Chapter 12 – When everything goes downhill

Snape was right. Hermione Granger had a knack for criminal outcast celebrities. Potter, Black and Snape. The holy triangle of the deeply misunderstood heroes. If someone was to tell her that she would be sharing a meal, some small talk and a bottle of fine wine with her oh-so-dreaded Professor, she would have rushed them to an asylum 'cause no confundus charm can get you so confounded. She had yet to reach a conclusion as to whether she would be winning the bet she had with Ron. Civilised, polite even, he certainly was, but was Snape a good or a bad guy?

She patiently sat quietly as she watched Snape undo the wards on the locket some hours after their meal was finished. He didn't sweat like a pig, but his knuckles could certainly do with some more colour. At one point Hermione was sure his wand was about to snap in two by the way he was gripping it. Although she was asked to leave the hotel she mulishly insisted on staying and compromised with watching Snape work in the bedroom through the sitting-room's opened door. She also promised to keep quiet and most significantly ask NO questions. It was far past midnight when she finally saw Snape falling on his back on the double bed almost fainting-like. His voice came through the door half satisfied, half terrified but surely harsh:

"Miss Granger, do you even know what this is?"

"Do you?"

"Is this the point where I childishly shriek: I asked you first? Get in here. I can't possibly move."

"I don't know how much I should let slip."

"Sit down Miss Granger. You're not serving detention."

Having the vast selection of a case of drawers, a closet shelf and the bed, Hermione hesitantly chose to occupy the upper left corner of the bed, while Snape was laying in the middle, hands spread wide out and legs hanging out of the mattress from the knee down. He was forced to turn his head into an awkward and uncomfortable-judging by the cracking noises of his neck-position to face her.

"You haven't answered my question Miss. Granger. Do you know what this is?"

"Let's say it's a container."

"You actually missed the word soul in front of that container of yours. And since I see no surprise registering on your face, I'd guess you already know what its proper name is."

"A horcrux?"

"Ah, now we've established that we're walking on the same ground here, do you mind sharing with me the reason for which I would be tempted to destroy such a thing?"

"Because I'm asking you to?"

"Try again."

"I don't see the reason you don't want to."

"Why don't I want to destroy someone's half a soul risking my own in the meantime? I hope there won't be a next time, but in case there is please owl me the purpose and nature of our appointment and I'll make sure not to attend."

"Well, it's not like I could read about it and destroy it myself."

"Prove me wrong but you probably weren't able to recognise the wards for what they were. So someone must have told you it's a horcrux in advance."

"You're right about the wards. Billy Weasley couldn't take them down and Professor Lupin couldn't even try, 'cause it's silv..."

"Just how many people know about this meeting? Has it made it to the Phoenix Herald front page or just the Weasleys Wizard Network?"

"They only know about the wards. Not what actually lies beneath."

"Now I feel privileged. Whose is this Miss Granger? And why do you need to have it destroyed?"

"Look I can't get into too many details but let's say Dumbledore particularly cared to see it gone."

"Filling the blanks on my own is rather more dangerous than you sharing the whole story with me."

"You know I can't. Rule no 7."

"Oh, now you resort to rule no 7? After putting me through enough to be needing urgent obliviation you claim rule no 7?"

"Do you want me to try?"

"Hell no! I'm perfectly capable of guarding or, need be, removing my memories on my own, thank you very much. Whatever happened to your other two guinea pigs? Died already on science's altar?"

"If you're referring to Ron and Harry, they're fine, thank you. I'll make sure to pass your regards and best wishes. Now will you help me destroy this accursed thing?"

"I assume that in your mind I look like a goldfish opening and closing my mouth, erupting nothing else than air bubbles. If you were hearing capable you might have realised that I politely declined your generous offer of committing suicide."

"You said the same thing when I asked you to break the wards."

"Miss Granger I take it you're not willing to part ways with this locket. You didn't even trust me alone with it without having me watched. The werewolf cannot help and I know of no one else that shares both our trust and could help destroying it. Am I clear?"

"It needs joint magic?"

"No give it to Longbottom and he'll wreck it for you."

"Why can't I help?"

"With your vast knowledge of Dark Arts and your extensive experience in defending yourself? Not to mention your acute reflexes."

"I could work on it."

"Okay then, see you in 20 years time. Don't forget to bring the locket with you."

"Just tell me what to read. Hey, stop giving me that look."

"I merely admire that quite well organised body of yours. The weakest part-your brain-is protected by the strongest-your thick skull."

"I could do it. I brew polyjuice at the age of 12. I taught myself how to brew veritaserum at the age of 17. Why can't I just learn how to destroy a horcrux?"

"Miss Granger you could give a headache to an aspirin."

"Just try me out. Please?"

"It takes more than reading Miss Granger. It takes actual practice. It takes walking down the Dark path. I have no time for baby sitting and if you do it on your own, you'll be losing your soul along the one you wish to destroy."

A/N: Is it politically correct not to address reviewers individually? I know ffnet has a policy against it and that's why I avoid answering. I always guessed that if someone really needed an answer would mail me. Right? big insecurity question mark hanging above head