Chapter Two


Hermione looked up from "Potent Poisons, A to Z," and glanced out the window of her room. The sky was pitch black, with only a few stars out, and the moon wasn't visible from where she was. It was so late...but she couldn't sleep. Oh, she wanted to, very much indeed, but she simply couldn't seem to doze off, no matter how hard she tried. It was getting cold in here, too, and she shivered even underneath her blankets. Perhaps that's what it was that was keeping her awake, but she didn't know. She had to get some rest, lest she doze off in class. Gods, how embaressing that would be. Perhaps if she was just a bit warmer...

Quietly, so as not to wake the other girls, Hermione got out of bed, rearranged her rumpled nightgown around her ankles, and pulled her blanket around her shoulders. She crossed the room, and slowly opened the door, cringing as it creaked on its hinges. Easing it shut behind her, she walked briskly across the hall and down the stairs, her bare feet padding down the red and gold carpeting as she headed for the common room. The fire was burning merrily when she reached it, and it was an incredible relief to feel the warmth flooding her as she strode over to stand in front of it, holding out her palms to take in its heat. Perhaps, she thought, she could just curl up here, on the sofa, and close her eyes. Then, maybe she could finally go to sleep.

"Miss Granger." The deep voice startled Hermione, causing her to let out a little shriek and whirl around. As soon as it left her throat, the shriek was stopped, freezing her throat as if a hand had clamped down upon it.

"Quiet, please." Severus Snape said lazily, standing in front of her, leaning against a large red armchair. "I'd rather you didn't alert the entire Gryffindor house to my presence." Hermione just looked at him, eyes wide, until he nodded. A flick of his wand sent the warmth and feeling returning to her throat, and she gasped, spluttering, while Snape looked on in amusement. "If you're quite finished with the dramatics?" He asked, a sneer in his voice.

Hermione closed her mouth abruptly, a bit stung. "P-professor," she said, trying to regain herself, "How are...that is to say, what...I mean, you're not supposed to be here, are you?" That really hadn't come out the way it was supposed to, she thought, frustrated. She sounded like a stupid first year. What had he snuck up on her like that for? And in her own common room, no less!

Snape gave her a very dry look. "As far as I know, Miss Granger, you are in no position to tell me where I am and am not allowed to be in this school, unless something his changed that I am not aware of." Again, he watched her, as her face reddened with irritation and embarressment. Then, abruptly, his tone turned harsh. "I didn't come here to bandy words. Follow me." He pulled his cloak around him and headed towards the door. Hermione just watched him, temporarily dumbfounded. Turning around, Snape glared at her, raising his eyebrows. "Well? Are you coming?"

Hermione had half a mind to say that no, in fact, she wasn't coming at all, and what was he doing in Gryffindor house anyway, but she decided not to. Reluctantly, she tiptoed after him, marveling inwardly at the way he managed to walk without making any noise at all. Perhaps it was a spell. If so, she ought to look into it, as it would no doubt be useful. Or perhaps not, as it would likely give Harry and Ron even more opportunities to sneak out at night.

"You're probably wondering," Snape began, in that low, silky voice of his, "what it is you're in trouble for. I might as well warn you to save your confessions, guilty, undoubtedly, as your conscience is. You are not, at present, about to be sent to the headmaster." He took a quick breath before going on, giving Hermione no time to respond. "You are a naturally intelligent girl, Miss Granger, if lacking a great deal in common sense and subtlety. You are, no doubt, aware of the impending danger that has been building since your first year at this school." He stopped suddenly, causing her to skid backwards in her efforts to stop with him, and turned to look at her. When she nodded, he started walking again.

"At this point in time, we need every person with talent, every person with potential, every person who might possibly be worth something to our cause. Despite your own confrontations with him, you really have very little idea of what the Dark Lord is truly capable of." Hermione saw him shudder at that, and that scared her. What could possibly make Severus Snape afraid? But then the contempt in his voice returned, as usual. "But what we need most is those few people who have power, special power, power that can be trained, and used in our favor. Our...secret weapons, if you will." His tone made it clear that the term didn't agree with him. "Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I mean...I do, sir, but I don't understand what this has to do with me."

Snape stopped again, and blinked. Hermione wished she could see his expression in the dark. "Perhaps you're thicker than I thought you were, Granger." He paused, as if thinking, and then came closer to her, looming over her. "You haven't been sleeping lately, have you?"

Hermione nodded, at this point unable to do anything else. How did he know all this? What was the point? Was he just trying to scare her?

"Right," Snape said, and now it was his turn to nod. "Odd headaches, and such? Sudden, unexplained fainting spells?" He didn't wait for her response this time, nodding to himself, as if already knowing her answer. "Oh, and that lovely little incident yesterday...didn't you wonder who broke the glass?"

"I...I thought it was Malfoy, sir," she said, summoning her voice again. "He picked a fight with Ron, and..." she trailed off, remembering who she was speaking to. There was no point. If he knew, then she, and Harry and Ron were already busted, and Severus Snape didn't care who had started it, especially if the instigator was a Slytherin.

Snape started walking again. "I have already said," he said, a bit testily, "You are not in trouble. Whether or not you deserve to be, I really don't care. That's not what you're here for. I could just have easily dragged you over to Professor Dumbledore in the morning. I'm beginning to wonder, actually, if I'm just wasting my time."

Hermione was starting to get quite fed up with the whole mystery. "Perhaps it would help, sir," she said, very quietly, "If you told me what it is I'm here for."

She was half expecting him to turn on her, angry, but oddly enough, he didn't. "Very well," he grated, and then expelled a long breath. "You've been showing signs, Hermione. Signs of power, of the power I spoke of. I personally wouldn't have expected it in a muggle born like yourself. As far as I know," and he sounded a tiny bit unsure, "It has always been hereditary. That is why I brought you here. You need to be tested. And I'd rather that the entire school did not find out, which is why I grabbed you in the middle of the night."

"Sir..." Hermione shook her head, still frustrated. "I don't understand, honestly I don't. What power do you mean?"

By this point, they had reached the Potions' classroom, and Snape swung the door open. "I suppose I'll have to show you," he said, sounding bored. "Inside, Miss Granger. Go on."

* * * * * * * * * *

Hermione wasn't the only one getting irritated. Snape had found it very difficult to convince the Fat Lady that guarded Gryffindor to allow him passage into the common room, and was feeling testy because of it. He wasn't at all sure, now, that it had been worth it. The girl just looked at him with those big eyes of hers, and refused to understand what he was hinting rather obviously to her. Hadn't she read the books? She supposedly did a great deal of reading. Surely she would recognize the signs.

But then again, perhaps she wouldn't. She was, after all, only a child.

"Sit," he instructed her, gesturing at one of the front-row desks. Hermione sat. Snape opened a drawer, shuffling around in it for a few minutes, before finding what he was looking for. He extracted a small jar from amongst the various vials, tubes, and pouches, and placed it on the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione craning her neck to see what it was, and smiled. At least he had her interest.

Picking up the jar, he walked over to the cauldron by his desk, which was filled with hot water. He upended the jar, and unscrewed the top, shaking the contents out into the water. A large, rather gratifying puff of smoke erupted from the cauldron, and then settled again. Hermione blinked. Grabbing a vial off a shelf, Snape dipped it in the cauldron, and came out with a brownish, steaming liquid. He placed the vial on Hermione's desk, and nodded at her. She looked at it with suspicion.

"Drink it," he said firmly. Hermione looked up at him, pleadingly.

"Please sir, what...what is it?" She looked nervous, and he supposed, with a deep sigh, that she half expected him to poison her.

"Miss Granger," he said, attempting patience, "It is perfectly safe, I assure you. Now, are you going to waste any more of my time, and yours, or are you going to do what I say?" He watched, drumming his fingers on his desk, as Hermione reluctantly lifted the brown liquid to her face, eyeing it skeptically. She shot him a quick look, and he returned it, eyebrows raised expectantly. Then she sucked in a breath, let it out again, and put the vial to her lips, carefully tilting it backwards so that a few drops fell into her mouth. That wouldn't do, Snape thought.

He was beside her in a moment, before she had a chance to put the vial down. Bracing one hand against the desk, he grasped the vial in his other and pressed her head back, tilting it back even farther, so that all the liquid slid down her throught. She started to cough, startled, but it soon subsided. When she looked up, there was fear in her eyes. She didn't trust him one little bit, Snape realized. He was the enemy, as far as she was concerned. That was good, he decided. One couldn't be too careful, and she seemed to have realized that, at least to some extent.

As he watched, waiting, Hermione's face sagged, and her eyelids began to droop. She was clearly struggling to stay concious, but it was obvious she would lose in a few minutes. "What..." she gasped. "Professor...it HURTS." Snape smiled at that.

"Good, good," he said, nodding. "Sadistic as that may seem," he added, "It should hurt. Close your eyes." Hermione was all too eager to obey that request, at least. "Now...do you see anything?"

"What...see? Professor, my...eyes are clos-Oh!" She rocked back in her chair with sudden force, and then abruptly collapsed, sprawling forward across her desk. Snape's smile faded. Well, it wasn't in question, now. She obviously had the beginnings of the Curse, but she seemed to have very little strength against it's side effects. As it was, she was useless, unable to use it without fainting.

Was this really just a waste of time?

* * * * * * * * * *

Conciousness hit Hermione with a bang, and her eyes flew open. Her mouth flew open as well, but no sound came out, as she suddenly found it very hard to breathe. After a few moments, when her normal breathing patterns had returned, she risked sitting up, slowly, and looking around.

She was in the dungeon that they used for a potions classroom. What on earth was she doing here? She couldn't remember anything. Maybe this was some nightmare. If it was a nightmare, she reasoned, it meant she was asleep, and if she was asleep, all she had to do was open her eyes. Except...they were open, already. Closing them tightly, she whispered to herself, willing herself out of the dream. "Time to wake UP, Hermione," she said, firmly, and opened her eyes.

She was still in the dungeon.

A low chuckle came from the other end of the room. "I assure you, Miss Granger, you're very much awake. How does your head feel?"

Hermione turned around, and stared at Severus Snape, who was seated in a chair in the far corner of the room, legs crossed, cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. "How did I get here?" She asked, rubbing her head. It still throbbed a little.

"You don't remember?" Snape frowned. "It should come back to you, unless I've rattled your brains around more than I intended."

Hermione thought...and then it did, indeed, come rushing back to her. She groaned, and lay back in the chair, then looked across at Snape, shocked. "You mean...that was SUPPOSED to happen?"

Snape shrugged, rearranging his long legs and settling himself. "More or less. It wasn't, granted, supposed to happen so very soon...but it was expected, yes. I ask again, how does your head feel?"

Hermione frowned. "It still hurts," she replied, "But not like it did at first...god, it felt like someone had plunged a sword right through my forehead...now it just...pounds a little." She was quite shaken, and desperately wished she'd never come down to this place. She was so very confused.

Snape must have seen some of that on her face, because he nodded, stood up, and crossed over to her. "Well, I suppose I ought to explain myself, oughtent I?" Hermione was about to say that, yes, that would probably be considered fair, after what he'd put her through, but he didn't give her the chance. "I brought you down here, because I think you have the Curse."

Hermione blinked. "A curse?" She asked, feeling stupid.

Snape shook his head. "No, Miss Granger, not a curse, but the Curse." He waited a moment, seeing if she followed him, and when it was obvious that she didn't, he began to elaborate. "The Curse...well, that's not even an appropriate name for it, but it's what wizards and witches have been calling it for centuries now. It makes it sound like some sort of disease." He shook his head, scowling.

"The Curse is , actually, a rare magical gift, that very few people have. It is the power that we spoke of earlier."

"You spoke of," Hermione corrected him, too tired and confused to be tactful. Snape ignored the comment.

"It is a gift of the mind, of mental powers and mental strengths, that, when trained, can be incredibly useful." He stopped, and Hermione sat quietly, allowing it to soak through her brain. "You, Miss Granger," Snape continued, "Have already experienced at least one incident of influence by the Curse. Do you recall when, at Hogsmeade, you broke the glasses in the Three Broomsticks?"

"I...I did that?" Hermione's head swam. "But...how do you know?"

Snape dismissed her question with a wave. "How I know is completley irrelevant. What's important is that you did it. You proved that you could do it. Properly trained, Miss Granger, you wouldn't need a wand ever again." He smiled, leaning in closer, causing her to squeeze back in her chair, nervously. "All you'd have to do was think about what you wanted, and it would be done. You can lift objects, you can remove things, and create things, and do so many, many things...with nothing but what's here." He tapped his forehead with a long-nailed forefinger.

"But..." Hermione was nagged by something. "Why do they call it 'the Curse?'"

Snape nodded, as if approving her question. "You've experienced that, as well. The Curse is extremely taxing on the mind. Those headaches you've been having? Have you noticed them building, at all, in intensity, since they began?"

In all honesty, Hermione realized, she hadn't really thought about it. But now that she was..."A bit," she admitted. "Maybe...a little...yes, I think so. Yes."

Snape seemed even more pleased with that. "Yes, you see? It is the Curse, because the more you do, the more it takes away. Many who have tried it have gone too far, too fast. Often, those who do so have died from the effects." Well, thought Hermione, he certainly wasn't trying to reassure her. He was being brutally honest, in fact, so much so that it scared her. What did he want from her?

"How are you sure?" She asked. "I mean, how are you sure that I have this...Curse?"

Snape gestured at the empty vial on the desk in front of Hermione. "That drought I gave you was supposed to increase the effects, to give us some sign of exactly how much power you have. I was hoping for a demonstration, but apparently the effect was too much. With a bit of training, that will change."

Hermione swallowed. "And...I suppose you expect me to undergo this training? This training, that, as you've said, is potentially life threatening?" Taking a deep breath, she steadied her voice. "Can I ask why you care about all this?"

Snape shook his head, turning away from her towards the window. "I've already told you," he said. "I won't lie to you, Miss Granger. The war is coming. You know it, you've seen it. Your little friend Potter knows it, too. As far as everyone's concerned, he's the hero of this story, he's their hope, the one who will defeat the Dark Lord." Snape's frown returned. "But Potter isn't prepared. He knows too little of the true danger he'll be facing. What's more, I know he'll take responsibility, even if he knows he won't win. His father was the same way. Always doing what was expected of him. Stupid." The frown deepened. "He'll need all the help he can get, if he's anything like his father."

"Harry can do it," Hermione said, straightening her back with pride. "Harry's beaten him three times, already. Harry is the one who can do it. He's the one who survived. He's the boy who lived."

"Oh, yes," Snape said, sarcastically, with a sneer. "I can just picture it now. Eighteen year old Potter, fresh out of school, up against the most powerful wizard the world has ever known, at full strength, no doubt, after all these years. Seems a little unfair, doesn't it?" Suddenly, his tone changed dramatically, and Hermione thought she could detect...well, she thought she heard a note of fear in his voice. But that couldn't be.

"We're going to win this, Granger," Snape grated, his breath coming hard. She saw his hand clutch convulsively at his arm. "I can't go back there," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "I won't ever go back there."

As abruptly as it had before, Snape's tone changed, back to its normal, silky, contemptuous drawl. "We're going to win," he said again. "But only with help. Don't you want to help Potter, Granger?" His sneer returned. "Don't you want to save his life? You'd be the hero, then. You'd be the one with the glory!" When Hermione didn't respond, he shrugged. "Or, perhaps not. Perhaps little Harry can do it on his own. Or perhaps, one morning, you'll find him dead in his chambers, and then what will you do? The killing curse is silent, Hermione, and it isn't a difficult one. We all know how badly the Dark Lord wants a second chance at Harry Potter. What will happen then, when it's too late, and you can't save him, because you're too weak? What will happen then, to the world, when Harry's lying in his coffin, six feet under. They'll write sweet words on his grave, but it won't save-!"

"Stop it!" Hermione shouted, shaking her head from side to side. Even as she said it, the vial on the desk exploded. Snape smiled.

"You see?" He asked, simply. Slowly, reluctantly, Hermione nodded.

"For Harry, though," she murmured, almost to herself. "Just for Harry."

Snape shrugged. "For whatever you want," he said. "But you're taking a big risk, Granger, you need to know that. Agreeing to this is a very large risk. You might never-!"

"I thought," Hermione said, cutting him off, "That you were trying to convince me. Now you're trying to talk me out of it?" It was good to see the frustration in his face then, as he tried to keep his patience.

"I'm only warning you," he snapped. "But that's it, I'm done. I'll meet you here at 3 o'clock exactly, tomorrow. Don't be late." With that, he turned away, leaving Hermione to wobble to the door on her own. Even as she got there, though, he called out to her. "Wait!" She stopped and turned around, to see Snape holding out yet another vial, this one filled with purple liquid.

"Take this," he said, curtly. "It's a sleeping draught. You'll need your rest, now."

Hermione left, holding the potion, her mind racing, too preoccupied to be tired anymore.

* * * * * * * * * * The next morning, Hermione pulled Harry and Ron aside. "I need to talk to you," she told them urgently, dragging them into a corner of the common room. "It's awfully important."

"It had better be," Ron said testily, watching unhappily as the other students filed out towards teh Great Hall for breakfast. "You sure it can't wait? I'm famished."

"You're always hungry," Harry said, sounding disgusted. He nodded at Hermione. "What's up? Is everything all right."

"Everything," Hermione said, with feeling, "Is most certainly not all right." And she told them. In the end, she wasn't entirely sure why she told them, except that she desperately needed someone to talk to about it, and, as they were her best friends, and were around her the most, they ought to know such things about her. It only seemed right. She carefully left out the part about the Dark Lord, and Harry's inevitable confrontation. When she was finished, Ron and Harry could do nothing but stare.

"And you believe this git?" Ron finally asked, sounding incredulous.

"Why shouldn't I?" Hermione asked, a bit defensive. "Why on earth would he want to lie to me about something like that?"

"Oi, 'Mione, it's SNAPE we're talking about here!" Ron sounded disgusted. "We don't know why he does what he does. It smells odd to me."

"That'd be the socks you've been wearing for three days," Harry corrected him. "Personally, I agree with Hermione, but...it's still odd."

"And scary," Ron said, nodding, "If it is true."

"So...you're supposed to do some sort of training, or something?" Harry asked, sounding worried. "With...Snape?" Hermione nodded, and Harry shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Lord, Hermione...be careful, will you? Maybe we should go with you."

Hermione was very tempted to agree to that, but she shook her head, deciding against it. "No, Harry...that's not a good idea. If what Snape says is true, I'm dangerous until I get this worked out. I don't want something happening to you while I'm testing myself. I break things," she added, sheepishly. "In all honesty, you probably should stay away from me altogether." She almost choked on that last bit. It wasn't what she wanted, but, if it would keep them safe...just until she finished training, that is...

Ron broke into her thoughts with a snort. "Yeah, right," he said airily, throwing a companionable arm around her shoulders. "We're staying right here, whether you like it or not."

"Ron's right," Harry agreed, more solemnly. "You're our best friend, Hermione."

"Besides," Ron said, "We can protect ourselves, can't we? We're seventh year wizards, now. We can deal with little things like breaking glass. Besides, who'll help you when you faint? Who'll carry you back to the dorm, eh?"

"Not you," Hermione said, with a grin. "Too heavy, remember?"

As Ron began to protest, Hermione started to laugh.

********
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