At the end of class, when everyone had left, Hermione approached Snape's desk.
"Thank you for the poem, Severus," she said uncertainly, "it was beautiful."
Snape stood up in is shock with a disgusted look on his face. What the hell was that girl talking about? What poem?
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for addressing a professor inappropriately!" he hissed, his voice spewing venom.
He couldn't believe it! This girl had the nerve to come to his desk, accuse him of writing some stupid poem, and then -and this was what angered him most- she believed she had the right to address him as Severus? And yet, a peculiar but familiar pang of guilt struck through his heart as she spun around, her eyes brimming with tears, and ran out of his classroom.
Snape walked to the front of his desk, picking up the piece of parchement that had fallen from her hand and, upon reading it, dropped it in shock. It was a complete love poem, written and signed by him.
"I've been framed," he whispered dramatically before falling into his chair.
Alone at his desk, Dumbledore watched this scene in his mind. He had expected Hermione to react this way and had anticipated her visit to his office.
Suddenly, the door to his office burst open as a distraught Hermione ran in.
"Have a seat, Hermione." Dumbledore said lightly.
Hermione sat down and, upon glancing at her, Dumbledore could see the trails of past tears wiped away. Her eyes were still red and puffy, but she had done an excellent job of composing herself.
When she spoke, though, Dumbledore detected a slight quiver in her voice.
"Sir, something is wrong with Professor Snape, he-"
"I'm sure he's fine, Hermione." Dumbledore began, but stopped when she stood with a storm of fury blazing in her eyes.
"He is not fine!" she screamed, "There is something wrong with him, he-"
But before she could finish, Snape burst into the room.
"Professor Dumbledore, we have a problem. After class Mrs. Granger said something that led me to believe she is delusional and-"
Hermione cleared her throat and Snape jumped back in surprise as his face curled into disgust.
"You!" he hissed as Dumbledore ushered him out of his office.
"Severus, I will speak with you in a moment."
Dumbledore turned to Hermione, fresh tears springing from her eyes.
"See, I told you-"
"Hermione, Hermione, calm down. I hate to go against Professor Snape's wishes, but I believe you have a right to know and I fear what will take place if you don't. Snape has erased his memory of ever loving you."
At the look on her face, Dumbledore paused and handed her some tea, then continued.
"He did not do it because he wanted to forget, he did it -drink, dear, it will help- he did it to protect the both of you. You know what the Cruciatus curse does. He would be unable to control his thoughts. If Voldemort even finds an inkling of good in him..."
Hermione nodded her understanding, gazing at the door that Snape now stood behind.
"So that's it then," she sobbed, "he hates me again."
Dumbledore chuckled. "He doesn't hate you, Mrs. Granger... This is just how it HAS to be. Just remember, he erased his memory specifically to protect you. I believe there is still love in him. It's just where it used to be...and that's where it needs to stay as long as he's a spy."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snape looked at himself in the mirror, a sickening feeling washing over him. He was cloaked in the robes of a death-eater, a mask covered his face. Looking around for his wand, he bumped into his bedside table and cursed.
“Compose yourself,” he thought, “or you will die before the end of this night.”
Snape cleared his mind of all the memories he wanted to hide from Voldemort. No doubt Voldemort would read them whilst he was under the Cruciatus curse, but that mattered not. He had hidden the important memories.
As he made his way across the school grounds into the forbidden forest, a thought occurred to him. Had he actually fallen in love? Could that be one of the memories stirring in the Pensieve? No, that was he ridiculous. He “Severus Snape- in love! Snape snorted at the possibility of him falling in love, let alone with Hermione!
“Miss Granger…” that ever-faithful voice whispered in his mind.
Once at the point where he could Apparate, Snape glided to a stop, allowing himself to breathe in the free air. In less than an hour, the air he breathed would reek with the smell of blood and vomit. The silence he now savored would be consumed by shrieks of torture and he would view the world with a blood- red haze.
Breathing one last puff of crisp air, he Apparated with a pop and found himself standing in a graveyard. It was a cemetery worthy of any muggle, horror film with crooked epitaphs and foggy mist swirling up to his calves.
“Severus!” a voice hissed, cutting into the darkness, “You are late!”
Snape knew that to offer an excuse would only get him killed, so he stood there silently, bracing himself for the punishment he knew would come. With a shrill scream he felt his knees crash to the ground and found himself savoring the pain. It was a change in comparison to the emptiness he so often felt. His chest gave a pop as he doubled over in pain and his throat and lungs hurt from screaming. It lasted naught but a few seconds, then vanished, leaving a dull throb where excruciating pain had been born. A glance at his leg told him it was severely broken and “though he could have mended it right then- he left it alone, fearing what may happen if he attempted to fix it.
Voldemort began walking towards Snape, his robes billowing about in a fashion that spoke of power. “So,” he hissed, “how is dear Dumbledore?”
Snape looked him in the eye and forced a laugh. “The fool believes you to be weak.”
Voldemort threw his head back, barking out what Snape figured to be a laugh, but then stopped suddenly, lifting Snape up by the throat.
“I would not underestimate Albus if I were you. He is not so easily fooled, even by me.”
Snape kept his eyes locked on Voldemort’s, his vision becoming a swirling black pit.
“Unfortunately,” Voldemort hissed, dropping Snape like a rag-doll, “It has come to my attention that there is a traitor within this very vicinity. I would think that you all know the consequences of betraying me, but your stupidity never ceases, does it?”
Snape’s breath caught as he forced himself to stay calm. Could he know?
“One of you,” Voldemort continued, sweeping his wand across the death eaters, “Yes, one of you has been revealing my plans to our enemies. But who?” his eyes came across Snape’s. “I know who, gentlemen.”
He spun around facing Snape again, but Snape’s face was a façade of calm curiosity. Voldemort took a few steps toward him until he was within inches of his face. His violet eyes bore into Snape’s. His rancid breath flared in his nostrils.
“I believe Snape knows…”
Snape’s broken leg gave an involuntary jerk and he heard it snap again, but his breathing remained calm and steady.
“Please, my lord,” he began, “endeavors to enlighten my ignorant self.”
Voldemort lowered his eyelids, then spun around and struck another death eater with a curse. The man crashed to the ground as his bones began to tear his skin.
“Johnson, here, is a traitor to me! A traitor to you! You know what to do…”
The death eaters closed in on Johnson, now shrieking and torn in half, and began hitting him with the worst curses. Malfoy was shouting a curse to prolong Johnson’s life. Snape joined in order to keep Voldemort’s suspicions at bay. Too late. Snape’s screams joined Johnson’s as he slammed to the ground once more. His bones felt as if they were shattering and his muscles stretched beyond their natural limitations. Through all this, Snape witnessed a light. It was dim at first, but as it grew he noticed it had taken the form of a woman. The angel grabbed his hand and whispered in his ear, encouraging him to live. Hermione…
Voldemort stopped, still laughing, as Snape slammed back into reality. Why had Miss Granger been there? And why did he keep calling her “Hermione”?
“Severus, my son,” Voldemort cackled, “I believe you are the first ever to smile at the Cruciatus curse. I may have use for you, yet…”