*REVISED*

Thanks to Jules for betaing the original version.



DISCLAIMER for all entries:
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The plot and any original characters are mine.




Subtle

by fleable

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He studied the paper he held so carefully between his fingers. It was oily and smelt of the press. He thought it odd how the faint odor of the lingering chemical residue always managed to comfort him with its familiarity and his thin lips slanted upwards ever so slightly as he pushed forward with his self-appointed task. He shook the page flat and noted the way in which the ink had smeared on this particular page leaving a dark stain down one edge that blurred the text into unfocused blobs. His eyes scanned the page and fell upon the reassuring pattern of the crossword. The crossword was all that concerned him. Let the other dross and dribble of the world pass him by, let it remain forever unreadable; he no longer cared. ‘It’ remained stark and pristine.

His finger trailed down the clues and the tip of his quill quivered along the lines. His fingers cracked as he adjusted his grip yet again. The quill tilted dangerously with an unconscious small jerk and the lines about his eyes tightened with the discomfort. He refused to allow the cramp to detract from the pleasure of his morning ritual.

He shifted his legs and the teacup clinked against the body of the china pot. A small white cube was dislodged and tipped from the pinnacle of the sugar mountain to tumble from the bowl onto the worn surface of his desk. He raised his eyes and considered the shadows of his classroom as his hand closed on the cube, reducing it to nothing more than a sweet pile of dust. The light shifted across his vision, revealing the surrounding bottles and potions and the fuzzy line of desks. His gaze dropped to the clues and he poised the quill, ready to renew his battle. He wiped his hand absently on his leg as his fingers once again sought out the clue that lay before him.

The quill’s nib obligingly bled black ink onto the porous paper and curved into the shape of a ‘c’, swiftly followed by the sweeping loop of an ‘l’-

Omph!

His heart caught in his chest at the unexpected sound.

Suppressing his shock with a shaky breath Snape looked up. A crumpled mass of robes toppled out of his classroom's fireplace briefly illuminated in the green floo light.

‘What in the name of-?’ He put down the quill with a surge of anger and glared. 'Was this some sort of childish prank? Sending old rags through his floo?' His mind raced with the likely culprits... 'What house? What students? A group? Always a group with a leader. Yes,a leader... But why now?' The voice of reason tried to quell his fury, 'Why now with the school closed up and everyone sent away?'

In the murky halflight his univnited guest's identity remained a mystery, revealing nothing more than a heap of twisted, dirtied fabric that remained motionless against the hard cold stone of the dungeon floor.

Enraged at the rude interruption, he thought still a student prank Snape tossed his quill aside and quickly swooped around the desk. 'You little blighters,' he seethed,'daring to make a spot on the quiet landscape of my retirement.'

Only then had he realized that the motionless mass was a body -- a human body. 'Some fool who could not defend themselves,' he felt his pulse rise, 'Not a Slytherin then. No self-respecting Slytherin would let anyone best them.'

Muttering to himself he reached the crumpled pile of creased robes and resisted the urge to kick it, “Get up!” He loomed over the figure and withdrew his wand, “Get up now or feel the end of a curse you misbegotten clod!”

The figure did not move. Its only acknowledgment of the Potions' Master was a softly exhaled moan.

'Oh,for the love of God,' He bent down to roughly push the crumbled figure over.

A length of forearm swung past his oversized nose, almost slapping him as it flopped down on the coldstone floor. Snape jerked back and noted that the limb poked out at an odd angle, revealing ugly bruises and abrasions along its length and the hand at the end was bloodied, it's nails tor and bent oddly, twisted, half fisted forming a claw. Snape knew the deformity well. He was intimately familiar with the curse that caused it. His hands knotted convulsively around the fabric of the victim's robe in sympathy. He forceably relaxed his grip and re-pocketed his wand.

In the half-light of the dying fire the robe took on the familiar Hogwart tailoring and at it's tattered lapel the school badge. It was a student!

His mind raced ahead. 'Should he call Dumbledore? Should he wait and see? How to explain this to the parents?' His hands shakily traveled up to the robe’s hood and pulled it aside. Long hair of a dark indiscernible nature sprang forth and flowed over his fingers. He swept it aside, and felt a wet stickiness that could only be blood; he did not recoil at its presence, but persisted in his task until his fingers revealed a battered face.

It took him a moment to adjust to the sight of the face as memories of its owner flooded his mind. 'It cannot be?' His dark eyes screwed up in painful memroy. 'She left Hogwart’s three years ago.' He continued to argue with his vision. 'No, it cannot be her.'


”Miss Granger?” he questioned hesitantly. Ashamed that his voice had begun to lose its power in the oppressive stillness. It almost rattled in his thin chest.

She did not answer. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing laboured.

Long pale fingers skidded across her bruised cheek to the curve of her neck and paused. Snape’s eyes gleamed like slits of night. Under the pads of his fingers her heartbeat grew sure and steady. His ears pricked as he heard the beating of his own heart, loud in sympathy.

She was alive.

He rose swiftly and hastily retrieved the container of floo powder that stood in readiness on the mantel. His long elegant fingers withdrew a handful and tossed it onto the embers of the fire. “Albus Dumbledore,” he called into the silence.

A moment later the face of the Head Master appeared and quizzically peered at him over the rim of his glasses. “Severus?”

”Albus, do you recall Hermione Granger?” it was a rhetorical question for he allowed the Head Master no time to respond' “She has just flooed into my classroom in an unconscious state.”

The Head Master’s face disappeared instantly from the flames and was soon replaced by the smoky outline of his body. Snape felt a growing calm at the sight of the great wizard. He watched the older man as he stepped out of the fireplace, patted down his robes and approached Hermione’s body.

”She’s alive,' he informed him, "and must have been conscious enough to call out her destination,” Dumbledore carefully leant down and muttered a few healing spells.

“Merlin knows why she would want to come back here?” the Potions Master complained. “Given the state she appears to be in I would think St Mungo’s would have been a more logical destination.”

”Oh dear,” The old wizard’s blue eyes grew distant and the corners of his mouth turned down, “Long had I suspected something like this would happen.”

Snape sharply eyed the man, “What do you mean? What precisely would happen?”

Dumbledore sidestepped the issue by touching Hermione’s shoulder with his wand and murmured a levitation spell,“ Severus, could you advise Poppy of our imminent arrival. You may cross-examine me to your heart’s content once we’ve ascertained the extent of Miss Granger’s injuries.”

”Just tell me this,” Snape stalked after him, “Does this have anything to do with Potter?”

The Head Master momentarily paused, watching as Hermione’s body floated out of the door before him. Quietly, with a sad nod of his head, he said, “I dare say, Severus, I dare say.”


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“Perhaps we can talk somewhere else Headmaster?”

Snape's discomfort was clearly evident. He stood at the threshold of the infirmary movongfromone foot to another and nervously wringing his hands and crackong his knuckles.

Dumbledore glanced at him before returning his attention to Madam Pomfrey's shadow as it moved behind a curtained cubicle. “Very well Severus.”

Embarrassed by his lack of composure, Snape clasped his handsbehind his back. "I do not like this place,” he muttered under his breath, grimacing at the antiseptic smell.

The older wizard knew better than to question Snape's jitteriness, Circe knew the man had plenty of good reasons to detest the place. “Shall we go for a stroll?”

’A stroll?’ Snape gave the old wizard an incredulous look, ‘Doesn’t he know it is beyond freezing outside?’ The Potions Master checked the windows to confirm the absurdity of such a request to see the windowpanes edged with ice and beyond, swirls of fast falling snow. “If you insist,” He frowned and stepped aside in an effort to allow the older man to move past him.

Thankfully, 'the stroll' was confined to within the castle walls. Dumbledore did not speak as they made their way through the vacant halls heading toward the large, heated expanse of the east wing’s glasshouses. It was the winter holidays and the students had departed. Leaving Hogwarts to settle and stir only with its ghosts, portraits and other enchanted items. The figures in the portraits turned in surprise as the two men idled past, but did not comment. It was their time off too.

Christmas at Hogwarts was traditionally a peaceful, reflective time spent in front of roaring fires with a nice cup of tea and a good book. However traditionally, New Year's was known to be slightly louder, thanks primarily to Minerva McGonagall and her flying bagpipes. the tartan monstrosities incessantly hunted out victims and played ‘Auld Lang Syne’ until the victim pleaded insanity or told them that 'Bonnie Prince Charlie was the true king', but most often the squalling haggis fell victim to Filch; who by the third hour had worked himself into a frenzy causing Mrs. Norris to feel compelled to attack the bagpipes in a what could only be described as a caterwauling cacophony. Snape snorted at the recollection of a rather dazed Minerva with a deflated bagpipe and cat on her head, her lips compressed in a tight line of holiday fury.

Albus ignored Snape’s sudden snort of laughter and continued walking, having grown tolerant of his colleague's dark flights of fancy.

Entering the humid greenhouse Snape crossed his arms high on his chest, draping his robe about him before leaning against a pillar. He watched silently as Dumbledore floated about the potted plants, his robes trailing regally behind him as he softly muttered to himself and daintily picked at the leaves of the herb collection.

The younger man sulked, wondering what his life would be like if fantasies actually could live up to the harshness of reality? For him Christmas was not a happy time. It unfailingly involved either a Ministry or Death Eater emergency. Case in point: for the last two days he had been ensconced at the Ministry under the influence of Veritaserum testing the strength of his convictions to 'the cause'.

‘Glorious,’ he caught his murky dark reflection in the steamy glass. He really could not decide what was better: Voldemort as he was, or the Ministry now. Ultimately he realized he was nothing more than a tool, an object with no purpose other than to prove useful in the hands of others. 'When will such usefulness be worn out?' he wondered. For only then would he taste freedom,only then would he be thoughtlessly cast aside without even being given the courtesy of a second glance. He snotrted again,this timenot in humour, he was like so much ‘used’ magic.

Finally, as the Head Master sniffed a particularly lurid orchid, Snape’s patience stretched thin and snapped. His 'own' time was precious and he did not wish to waste it.

”Well?” he demanded pushing himself off the pillar and dropping his arms, “What is she doing here?”

Dumbledore jumped, as if he had just remembered Snape was with him. He looked at his companion in confusion. “Who?”

”Granger,” Snape fixed the old man with a withering eye, “Don’t play games with me Albus.”

”Oh…” Dumbledore evaded, ignoring Snape as he patted the orchid fondly, “She’s working for the Ministry of Magic you know?”

”Yes, but what I really want to know is how she ended up in my floo, unconscious and masquerading as a Hogwart’s student?” Snape’s exasperation was now complete.

”Oh, that…” The Head Master plucked a ladybird from an aspidistra and set it down upon a valerian, “I can only assume it has something to do with the Ministry. However, I can safely assure you that she would be very sorry for disturbing your morning crossword.”

Snape angrily rubbed his forehead, “Dear Merlin, must you be so obtuse?”

”At times like these, Severus, everything is on a need to know basis.”

Snape understood, though he did not want to, “What about Potter?” He pushed, instinctively knowing that 'he' was somehow connected to the events of the morning.

Dumbledore seriously considered Snape for the first time since leaving the infirmary, his face crumpling with sadness, “Harry? Yes, it involves Harry, but doesn’t everything these days?”

”Ipso facto Tom Riddle.”

The old wizard reluctantly nodded, his breath steaming out in a long painful trail, “As you have quiterightly guessed, Severus. Mr. Riddle.”

Snape felt a slight pang of remorse for the old wizard’s sorrow and his thoughts turned back to the where it all began.

It had happened barely a month ago and who would have guessed that Voldemort’s plans were so thorough? They were ingenuous and insidious as to be practically invisible. The manipulations, the deaths of James and Lily Potter and the myth of love that Dumbledore and other naive individuals gobbled down like sweeties. When all along Voldemort had saved ‘the Boy Who Lived’ only to use him. Harry had been his Trojan horse, a convenient housing for an embryo of evil waiting for the right time and place.

As with all things in hindsight, it was all clear now. Harry’s proficiency with Parseltongue should have been clue enough. Dumbledore had surmised that a transfer had occurred between Voldemort and the boy, but the extent of it was unknown at the time. That was until the key had been turned and Harry Potter had unlocked a Pandora’s box.

A Pandora's box within his own mind.

It did not taken long for the news to spread and for paranoia and panic to set in. Society was in chaos: ‘How could he? How could 'the boy who lived' be 'he who must not be named? How was it possible?’

The Ministry crumbled under public pressure, a brief powerless department ran until the Prime Minister intervened and a temporary board was established. A grief reaction paled the face of the world and only a few dared shake their heads and say I told you so -– Severus Snape the loudest and most unremorseful amongst their number.

Snape had always suspected there was something amiss about Potter, but Dumbledore dismissed his claims, never speaking of them publicly. Snape shook it off as part of the dangerous game he played. He was accustomed to the strain of spying, the second guessing, the paranoia. but he never ignored his intuition. Never.

So it was that Harry Potter ‘the hero’ had now become Harry Potter ‘the villain’. 'How could this have happened?' The Ministry asked, 'There must have been a reason?' A finger needed to be pointed and pointed it was. 'Who to trust? Who to believe?' Finally it came down to the: 'The fresh faced boy or the world-weary traitor?'

The Ministry investigation intoPotter's defection played out in the press as parody in parts, if it were not so tragic. Dumbledore the injured party, a doddering old fool who liked the fiction rather more than the facts. Potter the innocent victim condemned since the day his parents died, living with Voldemort in his head, versus, Snape the spy. The one who should have known better, who ‘chose’ not to speak out when he should have, the one who had kept quiet. So it played out. In the public’s mind it was Snape who deserved the ‘assessments’ at the Ministry, while Dumbledore and Potter garnered backhanded sympathy. Snape felt little resentment over this, he was used to being the eternal outsider. But this time he was ‘the right’ outsider and all his ‘assessment’ proved so far was just how ‘right’ he was.

He had to smile; the rewards were sometimes subtle and best served cold.

”There must be something left of Harry?” Snape heard Albus’ soft musings as the wizard moved under the fronds of a large tree fern, spraying rusty-coloured spores across the sagging shoulders of his red velvet robes.

”What is left was not strong enough to overcome Riddle.” Snape replied.

It was a conversation they had had a number of times since the ‘event’ and one Snape had grown tired of.

”I once told him how we at Hogwarts choose which House to join.”

”Not this infantile topic again, Head Master?” Snape dismissed the topic, sniffing at the smell of manure about the shrubs. “Houses and personality types?” He curled his lip and shook his head cynically, thin strands of his hair brushing gently against his face, “I would like to think I am slightly more complicated than one choice. No child is one house. No one is made up of one essence.”

”Kant, Severus? I am impressed, but all philosophy aside, it would seem Harry understood the politics of choice very well,” Dumbledore released a heartfelt sigh, “And in hindsight I would have to agree that he decided wisely. He fooled the world.”

Snape’s snide rejoinder died on his lips. ‘Albus is such a romantic fool at times. If I didn’t know better I would think that he seems better suited to Divination than Alchemy.’

They stood in an expectant silence and listened as the snow softly patted on the glass. It was not long before they meandered around the long central stand on the other side of the greenhouse where the sub-tropical collection was housed.

”You were saying you knew why Miss Granger came here?” Snape attempted to further pry an explanation from the old man.

”I am afraid I do,” Albus paused and his hand trembled as he thoughtfully stroked his beard. When he finally spoke, his voice was grave. “It is only an educated guess... yet that is all we have left." He sighed and eyed Snape, "Hermione is the Ministry’s most valuable Auror. I have followed her course with some pride. She entered the training program straight after leaving Hogwarts and showed great promise. Yet by far her most valuable asset proved to be her friendship with Mr. Potter...”

Snape saw where Dumbledore was heading with his story, “It is a measure of the Ministry’s desperation that she was sent to infiltrate Riddle’s organization?”

”Yes Severus, I fear that is the truth of the matter. Riddle must have found her out and expelled her. She’s very lucky to be alive.”

”I seriously doubt that luck played as prominent a role as you might imagine. He’s simply playing games,” Snape shrugged and wiped off some moisture that had dripped from the glass ceiling onto his robes, “Riddle sent her back here for one reason: to show us that he is no longer Harry Potter.”

”Yes, I agree; a most graphic warning for us all. Hogwarts is nothing more to him than a building he can overwhelm. The robes, Miss Granger’s torture… these are nothing more than the individual facets of a lesson,” The Head Master conceded with an audible sigh, “A hard one.”

A cruel smile curved Snape’s mouth as they exited the green house. They wandered back into the dark corridor and he chuckled bleakly, “Such lessons are the very best to learn by.”

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