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Sweet Surrender	By : witch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 3748 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
Words of Inadequacy

'... an example of which is seen on page three hundred forty-seven of your books – if one deigns to actually open them, Mr. Finnigan. Ten points from Gryffindor for lack of diligence! Or perhaps you already possess the skill and knowledge to destroy an Inferius single-handedly? If so, I could possibly be amiable enough to grant you a public demonstration of your prowess.'

Seamus, looking rather pale, shook his head in vehement denial while his fingers frantically leafed through his tattered copy of Advanced Defense Against the Eerie and Unknown. Upon locating the requested page, the sandy-haired youth slumped dejectedly over his workspace, his eyes wary. The rest of the class found themselves facing more or less the same dilemma. Every last student – the two remaining Slytherins included – remained silent and tight-lipped, unwilling to become either victims of further point subtraction or targets of unjustifiable verbal lashing.

It would take more than the public clemency of one's sins to sweeten that character, mused Hermione, covertly observing the wizard in question.

As expected, the dour professor remained true to his reputation, even in the most dire of situations. Looking presently upon his scowling, unyielding expression, one could never have guessed that the man had come uncomfortably close to receiving not only life imprisonment in Azkaban but also the Dementor's Kiss itself. Even after all he went through, the wizard's disposition remained as sour as it had ever been. His remarks cut mercilessly deep, his patience nonexistent.

Overall, Severus Snape conducted his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes with the same iron fortitude as he did the previous year. And even though Hermione would have never confessed it, even at wand-point, the student within her was indisputably entranced. There was always a certain method to Snape's teachings, an urgency that coerced her into drinking the knowledge provided at whatever cost and quantity possible. Whilst it made her pulse quicken for academic possibilities, it also made her heart flutter for other reasons altogether.

Judging by the rising unrest of the previous years – months, even – the time for the inevitable confrontation was quickly approaching. With that thought in mind, Hermione was rapidly developing a theory concerning Professor Snape as she continued to both scrutinize and listen to him. It seemed like he was preparing the lot of them for the looming conflict the only way he knew how; by teaching. The saddest thing of all was that the majority of the students did not even know what that knowledge was for as they half-heartedly took notes of what was being shoved into their heads. Only a handful of them might have been developing suspicions. All Hermione could hope for was that all that information would prove enough in the days to come.

Uneasy, Hermione sent out another furtive glance, this time directly to her right. If truth be told, she had begun to feel rather nervous the moment the word Inferi was whispered in their professor's silky tones at the start of the lesson. Being who she was and what her friendship and support meant to Harry, she had been very much informed of what had happened in that secret, blasted cave to Dumbledore and him. And so, she was aware of the fact that no matter how tough her friend might sound or how many times he retold the story in gory detail, that particular memory had become his own personal catalyst. The unexpected subject of the morning's lesson was sure to bring up an array of vibrant flashbacks – and none of them pleasant.

Throughout the lesson, Harry Potter continued to remain silent. If not for his close proximity to her in the limited workspace, Hermione would have thought nothing of his demeanor. And as it was, she quickly caught on to the unnatural stillness of his body against her side, tension vibrating in practically detectable waves.

Giving her friend one last worried look, Hermione forced herself to concentrate on the present. The mesmerizing undertones of their lecturer had no trouble pulling her back into the lesson, her quill scribbling furiously.

'The destruction of an Inferius can be achieved only one way: through the death of its maker. Until such a time graciously presents itself, the creature can only be driven away by its main opposing element: fire. And before any of you dunderheads come up with the ingenious idea of using a slicing hex on –'

'That's wrong.'

All hushed noise within the darkened chamber ceased abruptly. Quills suspended, everyone's attention quickly focused upon the lunatic who dared to interrupt Snape in mid-sentence.

'Come again, Mr. Potter?' drawled the lank-haired wizard, his voice deceptively silky.

'I said that's wrong, sir. Your reasoning suggests that the Inferi come from the water element, even though they should have an earth background...being corpses and all.'

Snape's sneer was more profound than ever. 'As infuriatingly self-important as always, I see. So eager to jump to groundless conclusions. Twenty points from Gryffindor for giving a wrong assumption. Do you have anything else to add, Mr. Potter?'

Hermione felt another ripple of uneasiness. Harry was an extremely impulsive individual, his brash ideas often leading him to act first and then think later once everything was over and done with. Barely breathing, his body remained stone-still, his face frozen in stubborn resolve. It was quite obvious that he wished to say something else and Hermione quickly covered his palm with hers.

'Harry, please...drop it.'

Even though he made no movement to remove her hand, she might as well have been mute and invisible. He acted as though she had not spoken at all.

'Not really. Perhaps you should just make the basis of your analysis more clear to avoid any further misunderstandings, sir,' he calmly stated.

A barely registered collection of muted groans filled the air around them as his fellow housemates waited for the inevitable. Hermione, still holding onto Harry's hand, almost winced at the number of points Gryffindor was about to lose in the next few seconds.

Severus Snape's black eyes clashed with the green ones belonging to Harry Potter. The two of them remained staring at each other for what seemed like a prolonged amount of time before the dark-robed wizard spoke again – his voice so low it was uncharacteristically close to a growl.

'Detention, Potter. For one week. I expect you to be in my office at seven pm sharp tonight or you will regret it.'

The suffocating tension was suddenly broken by a booming bell signaling the end of class. Everyone jumped as one, attempting to vacate the room as quickly as possible. Thoroughly confused and frustrated, Hermione noticed neither Ron's hasty retreat from the seat on Harry's other side nor Snape's presence beside his desk, irritably waiting to escort her to the next lesson. Her awareness was presently focused on one person alone.

'Harry, what is wrong with you?' she demanded.

The young man in question did not even lift his head, seemingly busy stacking his books on top of each other. His eyes momentarily flicked to the front of the classroom before focusing back on his task.

'Nothing, really. Just tired, I guess,' he mumbled.

'Tired? Are you actually being serious? Listen, I know that – ' she started to say, but the next second she was interrupted.

'Well... I...I mean...I haven't done our Charms essay.'

'What?! Harry! What's your excuse? It's our next lesson! Just because I am unable to...'

Scandalized to the very marrow of her academic bone structure, Hermione threw herself into a passionate lecture about responsibility and the importance of time management. Thoroughly distracted, the young witch was only semi-aware of Snape escorting the two of them along the school corridors. She wasn't fully conscious of Harry's return to silence either.

And, most importantly, she no longer had any recollection whatsoever of the questions that had been ailing her mind only moments before.

~*~

At eight-thirty on a quiet Saturday evening, Hermione was in the same place she usually found herself every other day of the week. Reclining upon the aged – and thus very comfortable – sofa, the young witch clutched a book in her right hand at the required angle so that the dancing gleams of the fireplace illuminated the text for her perusal. Nevertheless, no matter how intriguing the written word certainly was normally, concentration was eluding her. When she had read the same page thrice and still failed to be able to surmise a single conclusion from it, she let her arm drop and huffed out in sheer annoyance.

If she was totally honest with herself, the adaptation to her new living environment was progressing in a much less extreme manner than she had first expected it to. By throwing herself into her studies in more or less the same manner ostriches were rumored to plunge their heads into sand, Hermione had surrounded herself with a false sense of safety and distraction. As long as her over-zealous mind kept working on one academic puzzle or another, she barely noticed the confinements of her cage. What was more, even her presence in the dungeon quarters had acquired a natural feel to it. She could go so far as to note that she felt comfortable there. Nevertheless, that last part could well be attributed to the fact that their rightful owner and she tended to avoid each other's presence as often as possible once safe within the warded surroundings. The DADA professor kept mostly to his own chambers and seemed to have no inclination to hover outside them unless it was absolutely necessary. Hermione's own actions did not differ by much.

In fact, it was only the sixth time she had allowed herself the luxury of relaxing in the living room. Unused to being stuck in one chamber alone for a prolonged period of time, the much larger "communal" area, with a fireplace and the floating essence of old books, was hard to resist. Therefore, the frustrated witch snatched the chance for solitude as soon as it presented itself. She still could not decide whether she should be guilty that it coincided with Harry's detention, which obviously had to be supervised personally by Professor Snape.

Hermione's brow wrinkled in thought.

Try as she might, she just couldn't stop worrying for her friend. Harry's behaviour appeared to be so irrational lately that she seriously considered consulting the Headmistress on the matter. With Dumbledore no longer among the living, perhaps Professor McGonagall had a theory about what was going through Harry's mind to disturb him to such uncharacteristic levels. Unless Hermione could finally manage to coerce him into speaking up by herself, that is.

Sighing, Hermione lifted Complex Theories in Numerology back to eye-level, fully set on absorbing at least one sentence of what she was actually reading. Nevertheless, her optimistic plan soon proved to be futile.

Her fragile concentration broke as soon as her ears detected a foreign sound. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with the soothing crackling of the burning logs. Raising herself to her elbows, Hermione strained her hearing. Yes, there it was again. By the sound of it, someone seemed to be talking in the dungeon corridor. And considering the thickness of the walls, they were not doing so gently.

Getting to her feet, the young witch made an effort to remain as silent as possible. Acutely aware of the factor that she was totally alone, she momentarily swayed in indecision. The curiosity, however, proved to be too tempting. And as long as she stayed within the warded chamber, there was nothing to fear, she reminded herself, cautiously approaching the wooden door.

The audible commotion on the other side was more distinguishable now, every other strained-pronounced word managing to reach her inquisitive ear.

'This isn't right... they... with me... I cannot have... this... myself.'

'You are... other options... think what... will undoubtedly... over... us seven... chance at... will be... your independence... prefer to... your... instead?'

There was an extended silence.

'Fine... you have advised... I won't... sure that... there is no way... along... ability... please?'

'What, are you going... as well, Potter?'

'No! I just want... best option... I refuse to... know that... willing to look... free will... be enough... will you... sir?'

Something else might have been said after that, but all Hermione could hear from her position was silence. When there was no further sound for a number of seconds, she took it as a sign to retreat.

However, before she could take one step, the door in front of her flew open. Scared out of her wits, the young witch froze where she was, her eyes wide. The idea of eavesdropping was bad enough in theory, but actually being caught in the act was utterly disgraceful.

Looming within the doorframe was none other than the imposing figure of Professor Snape, his countenance appearing to be more menacing than usual. Slightly to his left stood Harry Potter, his own expression somewhere between censure and relief. At any other time she would have loved to explore the circumstances behind such a bizarre mix of emotions.

At that moment, however, she was more preoccupied with her own awkward situation. The scowling visage of the dark wizard was not helping her embarrassment in the slightest.

'Professor Snape! I – so sorry, ' she blabbered. 'I meant to just check...didn't mean to – well – you know...was slightly worried that –'

'Save your pitiful excuses, Miss Granger,' he admonished in a harsh voice. 'We are both aware of what you were doing, and in denying it, you are simply lowering the standards of your esteemed House. How typical.'

His baleful eyes landed on the young man beside him next. 'I believe your detention for today is concluded, Mr. Potter. I am expecting you tomorrow night at the same time for your last session. Make your way to your precious tower now before you are caught wandering around after curfew...it would be such a pity for you to lose further points.'

Remarkably, Harry simply nodded in assent. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, the young wizard focused his emerald gaze on his friend.

'Well...I guess I'm off, Hermione. I'll see you at breakfast then, alright?' he said with a slightly furrowed brow. 'Good night.'

He managed to spare her one miniscule smile before turning around and disappearing down the corridor.

With Harry's departure, Professor Snape entered the chamber, slamming the door forcefully behind him. Scowling, he inspected the perimeter of the room, pausing briefly on the discarded book beside the sofa. His gaze, once it came back to her, was black and intense.

'Do tidy up after yourself once you are finished with putting your feet up, Miss Granger. I may be your assigned protector, but I have not signed up to be your house-elf in any possible capacity,' he sneered and, without further ado, whirled toward his quarters, his dark robes flowing behind him.

Hermione did not know how long she remained standing there, staring into nothingness. A wide range of emotions orbited within her, though she was as of yet undecided as to which one she was more partial. Independent collections of phrases and random words kept springing into her mind but the general picture that they presented was inadequate. Slowly but surely, irritation began to spread through her system as a sole conclusion presented itself: she was being lied to. By one of her best friends, no less.

And if Harry Potter thought that she would idly recline and observe his abysmal attempts at secrecy, he had another think coming.

~*~

The seventh-year boys' dormitory was uncharacteristically empty and silent that Saturday evening. Taking advantage of the weekend, most of the older students had gathered in the Gryffindor common room for a round of Exploding Snap or a friendly battle of Wizard's Chess. The luckiest out of them all, however, were the ones sprawled across the armchairs and sofas with their prospective boyfriends or girlfriends and playing games of a different nature. Monday was a day in the future, and there was no other care in the world.

Therefore, the only occupant of the dormitory was a ginger-haired young wizard sprawled upon his four-poster bed, deeply involved in reading some kind of thick tome. That fact alone would have astounded his friends and family if not for the title on the cover: Chudley Cannons; A History.

Ron Weasley was just skimming through an intriguing paragraph chronicling what sole shade of orange could be associated with the team and the reasons behind it when Harry walked into the room.

'You're back! No body parts missing, then?' enquired Ron, giving his friend a cursory glance above his book.

The black-haired young man did not appear to have heard him as he walked towards the window. There he stood immobile, his hands deep in his pockets as he stared into the darkening landscape beyond.

Frowning, Ron finally set his book aside. Approaching Harry, the taller young man gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. Looking at the unmoving profile of his best friend, he clearly saw the last rays of sunlight glinting off his eyeglasses but nothing of what lay beyond them.

'Hey... listen, Harry,' he said, coughing uncomfortably, 'I know that you're chummy and all for Snape now, but your behaviour's been really off lately. And... well... he might not be teaching Potions anymore, but are you sure he didn't hold your head over any fumes or something?'

His words were met with complete silence. A minute or two passed before Harry finally faced him. What Ron saw then in those green eyes was shocked him enough to unconsciously drop his hand from his friend's shoulder. For six years he had grown up knowing the levels of Harry's strength of character. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure he had never, ever witnessed such a display of emotion before. The only way he could describe it was... pure, unadulterated determination.

'Lately, Hermione has become convinced that you are deaf and selfish. Makes me wonder the same thing. However, for just this once, I hope you have the power to prove her wrong.

'There's a lot you haven't been made aware of... for your own good, I might add. However, I no longer have any other option but to tell you all that I know.

'Listen, and listen carefully to me, Ron. We might just have a shot at destroying Voldemort once and for all...luck and fate be damned.'
- 6
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Sweet Surrender