Chapter Text
Premise: What if, during Chapter 32 ('The Elder Wand') of Deathly Hallows, Hermione acts rashly for once and decides to save Snape?
Paralyzed
-1-
Orpheus touched her, and two ideas hit in a blinding flash of inspiration.
One: Dumbledore did always say that Snape was on our side. Now, if Dumbledore was right—and him being one of the greatest wizards of our century leads me to suspect that he was—Harry and I have a moral obligation to save Snape.
Two: Even if Dumbledore was wrong, and Snape always was loyal to the Death Eaters, I don't think Snape will be nearly so gung-ho for Voldemort after being attacked. Even Slytherins are affronted when other Slytherins betray them. Therefore, if Harry and I save him, he'll likely prove a useful ally.
Of course, these thoughts materialized in a flurry of impressions rather than words, but they still had an enormous impact on Hermione. Pushing Harry away, she revealed herself to the two men. In the full glory of Gryffindor bravado, she brandished her wand and attempted to fire an Avada Kedavra at Voldemort.
. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .
-2-
"Granger!" the prostrate potions professor gasped, agape. If not for this cry, Hermione would have attributed his expression to the snake at his neck rather than her sudden appearance. As it was, however, she was startled by the concentration of his eyes on her, and her curse flailed.
Voldemort easily deflected the feeble power.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," the dark wizard stated, a debonair tone to his voice. "What a pleasant surprise. I believe you're just in time to dine with us."
Us? Her mind, in overdrive, analyzed the misused pronoun. Oh. Of course. His snake feeds on the blood of a dying man, which also satiates his own appetite to demonstrate his superior abilities.
And, to her immense sadness and surprise, she felt like she understood Lord Voldemort's soul.
-3-
Maybe he's like me, she thought, so startled by the revelation that she was only mildly concerned as she watched Voldemort snap his fingers a single time and Nagini's fangs withdraw from Snape's throat. Maybe he just wants to prove his magical worth. That made sense to her.
It was a lot easier to hate the man who once had been Tom Riddle when she couldn't put a face to the name. She knew plenty about him, of course, from what Harry had told her and from her own covert studies. But she had never thought about him as a person before.
The snake, having done enough damage to Snape, was edging its way over to Hermione.
"Foolish Gryffindor," her opponent chastised softly, and her eyes met his red ones. It didn't occur to her to look away before it was too late.
Memories that she never remembered storing came back to her—an 'O' paper she received in first year with the scathing comment 'could be more coherent' from Flitwick, a time when a new pair of shoes wouldn't fit and she wished for a magical mother to show her how to lengthen them, how one time in sixth-year Potions 'The Prince' was wrong and she was right.
Then she realized that she could think clearly again—and Voldemort hadn't killed her yet.
-4-
Voldemort was regarding her with apparent curiosity.
"Fancy that," he murmured. "The Mudblood has ambition. A very keen ambition, if I do say so myself. You never told me this of her, Snape."
The only reply from the Potions Master was a garbled choking noise.
"You are Harry Potter's friend and the brains behind him, I gather?" Voldemort asked, lowering his hand enough that his snake could slowly wind up his arm. "Where is he now?"
She closed her eyes, almost certain that she heard Harry gasp in the darkness behind her. Voldemort's sure to torture me now.A stone settled in her stomach as she remembered what damage Bellatrix had dealt to her not long prior. It can't be worse than that, can it?
But she heard a dry chuckle.
"It's irrelevant. Don't worry, little girl, I'm not going to hurt you."
-5-
She was stunned. He's not going to hurt me? This incredulity was only brief, however, given the nature of her previous realization. He knows what I'm like; he just went through my memories. He probably also knows that I can relate to him, since that's what I was just thinking about. Maybe he's going to spare me. But under what condition? This was far too obvious—no doubt he would ask her to take the mark.
Voldemort had a wry smile on his face when she looked at him in askance.
"As you've probably already reasoned, young lady, I think you would be an admirable advisor. I do need someone to replace our dear Professor Snape—such a pity I had to dispose of him."
The man on the floor did not stir; the amount of blood around him signified to Hermione that he was already dead. No one could survive that amount of blood loss for so long.
She blamed herself for having jumped out so rashly. I might waited until Voldemort left and then have saved him, she lamented. Now I'm in a bad place myself. If only I get out of this alive...
-6-
Voldemort continued, "I can understand why you would be on Potter's side from the beginning, Miss Granger: he befriended you in your first year when you chose to battle against that giant troll and overestimated your own capabilities."
That wasn't a memory he saw, Hermione thought, but then she cast her eyes down at the dead man across the room. But Snape was there. Being the spy to Hogwarts, he probably mentioned the thing to Voldemort.
"Yes indeed, it was Snape who mentioned that particular tidbit to me," Voldemort confirmed, watching her intensely. "A good example of Gryffindor bravado, really, to go on such a hopeless quest with nothing but a 'wing and a prayer', so to speak. But while Snape thought the anecdote purely amusing, it told me much about young Potter's character, specifically his primary failing: selflessness. Grand inspiration, it was—later I used it against him, almost successfully."
Sirius, thought Hermione. Oh God. Sirius' death was my fault! Because Snape believed my story that I had gone up to face trouble alone and the boys followed me? Oh no.
Hermione rarely lied—for rarely did she have to—but she would never do so again. Her pride was incredibly shaken at the repercussions of the single falsehood.
-7-
"Embarrassed, are we?" Voldemort crooned. "Rightfully so. But I think you learned from that experience. Mostly."
His lips twitched in a smirk, and Hermione realized he was alluding to her abrupt entrance minutes ago.
"As I was saying," he went on, "I can understand why you have been on the opposing side for so long, Miss Granger. You were, as I mentioned, befriended by Potter, which obligated you to his debt. After that, you apparently kept his grades afloat—his exam and homework scores marvelously increased once you entered his life. I do think you repaid that debt early on with your assistance alone—but you kept helping him. Why so? I imagine that it's because you didn't feel that your efforts were appreciated—he didn't ever tell you so. Instead, he took advantage of your guilt, never bothering to wonder why you started helping him in the first place."
He's not right about the guilt, Hermione thought, considering he doesn't know the whole situation. But about my helping them with academics—he's very right. They never truly have thanked me. She had always been hurt by that, but put up with it, imagining that it would never change. I didn't help them because I felt guilt—I helped because I love Ron and want him to succeed, and because I pity Harry and his upbringing, which is such a contrast to my own, and I also want him to succeed.
"Then also," Voldemort continued silkily, "you did almost have a chance, before your poor foolish headmaster died. Courtesy of Snape, again."
-8-
Is this your eulogy for Snape? Hermione wondered, or did you rely on him just that much? In the latter case, she could understand Voldemort's impressive need to recruit her.
This thought was attended by a guttural groan from the man on the floor.
Snape was still alive.
"Poor fellow," Voldemort said, feigning concern, "perhaps I ought to make it a bit easier for him." He pointed his wand at the immobile Snape. "Or not," he added thoughtfully, drawing it back. "He was un-loyal to me after the First War, crawling to Dumbledore's side for forgiveness. No matter how useful he was to me—I could never fully forget, could I? But you, my dear," he said softly, "You're scarcely of age. Your side was chosen for you. And the people who chose for you were fools."
That's true, Hermione thought. I never chose to be on the side of the Order and Dumbledore and all the rest of them. But I never retaliated, either, she realized. If I had moral objection to it, then I would have early on.
"You may think now," Voldemort continued, "that you were assigned to be on the better side, morally or ethically. But," he explained, "have you ever considered that the Aurors might be no better than my Death Eaters? There's been death on both sides, and the numbers are nearly equal. We may be seen as 'terrorists'—but my aim, Miss Granger, is not to terrorize. I merely have an idea, one that has proven fairly popular among many, and the government is out to get myself and my supporters. Did you ever think that this might just be a political squabble between the few and the many?"
This resonated far too strongly for her—she didn't found S.P.E.W. without reason!— and, despite her own preconceived notions, she bristled at the unjustness indicated by Voldemort.
He's trying to turn me, she reasoned. And he's arguing at my intellectual level. The idea was uncomfortable. It's been so long since I talked to an equal.
-9-
"But let's talk about you, Miss Granger," the Slytherin continued, "not this dreary political inanity. I'd be a liar to say it bored me, but there are some times at which it's more tactful to stay away from the subject."
He took a step towards her, stroking his snake all the while.
"I trust this is the reason you are so silent this evening?"
Hermione remained stony. It's better to not answer anything and make sure he doesn't get a glimpse of my mind again, she supposed, dropping her eyes to look at the floor.
"You are instinctual when it comes to survival, aren't you?" mused the man. "That is valuable. Now, Miss Granger, I suggest you consider very carefully what I'm going to propose."
She nodded, perhaps too vigorously, in assent.
"In a few minutes' time," Voldemort began, "I will meet Harry Potter on the field of battle. The boy is a fool—he does not know the odds are far, far against him this time. He cannot be lucky on this encounter. This is when my luck changes. I will be victorious, not him.
"When he has been defeated, all of Wizarding Britain will be crushed. My man, Rufus Scrimageour, is in the office of Minister of Magic. At my word, he will resign the place to me. From this position, I will have contact with the Muggle Prime Minister of Britain, and I will take down the parliamentary monarchy, do away with the current royalty, and replace myself as the head of a nation. All this done very slowly, of course, so that no one suspects a thing. No one will be able to stop me, after that—from there I'll be able to begin to extend my prerogative beyond the boundaries of this little island."
Hermione was horrified. And this is what he desires? World domination?
"Granted," Voldemort went on, "land and civil power is only secondary to mental power. However, once these lesser powers are achieved, I'll begin to work with this, too. That has been my ultimate aim, after all—to revise the social hierarchy so that the brightest are the highest, not the lowest. I think you'll like what I plan to do."
-10-
"I plan," he carefully began, "to create a Utopia arranged by the value of one's own mind. For instance," he described, "the wise would rule, rather than the most powerful. Of course," he added, an absent look in his eyes, "right now I'm focused on the powerful—targeting Pureblood wizards was no accident—but the ends, I think, justify the means.
"While now I am eager for rich and stupid in-bred fogies, while now I ostentatiously pursue bringing wizards out of hiding and into a powerful and glorious rule, while now I attract much that I mean to destroy..." Here, words failed him, and he approached Hermione, coming far too close for her own comfort.
"...I think you know what it means to keep your 'friends close but enemies closer', my dear."
She squirmed.
"So," he continued with a twitching smirk, "just what do you think of that?"
"I can't say," she replied, demurely looking towards the floor while cursing the fact that her wand was out of sight.
"Are you truly interested?" Voldemort replied, a spark of delight in his voice.
I need time to think of a plan for escape, she told herself, but she couldn't be certain that she wasn't curious.
-11-
"I am interested," she half-lied, "tell me about your hierarchal structure. I suppose it's not based on blood birth?"
She might have imagined a slightly revolted cringe, but it could have been the dim light and the shadows.
"Not at all, my dear," the dark man said, "as I said before, it's based on merit of the mind alone. I base my rankings on one of the greatest minds of the ancients, Plato, who writes of organization of the souls in Phaedrus."
"That's a good base," complimented Hermione, for lack of anything better to say.
He took the compliment in stride. "Plato writes, in essence, that the most important people are philosophers—lovers of knowledge and wisdom, not necessarily the pedantic academics who live in books because they do not have the experience of real life. Not like The Underground Man," he affirmed, but Hermione, with her classical wizard education, didn't catch the reference to Dostoyevsky.
"So, the topmost in the social strata is the philosopher, followed by those who have seen "truth in the second degree", as Plato says: he says they would be 'great kings' or 'great warriors', but considering the governmental system I intend to put in place, only the second would be applicable. Think of them as the military cabinet, if you will, Hermione."
He tested her name on his tongue, gauging her reaction, and it took all of her will to smile like a flattered lamb.
The deceit convinced him, apparently, and he continued, "Plato enumerates rank three to consist of politician, economist, and traders. The fourth will consist of healers and athletes, the fifth will be seers and other people who claim to have connection to the divine. Afterwards comes the artists, then your 'average joe' office worker, farmer, or artisan, and after that is...well, Hitler was a trifle extreme to kill all dissenters, but he was right to isolate them. They rank in the lowest class, the political criminals."
"It's...intriguing," Hermione replied, but at the same time felt sick. My grandparents survived the Holocaust! she thought. I'd like to end these 'dreary political inanities'.
All this time, she had let him talk with the hope that she might think of some way to get out of her present situation. Some vague idea had been forming, but at the mention of Hitler, Hermione was distracted, and she blanked, to her great chagrin.
Damn! I think it's going to come down to me deciding to join Voldemort or die. Which will I choose?
-12-
"Hermione."
The syllables were like treacle on Voldemort's tongue. Hermione felt bitter as she heard them.
"Do you like my ideas?"
"I do," she replied, carefully. Living hell or death? she pondered. I'm not fool enough to think that I can get out of this a living Gryffindor.
She wondered vaguely what Severus Snape would have thought to know that she was thinking this. Then she thought about Harry. She hoped he had left, so he wouldn't have to watch her if she chose to turn against him.
"Do you like them enough, Hermione...to rectify the mistakes of those who chose your side for you?"
She closed her eyes, but found that her reason failed her.
I'll have to go by instinct.
She didn't know what she was going to say, but she opened her mouth, and a single word emerged.
"No."