12th January, 2000. 11:51 p.m.
A sharp rap at the door interrupted Severus’ narration and brought him back to reality with an unpleasant jolt. Feeling a surprising warmth flush his face, he turned to the doorway just in time to scowl at Draco, who was sticking his head around the half-opened door.
“I thought you should know that I just had to evict Potter for the night. No need to thank me.” He raised a hand as if to stem a tide of effusive thanks. “I’ll be going to get him in the morning, by which time I hope to Merlin that you two have thought more about keeping her from a murder trial than about your fuck sessions. Goodnight!” All of this was said quickly and cuttingly, leaving no space for interruption. Before Severus could open his mouth to retort, the door was slammed shut again, leaving him with a now-trembling Hermione.
“Severus, none of what you’ve said makes any sense. Draco’s right, I’m going to be charged with murder, and then you won’t be there with me to…” She broke down in sobs, now, and Severus was astounded to see that she hadn’t understood the point of his story.
“Hermione,” he crooned softly, rising from his chair and perching on the arm of hers, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Her head still in her hands, she slumped onto his lap, and he stroked her hair in consternation. “Hermione,” he repeated. “The purpose of my story is to tell you that you are not alone. That you alone are not to blame for this, and that you alone are not going to have to solve it.”
“But look what I’ve done, Severus! I’ve killed friends, ruined the lives of others. I’ve destroyed everyone. There’s a permanent black mark against my name, on my soul.” She raised her face plaintively to his now, red with tears. “I don’t <i>deserve</i> you and Draco. I don’t deserve to have you there to try and help me when what I’ve done is so irreversible.”
“Oh, Hermione,” he sighed deeply. “I better than anyone else should understand the problem of a guilty conscience. One’s mistakes might feel more enormous than anything else in the world— I doubt any of us would be suffering here in the aftermath of a Second War if it weren’t for mine—but there is always someone who can help ease the suffering.”
“Oh, I know all of that! I know what you’ve been through. But… It’s not fair. I shouldn’t be… It’s <i>supposed</i> to be you who suffers! It wasn’t supposed to be me!” The words were wrenched from her body by a piercing, blinding need to make her pain felt and understood, but the second she had said them, she couldn’t believe she’d even had that thought, let alone confessed it. She was about to leap up and flee the room, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her in her chair. Severus fixed her with a stern, solemn look, and she prepared herself for the rebuke, the withdrawal of his support…
“You’re right there. Don’t look so appalled at yourself. What are you, Harry and Ron but innocent pawns dragged into a fight my generation couldn’t finish? It should have been me. I should have suffered all of it, and you should be off somewhere having Weasley-babies or whatever it is you were supposed to be doing.” His face contorted in pain at the notion of her potential children, and Hermione was transfixed by him. She fully believed that if he could have, he would have suffered both their guilt and pain, and more, to protect all of them. Not just her, but all of them. A blinding flash of insight about why she and Draco were with him now suddenly struck her, and she was awe-struck by how much he willingly sacrificed himself.
“Oh! What have I said? I’m so selfish. Look at you. You <i>are</i> suffering it all! I should never have forced you to take care of me, I should…”
Before she could finish her sentence, tears rolling down her cheeks again, Severus had wrapped his arms around her tightly and pulled her to his chest. “Shh,” he crooned in her ear, but it was as much to soothe himself as to soothe her. He rocked her back and forth gently for a moment as he fought to recollect himself and reorder his mind. After taking a deep breath, he spoke gently. “Come. No more of this. To bed. This is no time to lose sight of priorities. Our main one should be protecting you…”
“Protecting me again from my own mistakes!”
“Shush, Hermione!” he said, more commandingly now. “To bed. I will deal with Mr. Potter tomorrow.” He rose to his feet and took her hand in his own, proposing to help her to her feet. Tentatively, she slid her hand into his own and stood up only centimetres from him.
“Severus…” she began meekly, her eyes fixed dead ahead at his chest. He quirked an eyebrow questioningly, even though it was lost on her, and waited for her to continue. “To whose bed?”
***
13th January, 2000. 7:31 a.m.
As Severus padded noiselessly down the stairs, he knew that Draco was already up. There was a sense of occupation coming from the kitchen that was impossible to explain. Perhaps because he had spent so long working at a school where errant students would conceal themselves in the most unlikely places, he had something of a sixth sense for people. Therefore, he wasn’t at all unfazed when Draco’s verbal assault began before he had opened the door more than an inch.
“Snape! I’ve been fucking waiting for you. Get in here and tell me what we’re going to do with this mess.”
“Keep your voice down, Draco?” Severus asked calmly as he closed the door behind him. “Now, what mess?”
Draco shot him an incredulous look. “Potter knows where we are. If I don’t go and get him, he will come back and demand answers. Who can blame him? We’re concealing the death of his brother-in-law!”
“Draco, since when has deception troubled you?”
“It’s Azkaban that troubles me!” Draco snapped back. Snape gave him something akin to a kind, pitying look.
“Do not concern yourself, Draco. No one is going to Azkaban. And, if it becomes unavoidable that someone should, then it will be me. Now, either get me some tea or step out of the way.”
Draco gave him a redoubled look of incredulity. “You would do that for her? Snape, that’s preposterous!”
“No, Mr. Malfoy, it’s just. Now, that tea?”
There was a long pause in which there was a passage of something intangible and akin to understanding that passed between their two gazes: Snape’s implacable one, Draco’s startled one.
“I suppose you can take care of yourself,” Draco said carefully at long last. “Tea or coffee?”
“I have said tea twice now,” Snape retorted as he allowed himself to relax into a chair.
“So,” Draco began when his back was to Severus. “I have to go and get Potter today. I’m going to have to say <i>something</i> to him before he gets here…”
“Draco, if there’s anyone whose judgment I would trust with this, it’s you. However much you pretend, you care for her almost as much as I do.”
“No, Snape, I don’t,” Draco returned, spinning to face him and thrusting a mug of tea out in front of him. “You love her. I just want to see that annoying little girl I used to know at Hogwarts back again. They’re very, very different.” Severus did nothing but raise his eyebrow and take a sip of his tea in response. Draco let out a hushed sigh. “I’m going to go and get dressed.”
“I will be waiting for you to get back.”
***
13th January, 2000. 7:53 a.m.
Emerging from his bedroom, Draco literally bumped into Hermione making her way to the bathroom, wrapped only in one of Snape’s old shirts. The sight struck him as at once beautiful and pitiful: being with Snape seemed to make her happy, but the black cloud of Ron’s death loomed over them all, and it was by no means dealt with.
“Good morning, Draco,” she said quietly. “Thank you for dealing with Harry yesterday. I think that I’ll be more able to deal with him today.”
Draco reached out and put a tender hand on her shoulder. “I think you should let Snape handle him, at least to begin with.”
She peered at him with questioning, tense eyes, and then she gave a little shrug and let out a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Are you leaving now?” A short nod was her answer. “Will you tell…?” She paused, and Draco gave her a curious look.
“Yes? I’ll carry any message you might want me to. What is it?”
“Tell Ginny… Oh, never mind!”
She hurried from him and slammed the bathroom door behind her, leaving him with only a vague sense of wanting to cry.
***
13th January, 2000. 8:04 a.m.
Draco took a moment to stand and contemplate the house before he knocked on the door. He had no idea what was going to greet him within or what he might say to the questions the residents were bound to bombard him with. Although it was ramshackle and a little run down, it was homely, and even Draco, who had grown up in the dark, austere, forbidding Manor, understood that it was more inviting than most houses. Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding as he hurried up the path to the door. This could be where it all ended for him, Hermione and Snape. They could all end up back in Azkaban for life. He couldn’t quite believe that Snape would be willing, or even able, to take all of this upon himself. They were <i>all</i> up to their necks in it. Just when he’d been getting used to living a quiet life as neither a notorious Death Eater nor a feared heir to unimaginable wealth and power, but simply Draco Malfoy, too. Still, needs must, and there was still the small matter of a missing—that is, dead—person to attend to.