs Norris. I tried to carry her to your room but she didn't like it much."

"Thank you, Dobby," Snape replied calmly without looking down, his black eyes trained on the huffy caretaker. "Filch, this is not for debate. Just do as I ask. Please."

"All right, lad, I'll stay in here. But I still say that I'm more use out there than I am in here."

"Damn it, Argus!"

Loki flinched at the sound of Snape losing his temper and jumped out of his arms. Snape advanced on Filch so quickly that it startled Mrs Norris, and she leapt out of the caretaker's arms and scuttled across the room, displaying that she was over her fight with Loki by sidling up next to him. "You're what, two-hundred years old? You survived the first war as well as the nonsense in between, not to mention the miracle of you climbing these steps day in and day out without falling and breaking your neck or hip. You've come this far and I'll be damned to change that when it can be avoided. Now I know that you would do more if you could but this is a war that can only be won with a wand."

"Cheeky bastard. I'm old enough to be your great-granddad and you have the nerve to give me a bollocking. And by the way, who the bloody hell are you calling two-hundred?"

"You, you dimmock."

Filch uttered a few choice words toward the headmaster, speaking softly enough that only Snape could hear.

"If you're through with your whinge, allow me to repeat myself: stay in this fucking room. I mean it, Filch, save your own arse for once. Should I die and find out that you set as much as a toe across the threshold and got yourself hurt or killed, I will find a way to bring us both back to life and kill you all over again myself."

"God almighty that's grim, even for you." Filch paused to scratch his balding head, frowning at Snape. "But you've got my word, lad, we'll stay in here. Though I must say, you talk as if you don't plan on coming back."

All of a sudden Snape found it difficult to meet Filch's eye, and the elderly man immediately caught on.

"You are coming back, aren't you?" Filch asked, although his tone was somewhat demanding. "Ah, you're coming back. I know it."

"Filch—"

"Don't argue with me, Severus, because this is one fight you won't win. You're coming back, and that's that."

Deep down in his heart, Snape truly believed that he would not be returning after dealing with whatever lay beyond his room. Even if Filch refused to hear it, there was no way he would outright contradict the man, not with Hermione standing right there.

However it soon became apparent that he did not need to point out his less than hopeful thoughts, for Hermione immediately picked up on them and grabbed onto his hands, squeezing them to the point of pain. She didn't need to utter the words 'don't leave'; that anguished plea was easy to see in her eyes and her nails were ten little daggers, threatening to break skin on the backs of his hands.

Lie to her. Do her this one favour and lie. It's the least you can do.

At least he couldn't lie to himself and say that he hadn't tried, for the words formed easily in his mind. However when it came to actually uttering them, they became stubbornly lodged in his throat.

"Stay here with Filch, Hermione," Snape finally got out, ignoring the way his voice faltered. "He'll look after you, and you can look after the cats."

"And Dobby too, sir! Dobby can look after everyone."

Snape rolled his eyes. "And Dobby as well."

Hermione typically had never been one to ignore a house-elf, particularly not one who was trying to do a good deed. Dobby, however, didn't cause her to blink an eye and she continued clutching at her mate with fright on her face.

"Don't do that. We both knew this day would come," Snape pointed out, wrapping his fingers around Hermione's wrists and forcing her to look at him. "It can't be helped. You know this. No amount of wishful thinking is going to change anything right now and we need to face facts."

Hermione's grip faltered slightly even as tears began running down her cheeks, and it was almost enough to make Snape go through with his lie. However, there was a familiar and very much inconvenient burning sensation in his left forearm and he flinched noticeably enough make Filch do a double take, and for Hermione to loosen her grip even more.

"Fuck!" Snape swore, reactively grabbing at his arm. Alecto had activated the mark, and a second later her toady voice was clear as day inside his head:

We've got the boy!

"I have to go."

The moment Snape dropped Hermione's wrist to turn away, she rushed to block him and grabbed onto the front of his frock coat, holding on for dear life. When she refused to let go, even after repeated attempts of Snape trying to pry her fingers loose, he was almost certain that she knew of his unspoken ideas about not returning.

"None of that," Snape told Hermione in a mildly authoritative tone, having one more go at her clenched hands. "Now I don't have much time left, so be a good girl and give us a kiss."

That made Hermione cry even harder. Seeing her angst-ridden face was like a knife to the gut, and Snape pulled her against him, completely uncaring about her tears and dripping nose wetting his coat.

The burning in his forearm hadn't subsided, but his only saving grace was that the Dark Lord wasn't the one who had initiated the call. When Riddle summoned his followers, his call hurt badly enough that one would seriously consider chopping off their arm. Of course that was likely done by design, as the blaze beneath your skin would subside the moment everyone had gathered, but it wasn't as if anyone would dare to keep their master waiting.

However, no matter who activated their Dark Mark, the damned thing still hurt, and Snape balled his left hand into a fist while rubbing Hermione's back with his right, desperate for her to stop crying.

"Look at me. Hermione, Look at me." He caught Hermione's face between both hands and used enough force to make her meet his eye. "I have to leave. As much as I want to lie to you and say that I'll return, I cannot and I will not. Just know that I love you and I will always love you."

Snape didn't give a damn that Filch was standing less than four feet away from him and Hermione. His words had been spoken softly enough for only her to hear, but the positioning of their bodies was a dead giveaway to the nature of their relationship. Dead men tended not to know or care about a bit of gossip, and seeing as he was not coming back, he figured that Filch knowing was a moot point.

There was a moment when Hermione's tears subsided, but her trembling lips told that she wasn't yet through. She wasn't the only one wrestling with emotions; the knife inside him twisted deeper by the minute but there was no time for weakness. Telling himself that he had to go now else he would never leave, Snape drew Hermione into a breath-crushing hug and pressed his lips to her temple. Before letting go he murmured one little word into her ear and it was enough to set her off again.

Hermione's mouth opened as though she was screaming, but no sound came out. Her rage was mute but palpable as she beat her hands against Snape's chest, smacking him and pulling him closer in the same touch.

By that time books had begun flying off the small bedside table. A water glass tipped over, the hearth flickered, and one of the armchairs shook as though it was seconds away from falling backwards. Filch had been gobsmacked by watching the intense exchange between the couple, but when a book whizzed past his temple, another coming straight towards his face and forcing him to duck, he swore loudly and hurried across the room.

"What the devil is going on!" Filch shouted, tucking himself into a chair for safety. The cats had been startled by things abruptly hurling themselves across the room, and they scrambled over one another to get to the haven of Filch's lap. "There, there," he soothed, distractedly petting the three trembling bundles of fur. "Severus, I see you're a bit tied up, but why the hell are your books trying to kill us?"

Somehow the volley of inanimate objects seemed to avoid Hermione and Snape, but they still came close. Snape knew the reason for the onset of flying objects but was too distracted to explain. He was more concerned with Hermione draining herself completely of her magical energy, as well as stopping her without causing harm to her or anyone else in the room.

Throughout her continuous tears and clawing at Snape's shoulders, she was kissed tenderly as if she wasn't in the midst of a meltdown. It took some effort but finally Snape moved from her lips and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Forgive me."

Hermione had no idea about the wand trained at the back of her head, thus she never saw it coming. One minute she was fighting like a caged animal, and the next she was rendered unconscious, crumpling like a wilted flower right into Snape's awaiting arms.

"My God, man, is that what happens when she's in a right state?" Filch asked, his eyes round with shock. "And wot the hell did you say for her to act like that?"

Snape remained silent as he bent down to slip an arm beneath Hermione's legs. He lifted her up and pressed his face against her wet cheek. "I told her goodbye."

Filch was quiet for a moment. "Well surely you've told the lass goodbye before."

Snape shook his head. "Never goodbye. Not even when..."

He paused, thinking back to the last time he had seen Hermione before she had been dropped off at the school with a broken body, mind and spirit. That last time had been the day they ran into one another at Spinner's End. That reunion was most unexpected and bittersweet, yet instead of harping on the ugly realities of the situation, they'd used the time to make love until it was time to leave. Even as they stood on the cool, shadowy outskirts of the Burrow, Snape had refused to say goodbye, unwilling to accept that it was possibly the last time he would see Hermione. He had wanted to hold on to some small bit of hope, even if the idea was foolish. When they were reunited it had been almost too good to be true, and the crux of her tattered mind was not enough to sway those feelings. Having a half-mad Hermione was better than not having her at all, and he'd made up his mind that he would care for her as long as he was allowed to.

And as it usually goes for you, your time is up. But you did know that all good things eventually come to an end.

"Always goodnight or the equivalent," Snape continued tonelessly as her carried her over to his bed and tucked her in, shoes and all. "Never goodbye. Tonight is different, and I told Hermione goodbye because I needed her to know that I had no plans of returning."

Filch clucked his tongue while shaking his head. "She's going to hate you for this once she comes round," he murmured, ruefully eyeing the unconscious girl.

"I hate myself enough for the both of us," Snape replied quietly, carefully drawing the blankets up to Hermione's neck and wiping away the moisture on her cheeks with his thumb. He continued moving in a trance-like state, his fingers lingering at Hermione's cheek before yanking himself back and snapping the bed curtains shut. "I doubt she can possibly hate me more than that."

"You've always been too hard on yourself, Severus. Furthermore I doubt that girl could hate you even if she tried."

Snape gave Filch a pointed stare, and the older man boldly returned with a similar expression.

"Go on, lad. I'll look after the girl," Filch continued, hobbling over to an armchair and falling down into it with a groan. "We'll be here once you're through saving everyone's arses. Likely I'll be kippin' in this very chair since that elf dragged me out of bed."

"Filch, I already told you—"

"Bollocks. You'll be back and we'll be right here." He paused to dig out a flask from his coat pocket, unscrewing the cap, taking a deep swig and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He offered the flask to Snape, who declined by means of a sneer. "It's brandy, not whiskey, but suit yourself. Oh, one more thing before you go..." Filch paused and cast a nervous glance towards the bed. "Does she, ah, has she got a wand? Because I didn't see one when everything started flying around the room, and when she wakes up and goes through the bleedin' roof when she don't see you, I don't want to catch the blame."

"When she was brought to me there was no wand, and I always kept mine away to prevent any mishaps. Therefore I would say that you're safe. From Miss Granger accidentally cursing off your balls, that is. Unfortunately I can make no promises for anything or anyone else, especially seeing how difficult it is for me to leave this room."

"All right, all right, I'll shut my gob. Now get out of here before someone comes lookin' for ya."

Snape suspected that Filch was deliberately trying to keep him in the room, but there was no point in asking the caretaker. Besides, Filch had already put away his flask and closed his eyes, well on his way to sleep.

It was certainly an odd situation—Filch napping in his armchair, Dobby and the three cats tucked away across the room, and Hermione partially hidden behind the curtains, unaware of everything around her. The silence in the bedroom gave the impression of a lazy Sunday evening, when in fact it was just the opposite. Snape wished he had a sliver of Filch's optimism, for it might have been easier to leave the room. Even though Hermione had been deep in hysterics moments before finding herself on the receiving end of a sleeping charm, her expression was peaceful and that was some small consolation. Snape stared at her long and hard before sweeping out of the room, making sure the burnt image in his mind of her unperturbed face outweighed the intensity of the searing brand on his arm.

Alecto's voice had been present for the entire time of which his mark burned. It stopped abruptly just as he began making his way up a rarely used staircase.

If this is a false alarm then I shall personally snap that bitch's neck, Snape thought, curious as to why Alecto had reneged on the call. The Dark Lord killed for less, and would not take kindly to having his time wasted. As Snape was the headmaster, he was the one who would have to provide answers, and that meant starting with the Carrows. Alecto was stupid, but not so stupid that she could mistake another student for Harry Potter.

Snape was positive that he would meet one of the Carrows along the way. Yet after travelling to the opposite side of the castle and climbing multiple sets of spiral steps, he continued to find nothing but thin air and that was even more cause for worry.

All right, Boy Wonder. Where the hell are you hiding? Snape pondered when another ten minutes passed and the only things he came across was a mouse scampering along the corridor and slumbering portraits. Just as he began considering that Potter could possibly be using his Invisibility Cloak, his ears picked up on a faint rustling sound, multiple footsteps, and a distinct Scottish brogue.

McGonagall was predictable as ever; after dinner she would retire to bed unless she had patrol duty. Each morning, before the sun could think about rising, she rose before it. For her to be out of bed at this hour meant that something was definitely amiss, and Snape was certain that a black-haired, green-eyed young wizard had something to do with it.

Multiple sets of footsteps were now approaching, and Snape darted behind a suit of armour that was nearest to him. Seconds later he saw the hem of a voluminous tartan dressing gown, the likes of which belonged to the Head of Gryffindor House. It was easy to fall into step behind McGonagall, and while she gave the appearance of being alone, Snape knew for sure that he had heard more than one person walking down the corridor. For the first few minutes McGonagall had no idea that she was being followed, although she paused once to look around, and suspicion was clear on her face. Snape hid behind another set of armour that time, but a moment later McGonagall paused as if she knew that she wasn't alone.

"Who's there?" she called out, spinning around with her wand raised, poised for a fight.

Telling himself that there was no longer any point in hiding, Snape slid out from behind the armour and announced himself, his wand drawn.

"It is I."

McGonagall did not look shocked to see him, and she gave no away no indication that she'd been doing something forbidden. There was a silent standoff between the two professors as they sized up one another, and it then occurred to Snape that neither Alecto nor her brother had yet to show face. Just like he knew that McGonagall wasn't alone, he knew that she had something to do with the abrupt cut off of Alecto's call. For all he cared McGonagall could have used the Killing Curse on the damnable duo and dumped their bodies over the parapets. However if they weren't dead and still free to roam the castle, then every student they came across would have been hauled off to a darkened, locked office and tortured for information concerning the whereabouts of Potter. Whether the student could give satisfactory answers or not was irrelevant, as was the fact if they actually had information to give; the Carrows punished for sport and did so without impunity.

"Where are the Carrows?"

"Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus."

Snape slowly moved in closer to McGonagall, the way a predator did when it was going in for the kill. Anyone else would have shied away from the pointed eye contact, and doubly fast if it was him doing the staring. Part of that had to do with the fact that he made most people uncomfortable, and it didn't help that he had a reputation for being able to detect lies in two seconds flat. But McGonagall was unlike any other and she continued to unwaveringly stand her ground as he blatantly scanned the area behind her, knowing that Potter was there even if the boy was unable to be seen.

"I was under the impression that Alecto had apprehended an intruder."

"Really? And what gave you that impression?"

Snape hadn't meant to flex his left arm but he did, and he hated that McGonagall noticed immediately.

"Oh, but naturally you Death Eaters have your own private means of communication, I forgot."

Chopping off his arm was the only way to get rid of his Dark Mark, something that he briefly considered not long after receiving the thing in his youth and realising what a mistake it had been. McGonagall had no sympathy for him, which was to be expected, yet he still resented her for stating the uncomfortable obvious. He ignored that comment as it was of no consequence, more concerned with finding Potter before anyone else could.

"I did not know that it was your night to patrol the corridors, Minerva," he continued with mild interest, stepping closer and slowly walking in an arc around the woman.

"You have some objection?"

"I wonder what could have brought you out of bed at this hour?"

"I thought I heard a disturbance."

"Really? But all seems calm. Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist—"

"Tell me, Severus, just where do you think I have Potter hidden?" McGonagall interrupted in a tone reserved for the dim-witted. "Because the last I checked he wasn't in my pockets or beneath the folds of my dressing gown. There's the unpleasant risk of ruining our professional relationship but you are more welcome to check beneath my nightclothes if you like."

Snape very nearly turned up his nose in disgust but forced himself to remain passive. He was not amused or inclined to follow through with McGonagall's suggestion. He knew she was deliberately trying to put him off by going for shock value, and she achieved it perfectly. For a moment he seriously considered jumping out of the nearest window, but only if it meant purging his brain from the image of delving beneath the garish tartan hangings on the body of a woman who taught him as a child.

McGonagall knew that her words had thrown Snape off, and her beady eyes flashed smugly through her square spectacles. The woman was an impeccable liar: he would give her that. She kept a straight face whilst staring at him, maintaining it even as a soft thump reached his ears, giving away that they were not the only ones in the corridor.

McGonagall flinched ever so slightly but it was enough to give away that she was aware of Snape picking up on the sound. It was almost as if she could see his fingers twitch around the handle of his wand, even though his hand was completely concealed beneath the folds of his robes. His intention was to reveal the person who was likely standing somewhere near McGonagall. However, she didn't wait to see what he was going to do.

Snape whipped his wand out and cast a Shield Charm a fraction of a second before a torch flew out of its bracket on the wall, its flames growing larger until it resembled a fiery ring that swooshed in his direction.

Quickly the situation escalated into an all out magical brawl. McGonagall held nothing back and Snape considered that she was trying to kill him. There was a handful of people he would hex without question, and a larger group that he might spare a second thought to before hexing. Minerva McGonagall didn't fit into either category, and even though she was trying to burn him to a crisp with her spells, he refused to retaliate with anything stronger than a Shield Charm.

The attacks blasting at him grew more vicious with each moment, and Snape used a suit of armour, the closest thing to him, to protect himself from a swarm of daggers.

"Minerva!" a squeaky voice shouted, and a second later the tiny figure of Professor Flitwick came running up the corridor. Sprout and Slughorn were right behind him. Sprout was dressed in some non-descript, shapeless dressing gown and an ugly robe, and she had one arm clutched over her large, bouncing bosom as her other hand brandished a wand. Slughorn looked just as ridiculous, dressed in emerald-green silk pyjamas and matching slippers and looking as though he was trying to keep from falling as he huffed and puffed, attempting to keep up with Sprout.

"Wha-what?" he spluttered beneath his great moustache, looking wildly from Snape, who was now caught in the moving arms of the suit of armour, thanks to Flitwick, and McGonagall, who looked ready to go in for the kill.

Snape knew that he was hated; his colleagues weren't artful enough to hide that fact. But to see that loathing etched blatantly across three of their faces as they stared him down showed just how deeply that hate ran. Flitwick was too soft, in his opinion, but he rarely bumped heads with the man. And he respected McGonagall, even if they had never seen eye to eye on everything. Sprout rarely had much to say, but right now she had sided with her colleagues, as told by the wand aiming at the centre of his chest. Slughorn was the only one who looked perturbed and somewhat frightened, but that still wasn't enough to make the man keep his wand pocketed.

It didn't take much thought to know how this scenario was going to end. He was outnumbered four to one, and being on the wrong side of four wands was not how he wanted to spend his last moments.

The suit of armour's arms were strong and hellishly hard to get loose from, and Snape almost broke a finger in the process of fighting free of his metal prison. The armour barely had time to clank to the floor as he fled up the corridor, blasting a classroom door off its hinges and dashing inside. Judging from the shouting, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout were close behind, Slughorn swearing lustily when he was unable to keep up.

There was only one way out. Snape wasted no time in careening through a window just as a flash of red rebounded off an adjacent wall, followed by the fading sound of McGonagall's voice behind him yelling "Coward!"

Moments after abandoning his post, Snape found the Dark Lord and his minions on the outskirts of Hogwarts. Riddle was in a blackened mood and his robes flew about as he paced back and forth, and everyone made sure to keep their eyes averted while maintaining a safe distance.

"Where is the boy, Severus?" Riddle hissed after giving permission for Snape to approach. "I was told that he had been captured!"

"I was made to believe the same, my lord, however there is some lingering doubt. The Carrows claimed to have seen Potter, yet Alecto disappeared shortly after touching her Dark Mark. I've seen neither her nor her brother, and no tangible sign of Potter's presence."

"Potter is nearby. I can feel it!" Voldemort shouted, looking demented as he flapped away and unleashed a yell. Snape was used to these outbursts and retreated into his own mind, his normal method of dealing with Voldemort, but he noticed a few Death Eaters at front of the line flinch slightly, Lucius being one of them. It didn't help that Nagini was curled up on the ground less than a foot away, slithering behind her master as he stalked his way down the hill.

"Severus," Voldemort called, his tone more composed this time. "Walk with me."

Snape nodded and fell into place beside the Dark Lord as they began walking toward the Forbidden Forest, Nagini close behind.

"I need a place to keep Nagini hidden."

"My lord?"

"She needs protection. I cannot allow her to remain in the open like this, not with Potter near."

"I know of a place, my lord. It's nothing glamorous but it remains undisturbed."

"That is fine, Severus. Take me to this place."

The Shrieking Shack was barely accommodating, and along the way Snape made his apologies for subjecting the Dark Lord to the shabby, dilapidated edifice. The house looked as though a shallow huff would knock it down into a pile of rubble, yet Riddle was surprisingly cavalier about entering the place, stating that his only concern at that moment was keeping his beloved safe. Nagini's head rose a foot off the ground at 'beloved', and Snape almost retched when Voldemort reached out to fondly stroke the back of the snake's head with an ugly, long dirty-nailed finger.

Riddle briefly appraised the dusty room that Snape led him to. His lip curled up slightly in distaste when he noticed the piles of smashed furniture, broken floorboards, and thick dust clods. For a second Snape began fearing for his life, knowing that in spite of Riddle behaving as though he was imperturbable about the mundane, deep down he was just as pretentious and materialistic as many of the wealthy wizards who were in his inner circle. It would have been damnably inconvenient to be killed over a bit of dirt, but there was no rhyme or reason when it came to Riddle's thought process.

Snape was relieved with the Dark Lord announced that he would soon return, casting a magical cage around Nagini's coiled body before vanishing them both out of sight. He walked around the room and paused a few times, remembering the many times that he'd visited the Shrieking Shack.

As an adult he rarely found a reason to return to the place where he'd nearly been killed by a werewolf. The last time he'd been inside was when that same werewolf had been teaching at Hogwarts. That visit ended with him being knocked unconscious by Hermione and Potter. When he finally came to he found himself on the grass, head and feet aching like hell, the toes of his boots scuffed beyond repair, and a fully transformed Lupin about to rip into the throats of Sirius Black, Potter, Weasley, and Hermione.

It was easy to become angry at those old memories. But there were bigger things happening, and a loud reminder of that was a mighty groan the house gave as it shifted. Snape wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse to be deliberately left out from the ensuing battle at Hogwarts. Somehow it felt wrong to be sitting in the dank, rotting room of the Shrieking Shack. It was so quiet that the idea of a war going on not that far from the place seemed absurd, but he really couldn't hear a damned thing. That very silence soon turned out to be his enemy, because it was all he could focus on, in turn thinking of how quiet it had been in his bedroom hours ago as he and Hermione drifted off to sleep together.

You could leave. You could take Hermione and go far, far away from this place and start a new life.

Snape relished the idea for a moment, yet quickly brought himself back down to earth. There were a thousand reasons why he could not abscond with Hermione, and a thousand more that had nothing to do with Hermione, all of which forced him to remain tethered to his post at Hogwarts.

A post which he technically abandoned.

Who do you think you're fooling? You've told yourself time and time again that happily-ever-afters aren't for people like you. Hermione, perhaps, but not you.

That admittance barely stung because he'd kept lofty ambitions concerning his life to a minimum. It was easy to avoid disappointment when he had no expectations for himself, and even easier when there was no one else to have expectations of him.

Hermione had expectations for him—the both of them—and that made things all the more complicated.

Snape snapped back to reality, remembering again that he was alone. Even more surprising was the unexplained annoyance he felt at being alone. Standing in a room with Riddle was almost the same thing as being in a room with the devil himself, and if he could choose then he preferred to be far away from either. However, the Dark Lord's presence forced him to keep his focus at bay, which in turn prevented him from thinking about Hermione.

Just as he began getting used to being alone, Voldemort returned and Snape was summoned to another part of the house. A small group of his followers were gathered in the room, mostly those in his inner circle who weren't as prone to broadcasting their ignorance. Disgraced though he was, Lucius remained at the front, Narcissa at his side, yet there was a look of worriment beneath his veneer of calm.

Riddle made a grand exit from the room the moment the meeting was over, and not long after Snape found Lucius standing next to him.

"My son is missing," he began without overture, clutching onto his Death Eater's mask with white-knuckled fingers.

"Before you make any impetuous decisions, might I remind you that your every move is being scrutinised," Snape replied in a voice just loud enough for only Lucius to hear.

Lucius' words had been tinged with desperation but his friend's remark was enough to make him straighten up. Snape stared straight ahead, giving the impression of ignoring everything and everyone around him, when the truth was he was aware of absolutely everything going on in the room. Bellatrix especially; she was at her sister's elbow, staring nastily over in his direction, and the smirk twisting her lips suggested something sly dancing on the tip of her tongue.

"When did you last see Draco?"

"Last night... No, this morning."

"I'm sure he's fine, Lucius. Draco knows enough to save his hide. After all, he is his father's child."

Lucius remained unconvinced, but Snape shot him a look that meant the whereabouts of his son was a cross he would have to bear on his personal time. Riddle had just stormed back into the room, going on about taking Hogwarts by force if needed. Everyone began filing out the door, and when Snape moved to the Dark Lord's side, he held up a hand.

"I want you to lead them, Severus." Riddle hissed, his tone oddly impersonal.

"My lord?"

"You will be more use to me out there than in here. However I want you to oversee the fight. There will be no need for you to raise your wand unless absolutely necessary."

Snape didn't know how to take that, and not knowing didn't sit well with him. But there was no way he would go against the Dark Lord, and he displayed obedience by bowing his head, stepping back to let the last few stragglers through before following behind.

Two hours later, the normally serene grounds of Hogwarts transformed into a raucous war zone that reeked of blood, fire, and ash. The once beautiful castle was slowly demolished in small bits or large pieces, depending on who was casting the spell. Slivers of stone and rubble lay in piles on the ground, some used as a hiding place by those who were too tired to fight.

The guilt experienced by the headmaster was so strong that he had to retreat inside his mind to remain detached from his surroundings. Below him were students who had trouble brewing a simple Boil Cure in his class. They had no business fighting, yet were going toe to toe with Death Eaters, none of whom would think twice about killing an innocent child and using their bones to pick their teeth clean. This war had nothing do with them, and at the same time, it would affect every one of them for the rest of their lives.

The professor's unmoving figure was completely undetectable as he remained tucked away in the tiny alcove at the topmost part of the castle. The longer Snape stared down at the battle playing out, the blurrier everything became until it was hard to decipher who was fighting whom. A small voice in the back of his mind kept hinting that it was he who should be down there, that it was reprehensible in every way to have a group of kids fighting a war that they played no part in causing.

There was another voice that made him question why Voldemort decided to leave him out of the line of fire. His battle tactics were serving their purpose; the Death Eaters had been given enough information to weaken the other side's defence, yet not so much help that would enable them to do so easily.

On his way out of the Shrieking Shack, Snape noticed that Riddle had been eyeing him with peculiarity. For the most part it was never difficult to decipher the thoughts of a perpetually self-aggrandising Tom Riddle; on the other hand, the dark wizard was so twisted that only the sickest of minds could deem to comprehend his sordid thoughts. Up until then Snape had been treated with what only Riddle would consider respect, but not once did Snape take that to mean that he was absent from the Dark Lord's wrath should the day come when he was no longer useful.

"Severus."

Snape turned around at hearing his name, his eyes falling upon the pitiful figure of Lucius Malfoy, who sported a freshly blackened eye.

"The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you," Lucius told him in a near whisper, sounding almost too afraid to talk. "He says you will find him in the same room as before."

Snape didn't realise that he hadn't replied until he noticed Lucius staring at him, waiting for some type of response.

"Very well," he replied, swallowing hard and finding that his mouth had gone dry.

"Are you all right, Severus?"

There was another delay before he answered.

"No. Are you?"

"Not even a little bit."

Another awkward pause signalled the end of their conversation. Snape was already halfway across the room and on his way out when he paused at the door.

"Did you ever find Draco?" Snape asked over his shoulder.

"Yes, and he's fine, just like you said."

"Very good. Goodbye, Lucius."

Snape left without waiting to hear Lucius reply. He opted to walk the long way back to the Shrieking Shack opposed to flying or Apparating. There was a nauseating tug in the pit of his stomach with each step that brought him closer, and he began to perspire profusely beneath his woollen suit that now felt too tight. A dampened upper lip was the only sign of his anxiety when he reached the house, and Snape used his sleeve to roughly wipe his face before stepping inside.

It was eerily quiet, and for a moment Snape wondered if this meeting was some sort of ruse. That idea was highly unlikely, as Lucius would never make light of anything concerning the Dark Lord. The reason for the stark silence soon became apparent. The Dark Lord was indeed where he claimed he would be, and Snape found him sitting at a table across of the room, twirling the knobby wand that used to belong to Dumbledore between his fingers. He was facing the open doorway, waiting, with Nagini floating next to him in her enchanted cage.

"My lord?" Snape began, maintaining his distance until Voldemort beckoned him closer.

"This is not working, Severus."

'This' could have been a number of things, but Snape knew better than to ask for clarification.

"My lord, their resistance is crumbling—"

"—and it is doing so without your help. Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there... almost."

"Let me find the boy," Snape implored, desperate to stamp out every trace of doubt in his master's mind. "Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find my, my lord. Please."

He daringly took a step forward, despite knowing that it might result in his life swiftly coming to an end. Voldemort rose swiftly from the table, still twirling the wand between his long, white fingers, and Snape stopped short inches away from Nagini's cage.

"I have a problem, Severus."

"My lord?"

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"

Riddle held out the wand in a grand gesture, his gleaming red eyes taking in every inch of the aged wood.

"My—my lord? I do not understand. You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."

Voldemort's tone was casual, calm, as he began musing over the many ways the Elder Wand had failed him. Snape remained silent, at first trying to suss out if it was safe to speak, and then finding that he had no idea what to say.

The Dark Lord's calm soon ran out, and Snape was sure that his silence added to that fury. Voldemort began demanding answers, the likes of which were a test. If there was a trace of bravado left in Snape's body, the last of it faded when he was asked if he knew why he had been brought back from the battle. Again Snape tried to convince Voldemort to let him find Potter, that he would bring him to the Shrieking Shack, and that only served to further enrage the dark wizard.

"Why did both wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"

It was another question Snape had no answer for, and likely what was to be the last strike against him.

How and why no wands worked in Voldemort's crusade against Potter had rarely crossed his mind. Snape was fully aware that he knew more than the average person, but he would never claim to be omniscient. Unfortunately, in his line of work and dealing with an unprincipled being like the sick bastard across from him, admitting that you did not know something was akin to holding a blade to one's own neck and pressing down and across.

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."

"My lord!"

"It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

The next few minutes felt as though they were being played in slow motion. Snape knew that he had taken out his wand, a move that was purely instinctual and defensive, but it wasn't as though he expected to triumph over anything Voldemort sent his way.

The distinct sound of Parseltongue caused all the blood to leave Snape's face. He didn't need a translation as it was fairly obvious what had been commanded.

Nagini's enchanted cage rolled in his direction and seconds later, a bloodcurdling screamed ripped through the air. Snape didn't realise that it was he who was screaming, his dignity shattering as he collapsed to the floor, and dropping his wand with a loud clatter as he fought to get the cage from around his head. He was too scared to close his eyes yet wished he could squeeze them shut if it meant avoiding the terrifying sight of Nagini so close to his face. One, two, three times Nagini struck, sinking her fangs into his neck at Voldemort's command. When the Dark Lord was satisfied that the deed had been done, he swept out of the room, Nagini's cage floating behind him.

Of all the ways to die, this wasn't how he'd envisioned it. Flat on his back on a hard, dirt-encrusted floor, and the only sounds consisting of the constantly moving house, and a nasty, wet gurgling sound coming from multiple holes in his neck as he tried to staunch the bleeding with shaking hands.

At first, his body screamed with pain. Oddly enough, the pain cancelled out and everything began going numb. The edges of his vision were growing fuzzy and the floor no longer felt so hard. The scent and taste of copper was strong in his nose and mouth, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his hand pressed against his wounds.

Tired... So tired...

Maybe he would close his eyes. It was safe to now; he was alone. And thank heavens that god-awful ugly bitch of a snake had gone to follow her master. Perhaps that was why Riddle had left. He decided to allow Snape to die with a bit of dignity instead of having someone witness him trembling and gasping as his life slowly seeped away.

Snape had no time reference of how long his eyes had been closed, but through his weakened state he managed to sense that someone was near. Opening his eyes, he saw Potter hunched over him.

It had been well over a year since he'd seen the boy, now a young man, up close in person. About a week's worth of stubble lined his clenched jaw and his black hair was more unruly than he could ever remember, and there was a dogged look of determination that completely obliterated his last vestiges of childhood. The boy who annoyed him was no longer, having been chased away by the grim realities of the day which thrust him unceremoniously into adulthood. And it was this young man who shoved Snape's weakened, unsteady hand away from his neck and replaced it with his own without another thought.

"Take.. it..." Snape heard himself rasp, too exhausted to explain and hoping that Potter understood. "Take... it..."

The young man knew what needed to be done, and there was the soft clinking sound of his wand tapping against something. When Potter had finished collecting his memories, Snape demanded that he look at him. There were many things that he would say, notwithstanding the many gashes in his neck. There were reasons and explanations for his behaviour, none of which would likely justify his less than savoury attitude toward Potter from the start, but it could possibly offer some clarification.

But the memories that Potter had clutched in his fist would have to do, for it was becoming far too easy to readily succumb to the darkness that had already begun to stifle his senses. His only reason for holding on was safely tucked away in his bed back at Hogwarts, hopefully still unaware of the hellish horrors that lie beyond the bedroom door. Unfortunately, while his mind was willing, his body was not, and not even thoughts of Hermione could force Snape to keep his eyes open.
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Unintentional Inveiglement