“beyond wandpoint” 055 by gingerbred

[beyondwandpoint]

“11 10r Monday - Fireside Chat, the Darker”

Severus and Hermione, Crooks, Sunny, the Squid

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Originally Published: 2018-02-04 on AO3
Chapter: 055

Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

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Not even seventy-two hours ago, she would have been terrified of what she has witnessed tonight. She's never seen an Unforgivable applied like this, cold-blooded and ruthless, and this from the man to whom she's been bonded.

It's a very sobering thought.

But a couple of things have changed. For one, the assault by the seventh year Slytherins has radically adjusted her view on the stakes they're facing. Reports in the paper have always seemed somehow... distant, unreal. And of course they're both unreliable and evidently censored. This brought it far closer to home. For another, having seen the damage inflicted on the wizard beside her just three days ago, she knows that his frame of reference is vastly different to hers.

And from things Madam Pomfrey has indicated, she realises that was just the tip of the witch's hat.

It also hadn't escaped her attention that he had been at the Malfoys' that evening, and she suspects that her classmate, too, has a very different frame of reference than she does. The Professor had basically indicated as much yesterday. And what had he said Friday about Malfoy being accustomed to the Cruciatus? Crikey. That's a horrifying thought...

Another thing entirely are the feelings she gets from this bond they share. Professor Snape seems remarkably calm and controlled. Not at all the lunatic he portrayed. Intuitively, she's sure: the version the bond projects is real.

And ultimately, this is the man who swept in, half dead, and possibly dying, and still took pains to save her. That's very hard to overlook in her contemplations of his behaviour.

When they reach their chambers, safely behind his wards once again, she finally speaks, "I'm not sure it works that way." He raises an eyebrow, questioning, honestly expecting the worst, and she surprises him with, "Godparenthood."

Even though he's Occluding, via the bond she can feel a faint flicker of his surprise and then how he relaxes, but his body language betrays nothing. Interesting. She files that information away to be better able to gauge him in the future, or given that in the future the bond should continue to provide these insights, perhaps it's more to reinterpret past interactions. One thing is certain, he's not as he seems.

"I don't think you can marry into it," she informs him with a hint of amusement.

"Technically, you are undoubtably correct," comes the sardonic rejoinder. "But the expression on Malfoy's face made the assertion, erroneous or not, more than... worthwhile. The veracity, or lack thereof, of the claim was purely a secondary concern," he continues as he crosses to his desk. He still needs to dash off the notes to Minerva and Theo.

"'Malfoy'? You call your godson 'Malfoy'?" She follows him as far as the room's centre and then stops, observing him from a polite distance, not wishing to intrude. Well, further...

"I am required to in school interactions, so it's not an unaccustomed form of address, precedent has been established, and after your... encounter the other day, I assumed familiarity would be... unwelcome."

She finds that remarkably considerate, but suspects he won't wish to hear it.

"Forgive me for asking, but did Crucioing him fall under 'school interactions', or..." her smirk lets him know there's no answer required.

He surprises her by replying instead with another apology. "On the topic of forgiveness, I'm afraid I must beg your pardon for suggesting you weren't also paying for... Draco's attack." He looks over to see how the use of the boy's given name sits with her. The bond verifies his observations: she's unruffled. He adjusts his assessment of her accordingly.

"Clearly the consequences have affected you at least as much as myself," he admits, thinking fleeting and somewhat unwillingly again of the ramifications to one's... love life. She tends to disagree, viewing it as likely that he at least had a sex life before... this. Both would be quite surprised to know the other's thoughts on the matter, not that either would consider such a conversation probable or remotely desirable.

"It is, however, always necessary to maintain a certain façade. Never forget that; it will make our lives together safer, and simpler, if you do not. But don't think I am unaware of the sacrifices this might mean for you."

She's not sure where she finds the courage to ask the next question, but she's encouraged that he no longer seems to be channeling a raging madman. "Was it necessary to be so harsh?"

"Very much so. Trust me in this."

He can tell: she honestly doesn't distrust him, she accepts the truth of his statement, yet she has difficulty believing, understanding, what he says. She remains standing there, nibbling her lip or maybe giving it some thought, he's not quite sure which.


He removes parchment from one of his drawers, grabs his ubiquitous black pheasant quill and ink bottle, Selkies' Silken Signatures - Beyond Basic Black, harvested by Merpeople direct from the Giant Squid, who as though somehow sensing its use tends to swim past Severus' window whenever he employs it and does so now. Severus leans forward over his desk preparing to write the notes as its shadow passes, while Miss Granger stands there goggling at the dark shape, and then he promptly reconsiders both missives.

He won't risk sending Theo a note. Why complicate matters? The irony of that question escapes him. Completely. He'll have Sunny leave the potion on the boy's nightstand. Theo will recognise it - he bloody well should, seventh year N.E.W.T.s Potions student that he is - and do the right thing, Severus is sure.

Sure enough anyway.

It's a risk he's prepared to take. Even more so as he isn't the one suffering the consequences, naturally. No, that would be Draco, and he's more than welcome to suffer all manner of consequences. Severus has even fewer qualms if people should happen to suffer for their stupidity. Or that of their friends, case in point.

He could have the potion left on Draco's nightstand instead, except that might be too obvious, and once he realised why Draco had acted as he did before... This has the advantage of drawing Theo's scrutiny to Draco's condition, which increases the likelihood that Nott will send word back home. It would be such a... pity had he Crucioed Draco for... nothing.

Well, hardly nothing, even then, but he'd prefer to make the most of it.


The issue of Minerva's note, on the other hand, proves more complicated, which is saying something. Severus had meant to just send the portrait back to her with an explanation for his actions. That sounded simple enough. Thinking it over, he decides he should surrender it to Albus to handle, to manage, instead, in which case it would raise fewer questions if it were to appear Albus had removed it himself. There's a very good chance, having called attention to the portrait, that his colleague might think to question the centaurs in the painting as to the events of Friday.

He believes it's highly unlikely she had done so before now - hell, he hadn't even thought of it, although admittedly he was unaware of the painting's existence prior to tonight - that is unless Albus had sworn the centaurs to silence first. That's a possibility, although a less strong one given Albus' erratical behaviour of late. Severus would have surely heard if Minerva knew what had happened.

There is no conceivable way she would stand for allowing the boys to remain in the school were she aware of their actions. It's one of her finer points. Overly simplistic, hardly nuanced or differentiated, but essentially moral, he'll give her that. Very briefly he thinks about pretending the thought never occurred to him and returning the portrait to her after all, before he grudgingly forces himself to be dutiful. Damn.

That's unbelievably... irksome.

But as he thinks about the painting he realises something else altogether. The centaurs had been present in that room Friday. And yet, he hadn't been summoned to the scene by the screams of portraits. Not a single portrait along the way had encouraged him to hurry.

Even allowing for the portraits preferring to report to someone other than himself, there's no accounting for taste, no one had been summoned by portraits. These unmitigated asses, which given the subjects is even more applicable here than it would be elsewhere... They had stood by and...

Watched.

They hadn't gone for help. They hadn't sent word, summoned assistance... They had simply... watched.

Fucking voyeurs.


That portrait will never hang anywhere but the darkest oubliette ever again. Probably facing the wall. Always assuming he doesn't take turpentine to them first. At the moment, that seems more likely. Far more likely.

He scribbles a few lines for Minerva, thanking her for rearranging the room, mentioning Miss Granger's negative response to the painting and its subsequent removal. He avoids reference to its current whereabouts entirely, and hopes to distract her from that thought with the enclosed signed voucher for a new portrait of her choice, on his Sickle of course, from Warts and Warhol's, Hogsmeade, in reparation for the one he absconded with. If it serves to show his appreciation materially as well, so be it. He considers it only efficient.


He folds and pockets the note then crosses the room again, past Miss Granger to the dining area and opens the second door along that wall, just down from the fireplace and to the left of the room's only painting, the modern artwork, to reveal what appears to be his private laboratory. She's still standing there, arms wrapped around her body projecting her unease with her posture almost as clearly as with the bond. Although as far as she's concerned, she's simply waiting patiently until he's done with... whatever so as not to disturb him.

He remains in the doorway, sadly but not deliberately blocking most of her view into the room. He summons and pockets a variety of potions and while so occupied misses the near automatic shift of her gaze to the remaining unidentified door behind the lounge, just a few yards to the left of hers, which by process of elimination she determines must be his bedroom. Presupposing that he doesn't sleep in the lab, obviously.


He removes the portrait from his pocket, enlarges it once again and silently curses its subjects immobile. There will be no fleeing to another portrait for them until the Curse is lifted; he considers it... improbable. It's not by coincidence that there are no portraits to spy on him in their quarters. As long as the canvas remains here, they were effectively trapped anyway unless the centaurs had other paintings elsewhere. But the Curse eliminates that risk and ensures they can't even caper about in their painted forest. He finds it... fitting. All that remains for them is... watching.

When he unceremoniously chucks the portrait inside the room with a resounding clatter as it skitters across the floor and slams the door to behind him, he startles her focus back to him, but can't begin to explain her blush.


Severus still needs to inform the Dark Lord and his followers about his... bonding. It was announced at dinner; he has till morning until news of this latest piece of Dumbledore's genius spreads by owl. It's best if it comes from him directly. And soon. Either way, it won't be good at all.

Had it been left up to him, they wouldn't have announced it to the school until they knew he had weathered reporting the bonding to the Inner Circle. It will only make matters more complicated for the young witch if he... doesn't. Weather it, that is. Far more complicated. He'd have spared her that.

On the other hand, he wouldn't be reporting it to the Dark Lord now either, had they not announced it to the school.

Albus fucking Dumbledore. Fuckwit extraordinaire.

He's frankly not sure he'll survive it. He hasn't really recovered yet from the last visit.

Hardly surprisingly, he finds himself not altogether eager to go.


Bone weary, he moves to his chair, only to discover the ginger beast has once again made himself at home. By this point, it's only what he expects. He just turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. That, also predictably, generates no more results than a scandalised, "Crooks!" which as best he can tell apparently translates to, 'carry on,' as far as the feline is concerned and for all the ruddy difference it makes. How quickly they seem to have settled into a routine. Happy families. Cheers.

She scampers forward to remove... Crooks from his chair and Vanish the fur, there's that, progress, and he takes a seat in front of the fire, indicating for the young woman, still clutching her ratty cat, to take the other.


He can't help thinking he's being a bit maudlin, but on the not so off chance he doesn't survive, he'd like for her not to remember him as a complete monster. He wonders fleetingly if that's some carryover from childhood, how he pictured... marriage, and snorts at himself in derision. Whatever the motivation, he finds himself doing something fairly unusual for his standards; he decides to try to explain his actions to her.

He starts simply, with just one word, "Ask," as she settles in with the beast perched quite smugly, as it appears is his wont, on her lap.

It isn't at all what she was expecting, and she doubts he'll have much patience. She has no way of knowing that his procrastination is providing him with reserves of patience he wouldn't otherwise have. She considers for a moment so as not to waste one of what she assumes will be few questions.

"And leaving him sitting in his own filth..." She's having a hard time phrasing this as a question. She doesn't have the courage, or really the desire, to appear to attack him, as most questions she might ask undoubtedly would seem to, so she finds herself making a leading statement. Inviting clarification. Hesitantly.

"Technically, we left him crawling on the floor," a small smirk plays about his lips, he clearly enjoys getting some of his own back on the pedantic woman before him.

Now that he's acted, responded to Draco's challenge in a way any of the Death Eaters would comprehend, and probably endorse, her memories pose no threat. It no longer matters what he says to her. Words are practically synonymous with lies; he needn't justify them. The only thing that counted was his Unforgivable.

Given that, he can answer truthfully.

His tone turns more matter of fact, "It is safe to assume the incontinence was voluntary on his part."

She's glad she didn't waste time coming up with her next several questions, because that answer takes her in an entirely different direction. "How on earth could that be voluntary?" And once again, she doesn't distrust him, but simply cannot understand. That makes him more willing to explain.

"There are Charms. To empty bladder and bowels. There can be no question that he knows them."

"That's surely the height of laziness..."

"If it isn't performed on someone confined to a sickbed. Or on oneself, perhaps when faced with imminent loss of control over bodily functions due to torture." She pales noticeably as he says this so candidly. "Draco's all too familiar with the Cruciatus and its effects. And there's no chance his father won't have taught him the Charms."

"What makes you so sure he even knows them?"

"Lucius is the one who taught me." She tries to absorb that, deciding she can't begin to picture their relationship, but knows it must be closer than she thought for him to be Draco's godfather. They hardly move in the same social circles, after all.

Other than the Death Eaters, she amends that thought quickly...

"Then why wouldn't he... Why would he..."

She has grown up protected. The things she reads in the paper are foreign to her, and she really hasn't asked many of the relevant questions when reading. Even on the rare occasion war has struck closer to home, she hasn't come away with much of an understanding of the realities of it. It had been sufficient to know she should send her parents into hiding to ensure their safety, but she hadn't a realistic picture of what would have happened had she not. It's probably better that way, particularly in their case. She has enough trouble sleeping at night.


He'd wager, and win, that when Miss Abbott's mother was murdered by the Death Eaters last year, something no one in the school could have missed, that Hermione and her friends never knew, or bothered to learn, the details. A sense of propriety might have kept them from asking, fair enough, but to not learn that her only 'offence' had been 'blood traitordom'? To have no idea that marrying a Muggle was deemed a suitably heinous crime such as to carry a death sentence was to deprive themselves of any real recognition of how far things had progressed.

"Why does the losing wolf expose his throat to the victor?" He asks. Her eyes widen as she's confronted with concepts she's never remotely considered before. "Humans are different, naturally, but it's just another form of surrender. And we required it. Without his surrender, without his apology, we would be faced with this or a similar situation again sometime very soon. You may rely upon it.

"Additionally, from his standpoint, with some luck, if an assailant can be made to believe they have caused a significant degree of humiliation, sometimes that is sufficient to persuade them that they have no more need to inflict pain. It may not feel that way, but I guarantee you no one has ever died of humiliation who has decided not to do so. The same can't be said for the varied causes of pain."

He waits for a moment, allowing those words to sink in, willing her to remember them. She doesn't understand, yet, that their truth applies to her as well. Maybe some day she might. Hopefully she won't need to.

"It has other advantages, as tactics go, especially because ultimately no one but the person... affected has the power to decide what is humiliating." He looks at her meaningfully, holding her gaze for a long time, and she realises this isn't just about Draco anymore. It's about her, too.

"You know what he said at dinner." It's not a question, but when she pauses, he nods all the same. "I don't know why it bothers me so much that he saw me that way." She's completely serious, as absurd as it seems. She really can't make sense of her reaction.

He could provide her with a list of factors and reasons. A much too lengthy synopsis of her position and its potential ramifications. He has enough experience. He's been a Head of House for more than sixteen years now; she's not the first young woman he's consoled. He has a wealth of more personal experiences, far more relevant, that he could draw on to help explain her feelings to her. Worse, the damn bond lets him know exactly what she feels about this.

He's intrigued to discover that she's utterly sincere in her confusion, and he could far more easily pick apart her knot of feelings at this moment than she herself can. He decides detachment makes all the difference. He underestimates the difference experience accounts for.

Once she realises how much she's unwittingly sharing across their bond, she'll doubtlessly feel even more embarrassed, and he resolves to Occlude more to hide that knowledge from her until she is less vulnerable or the... incident less significant. If he survives the night, that is.

And all of this and more goes through his mind as he considers his reply, until it grinds to an abrupt halt as she blithely begins discussing... bathing attire.

"I mean, I wear far less to the beach..."


It's almost ludicrous. She's completely unfazed by the topic, even after her assault. She finds nothing remotely embarrassing about Muggle swimware. Why would she? But he is utterly nonplussed by the notion of her sat before him in a bikini, the image both involuntary and instantaneous. It's far too close for his comfort to the 1950's bondage pinup image Draco had inadvertently recreated with her last Friday.

He swallows and Occludes until the moment passes. With luck, she never registered it. Not for the first time he wishes there were a mental Scourgify shy of an Obliviate. It's not even the first time he's had call for such a spell with regards to the woman seated across from him. Within days...


Back to the matter at hand, he decides there is no benefit to explaining her feelings to her. She'll work through them when she's ready. Any attempt to expound on them would only highlight how much the bond reveals, and he had just determined it would be... compassionate to keep it from her. He can't imagine she'll appreciate it if he makes it clear just how exposed she is emotionally right now. And should that comprehension give rise to any animosity, he's likely to be the unlucky recipient thereof. He settles for a more circumspect, if obvious, "There's a great difference between what you choose to do, and what someone else forces you to do."

But despite the patent obviousness of the statement, she feels... understood and comforted. Which is how Severus comes to learn another truth of their bond. It's... motivating.

He had had hints of it. He knew he was more... forthcoming when he could feel her approval, her trust. The lack of oh so anticipated rejection. But her appreciation flares strong across their bond, and he finds it has a certain... appeal. That he would be willing to do things he doesn't otherwise to feel it again.

He knows, with certainty, that there is no conceivable way anyone could have expressed those feelings to him that would have him believing them with the same conviction the bond provides. And that without that conviction, he would never exhibit the same willingness to be more patient, considerate, and sometimes, once in a while, he's almost... polite. She's getting a better version of him than he otherwise trusts enough to provide. He knows this will modify his behaviour, and yet he discovers he's conflicted as to whether this is a bad thing. That in itself is ample proof of its behaviour modifying properties.


"It bears repeating, Miss Granger, you have nothing to be ashamed about from the other night. You'll recover faster when you come to believe that. As I've said, if I could have, I would have taken that memory from him as well. I will need to explain that incident and our... bonding to the Dark Lord and his circle tonight."

Her immediate burst of anxiety at hearing about them almost makes him snort. All she needs to do is think about it; he'll be standing in their midst in under an hour... That is until he realises she's concerned for him. He's a bit touched by that, and sorry to have done her that slight injustice. Not that anyone could tell by looking at him. "Draco will need that memory to corroborate my story."

"I'm glad, very, very glad, you took the ones you did. And those from all of the others. When I think how just that offhand comment made me feel..." he flinches inwardly, because he knows that was the source of hurt before, the memories he left and wishes he hadn't had to. "If he remembered the effects of the potion... Or if the rest of them had been there, too, leering over his shoulder...

"Sir, I really can't thank you enough. It doesn't matter if you had to leave some memories. Not at all." He can feel how eager she is to reassure him, and that she really means this. He feels forgiven, absolved, and then wonders how exactly he came to feel so guilty in the first place. He doesn't have a good answer, he just knows that he does. "Obviously the reasons for leaving it far outweigh my little bout of nerves. And I will get over it. It'll just take me a bit of time."

"May I make a few suggestions to that end for the days to come?"

"Please do," she replies sincerely, having learnt a valuable lesson from dinner this evening. She desperately needs help navigating her plight, and she's inclined to think he's her best bet to receive it.

"I think your having taken the potion for dinner was a great success, and suspect it would be wise to continue that approach until interest dies down somewhat and you are... more comfortable with our predicament."

"How long would I need to take it for?" It had worked extremely well, but she's a little nervous at the thought of essentially being... drugged all the time.

"Are you asking me how long they'll be interested, or how long you'll require to become more comfortable? Because I'm sure I couldn't say..." He smirks. She wrinkles her nose in mock irritation at his teasing, probably because the bond let's her know it's only that. It's unusual enough as a response, however, that it amuses him more. He stifles a chuckle. "I'm confident your lack of response to any... antagonism is quite likely to accelerate that process.

"In all seriousness, my suggestion would be not to take it continually, but to stick with the Draught of Peace initially only during the times you are outside of chambers, for classes, meals and stays in the library, say. It has the advantage of being both much stronger and more precise in its dosage, and then supplementing that with Calming Draught as needed," he removes quite a number of phials from his pocket and places them on the side table next to him as he speaks.

He holds one up to her, "This is a four hour dose, which would see you through breakfast and your morning classes, or lunch and your afternoon schedule." He picks up another, smaller phial, "This is the dose you had today, good for an hour, suitable for dinner. I would, however, also recommend accompanying it with the use of a Tempus," he drawls. She blushes accordingly, and he magnanimously refrains from smirking again.

The number of phials lying there would seem to easily represent a week's supply, which makes her nervous for entirely different reasons. Why does he need to give her so much now? She doesn't ask.

"You are not able to Occlude, and given that, this should provide you with a... workable solution. But if you are... able, I would also recommend not taking it while in our quarters."

"Is it harmful? Or addictive? Like Dreamless Sleep?"

"No, Miss Granger. Allow me to reassure you, it's perfectly harmless. But it is advisable to face your problems as best you can.

"Try picturing it like this, if you would: you are safe, absolutely safe within these walls. No harm will come to you. I would encourage you to confront any issues, to the extent you are able, here. But there's no shame in needing, or simply wanting a Calming Draught, should it come to that. If you need more, please don't hesitate to ask myself or Madam Pomfrey. I promise you, you will not be judged for it."

There's something... kind in the way he says it that leaves her a little confused. She tries not to read anything in to it, and isn't even entirely sure she hasn't imagined it. Still, what he says makes sense. "Alright. That sounds agreeable. I'm happy to give that a try. Thank you. Any other suggestions?"

"From experience, I imagine the mail we shall receive in the days to come will prove... undesirable. That's putting it mildly. I believe you've had similar experiences during the Tri-Wiz?"

"Gods. Howlers..." Her eyes go comically wide, and her hand claps instinctively to her mouth, almost as if holding back the word could somehow prevent it from happening. Would that were so.

"Just the tip of the tip, I'm afraid. I expect a mound of rubbish the like of which neither of us have seen before once word spreads." She pales at the thought. "Quite. If you're amenable, I would recommend having your mail screened for the foreseeable future."

"Screened?" She sounds instantly uncomfortable. Just add water and stir. He's not sure if it's at the idea of subjecting someone else to such garbage - agreed, it's hardly pleasant - or having another person pry through her personal affairs. He is at a bit of a loss how that could still be construed as 'invasive' contrasted with the damnable bond that betrays their every feeling... Ta. But he's accepted that he doesn't always understand her point of view. That hasn't taken long at all. Some people fail to learn that lesson about their spouses in a lifetime.

"Forgive an indelicate question, but how many people do you regularly owl at present?" He believes, correctly, with her parents effectively erased from her life that there won't be many people left outside Hogwarts who matter to her. Judging by what he recalls from breakfasts of the past weeks, there hasn't been contact, regular or otherwise, with anyone. But he might have missed something - he hadn't deliberately kept an eye out. And that assumes they use typical owls, like the Hogwarts tawny owls, nocturnal messengers who tend to arrive with breakfast.

It's surprising how many people never realise that no matter when they dispatch an owl, and they're always in such a frightful rush to do so, the birds are likely to seek out the nearest tree and kip until sunset. And then the bloody creatures spend most of the night hunting, if they can get away with it. But there's little point in arriving in the dead of night. Fewer owl treats to be gleaned when you wake the recipients. No, the animals are far from foolish.

Still, it has advantages, such as on days like today.

It's a blessing the students don't have access to the Floo. Merlin help them if the wizarding world ever develops a Charm equivalent to the mobile telephone. Then it really will be time to pack it in.

She pinks a bit as she admits, "No one." He fails, utterly, to find lack of contact remotely embarrassing. On the contrary, it sounds... ideal. He practically aspires to it.

"Then it shouldn't be so bad. May I suggest someone you trust and wouldn't be embarrassed to have reading the few pieces that are legitimate. Perhaps Professor McGonagall? I am certain she would agree if we asked her." If in the process of doing so Minerva were to become sensitised to the abuse Miss Granger receives, that could only be to their advantage. Anytime he complains, he is considered an alarmist. Exaggerating. Better to have it come from her. The curious thing is Minerva's threshold for abuse lies far lower than his. He's not he least bit sure how the misperception that it were otherwise ever occurred.

When Miss Granger agrees, it was practically a foregone conclusion, he summons a bit of parchment, ink and his quill and jots a quick note to Albus to make the arrangements while the Squid sweeps past again. The cat, he notes, doesn't stare at the windows as the little witch does. Possibly he's grown used to the Squid, having spent more time in chambers. Or maybe he's harder to impress. Severus may just be coming to understand the feline mentality after all.


He folds the note, adding it to the one already in his pocket. "I hope these precautions should see you through the next several days," he tells her as he stoppers the ink bottle.

"I think you're right, the Draught should be a big help once Malfoy returns to classes. If he keeps his mouth shut, that is..." She still looks slightly nervous at the thought, but then again, she hasn't currently taken either of the Draughts.

"I don't imagine after tonight he'll say much more about it." Severus reassures her.

"Not if he's smart." Her grin has something a little bit harsh about it that he completely approves of. He also thinks it's progress, an indication that she's come to accept, at least in part, what he did before.

"Unfortunately, I find that to be a variable state in Draco's day to day existence. You may not have had call to notice, but the boy is undeniably gifted. On rare occasion, that's actually apparent. Increasingly rarely, though. He almost equally probably presents as dumb as the proverbial pet rock. It's confounding." They share a faint smile as he stands. It's... nice. A small bit of comfort as he stops avoiding the inevitable and summons his cloak. There's no more putting off what must be done.


She's silent as she watches him. What would she say anyway? Try not to die? This is too different to the things she knows. She's grappling with the reality of his life, struggling to grasp it. She's not having much success.

One moment he sits there chatting politely, which was plenty odd enough given who he is, much like anyone else of an evening. And the next he's calmly preparing himself to return to a group of people who nearly killed him just days ago, only too aware they may do so again tonight. Or worse. The certainty remains that he won't walk away unscathed, and she can't begin to imagine the wherewithal required to...

She finds this truly terrifying.

She does a surprisingly decent job of concealing that outwardly as she trails him to the door. For an emotional Gryffindor, thoroughly unschooled in all matters of composure, that is. But the bond more than reveals what she's feeling. It's hardly a comfort, per se, in fact he has to Occlude even more so that it doesn't inadvertently begin making him nervous, but he decides it's... good to know someone cares, at least a little. Perhaps their talk was successful in that regard.

He wishes her a rather formal, "Good evening, Miss Granger," lifts his wand and strengthens the wards on their quarters.

Her answering "Good luck, Sir," slightly watery now that he can no longer see her, only just reaches him before the door closes behind him, warded against anything the future might bring.


'Good luck'? He'll certainly need it.

He summons Sunny and gives the elf the parchments for Minerva and Albus and the Anti-spasmodic Potion to bring to Theo. If they're his last deeds, at least they're a kindness. The elf disappears with a quiet 'pop', and Severus makes his dreary way through the castle alone.

As he trudges through the snow towards the gates, he can't help thinking about her. It makes perfect sense, given she's the reason he might be killed tonight.

"Was it necessary to be so harsh?" He repeats and scoffs. He wonders for a moment if she is that soft, or that kindhearted. That she should consider Draco deserving of less than he received is beyond his comprehension after the past couple of days, although he'd admittedly been relieved to be able to stop Crucioing the boy. Either way, she's going to get eaten alive. And he's been tied to her.

He can't imagine this ends well.


Fortunately for all parties concerned, for once his imagination isn't quite adequate to the task.