CHAPTER 1
Dark Times
Snape stalked quickly towards his classroom, books clenched tightly in his arms. How dare Trelawney even suggest such a thing! Him, betray the castle? It had been a close call, Voldemort getting into the castle, but that did not mean that he had had inside help. The previous day, Voldemort and several Death Eaters had broken into the school, and had killed three people, two students and the Astronomy teacher. The whole castle had been extremely upset, and the Potter boy had gone into hiding, presumably with that accursed godfather of his. Weasley and Granger were distraught. They had not even been permitted to know where he had gone. At the staff meeting today to discuss further defense of the castle, Trelawney had hinted that someone had helped Voldemort get inside. An uproar had ensued, and Trelawney had been dragged out of the room, screaming that Severus had done it. Severus walked faster, as though trying to run away from his past and the events of the last two days. Voldemort knew now that he was a spy, for he had been seen fighting the Death Eaters. Everyone in the castle had heard Trelawney screaming, and now thought him a traitor. No matter where he turned, he only had enemies. Even the students in his class feared him. Even the Slytherins cowered from him. In his haste, Snape did not see the girl standing silently in the corridor, staring out the window. She was gaunt and sad-looking, eyes haunted by shadows that w ere carefully concealed from everyone else during the day. Her eyes had been that way for a year now, ever since her parents had been kidnapped. She had been sent a Pensive by Voldemort, and had witnessed her mother's last moments. Her father had died bravely, his last words the names of her mother, Heather, and his daughter, Hermione. Her mother had been raped, and tortured many times. She had almost gone insane from the Cruciatus curse, but had hung on until the last. No one else knew of he pensive but the girl, Hermione. But since that time, she had been even more depressed than when her parents were reported dead by the Aurors. She was careful to hide it from others, of course, but the shadows were still there. She spent her free moments staring out of windows, or thinking alone in her room, or burying herself in books in the library. Gone were the days of adventuring and danger with her friends; she knew now that it was all in vain. Everyone was going to die anyway. And now Harry was gone. He had been her last anchor to reality. Ron had never understood her, and now that Hermione was drifting, he found himself hanging out more and more with Seamus and Dean. Severus did not notice this sad little girl as he made his solitary way down the corridor. He rounded a sharp corridor and slammed into her, knocking all of his books out of this arms and onto the floor. A small book fell out of Hermione's pocket and landed in the pile, unnoticed by either. "Watch it, girl!" Snape snapped. Hermione did nothing, just looked up at him with those forlorn, haunted eyes of hers that were now a darker brown than ever with depression. He felt a pang of guilt for snapping at her like that, but quickly pushed it aside. She was just a student, a seventh year. She was grown up enough to take care of herself. "Don't just stand there, help me pick this up!" he ordered. She bent to do so. She stood up at the same time as Snape did, and handed him the last of his things wordlessly. Snape nodded curtly and fled to his office, not noticing that Hermione had not noticed her little book. He shut the door firmly behind him and sat down in his favorite chair. He needed to write, gods he needed to write. He pulled his own small book out of the pile that he had set on the desk, and took out a quill from his desk drawer. He set it in an inkwell and opened his diary. Suddenly, he froze. This book was not his. The handwriting was the neat script that he knew so well, that of his least favorite know-it-all student. It was Hermione's diary. Snape was sorely tempted to read it. The teachers had been trying to fathom her now-marred mind for the past year, and this would help them to grasp how her mind worked now. They had tried counseling sessions, but the girl retained her brilliance and responded with carefully planned answers that left all of the staff, even Dumbledore, baffled. Yes. He could read it, but just to help the staff. Snape opened the diary to the first page and began to read. It started on the first day of school, about a month ago.
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Sept. 14 Dear Diary, It seems silly to be talking to a book as though it were a person. I've always read about people doing it that way, but it seems stupid to me. I'll stop. This is just going to be a journal, nothing more. No secret spells that come form the nether regions of what they perceive to be my twisted mind, no black magic, no evil plots to overthrow the school.
Snape stopped reading for a moment, surprised. This girl had a surprisingly good perception of how most of the school saw her now.
Everyone is afraid of me now. I hear them whisper, ever since I knocked out that insolent little bitch of a fifth year Slytherin without even using my wand for insulting my mother. I don't know why I'm so violent all of a sudden. It might just be a byproduct of my depression or whatever the hell the teachers are calling it. I don't know.
Sept 16 That Malfoy bastard tried to badmouth me again today. He only said about three words before I hit him with the Erectinius hex. It is a curse that I read about a while ago that causes men's dicks to shrink to the size of the one that they had when they were roughly two or so. It's quite painful, so I've heard. Something's bothering me. Normally, I would have been hysterical with laughter. But now I just stood by impassively, watching in silence as Malfoy writhed. I can't seem to feel anything anymore. I feel as though I am just a husk, incapable of laughter or joy or happiness of any kind. Those teachers that try and do the counseling crap, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick, would say that this is only passing, but I have felt it for a long time now, ever since the Pensieve. Though it ruined me, I'm glad I got it. I needed to know how they died. I needed to know that they did not cower or beg. My father' last words were of love, and my mother's were wishing forgiveness on those Death Eaters whose souls are doomed for eternity. I know now that they were compassionate above all else. I wish I had gotten closer to them. You never know when life can be whisked away, just like that. It can be deliberate, or it can be so simple a thing as tripping over a stone. Everyone says to live life to the fullest, but I don't have a life anymore. It ended with my parents'.
Snape felt sympathy for the girl. He knew that feeling, himself. He had been living like that for the past twenty years, at least. Ever since he had found out what it had really meant to become a Death Eater. As Snape read, he felt he had come to know the girl more and more closely. She was depressed, yes, but still kept all of her brilliance. She was brave to live each day, facing the stares and whispered rumors of other students, and, yes, even teachers. She went through it all with her head high, even though she had no pride left. Snape was on the last entry. It was from yesterday.
October 22 I hear all of the girls whispering. I've taught myself to lip-read, so I can see what they're saying. Most of it is about me, but not all of it. They've been giggling over a certain professor for the past week or so. It got me thinking about boys. I have never really loved anyone, not even Viktor. He was just a sort of fling, to vent some feelings, I guess. I've watched all of the boys in my year and in those below my year, but none of them seem-well, mature, though I'm not close enough to any of them to tell. I don't think I'll ever love, even if I do live long enough.
Snape stared in shock at the last sentence. The poor girl. She must have so many bottled-up feelings that she had no room for either love of others or love of life itself. She used to be such a vibrant girl, so passionate and adamant. And that bit about living long enough. "SNAPE!" He jumped up, wand in hand. The door burst open and in walked a very angry-looking Hermione. "Yes, miss Granger?" Snape asked, eyes narrowed, trying to hide the diary behind his back. "You have it! You have it! Did you read it? Tell me you didn't!" Hermione sounded hysterical. Snape hesitated a moment before answering, but that was all the clever Hermione needed. "Give it here." Her voice was low and deadly, not unlike Snape's own.
"Miss Granger, I-" "I said give it here!" Snape stepped back, startled at the vehemence in her voice. "Five points from Gryffindor for raising your voice to a teacher," he said automatically. "I think my cause is justifiable, Snape, when the teacher has stolen something of the students'," Hermione replied angrily. "How could you! Those are my private feelings-my private thoughts, my life! How dare you!" Snape stepped around the desk and opened his mouth to reprimand her, but Hermione drew back her hand to slap him. Snape caught her wrist adroitly, and Hermione suddenly burst into tears. Snape had never been in his situation before, and he did not know how to comfort a crying teenage girl. He did feel bad for her, however. All of the things going on inside her, all the emotional battles, must have been too much, and this had been the final straw. He patted her back awkwardly, and, much to Snape's surprise, Hermione flung herself upon him, sobbing hysterically. Snape patted her back some more, and finally the girl collapsed, exhausted. "You are in no shape to go back to your dormitory, Herm-Miss Granger," Snape said, catching himself before he addressed her by her first name. "I think that you should rest here for a while before going back." Hermione nodded, eyes still closed, sagging against her teacher. Snape hesitated for a moment, then picked her up and carried her into his private quarters. The living area had several chairs and couches, and Snape laid the pale girl on one of the couches. To his surprise, instead of stretching out as most people did, Hermione curled up into a little ball, knees against her chest and arms hugging herself. It was a strange position, that of a frightened child. At that moment, Snape's heart went out to the fragile girl, and he covered her with a blanket. He then sat down on a nearby chair to watch her as she rested, intending only to let her stay for a few minutes. But Hermione fell asleep before he knew it, and Snape did not have the heart to wake her. It looked like she had not been sleeping for a long while, and she needed rest. Before he knew it, he himself was nodding off, the crackling of the fire lulling him to sleep. Snape slept on the chair, and dreamt of his poor student who rested not five feet away.
Snape stalked quickly towards his classroom, books clenched tightly in his arms. How dare Trelawney even suggest such a thing! Him, betray the castle? It had been a close call, Voldemort getting into the castle, but that did not mean that he had had inside help. The previous day, Voldemort and several Death Eaters had broken into the school, and had killed three people, two students and the Astronomy teacher. The whole castle had been extremely upset, and the Potter boy had gone into hiding, presumably with that accursed godfather of his. Weasley and Granger were distraught. They had not even been permitted to know where he had gone. At the staff meeting today to discuss further defense of the castle, Trelawney had hinted that someone had helped Voldemort get inside. An uproar had ensued, and Trelawney had been dragged out of the room, screaming that Severus had done it. Severus walked faster, as though trying to run away from his past and the events of the last two days. Voldemort knew now that he was a spy, for he had been seen fighting the Death Eaters. Everyone in the castle had heard Trelawney screaming, and now thought him a traitor. No matter where he turned, he only had enemies. Even the students in his class feared him. Even the Slytherins cowered from him. In his haste, Snape did not see the girl standing silently in the corridor, staring out the window. She was gaunt and sad-looking, eyes haunted by shadows that w ere carefully concealed from everyone else during the day. Her eyes had been that way for a year now, ever since her parents had been kidnapped. She had been sent a Pensive by Voldemort, and had witnessed her mother's last moments. Her father had died bravely, his last words the names of her mother, Heather, and his daughter, Hermione. Her mother had been raped, and tortured many times. She had almost gone insane from the Cruciatus curse, but had hung on until the last. No one else knew of he pensive but the girl, Hermione. But since that time, she had been even more depressed than when her parents were reported dead by the Aurors. She was careful to hide it from others, of course, but the shadows were still there. She spent her free moments staring out of windows, or thinking alone in her room, or burying herself in books in the library. Gone were the days of adventuring and danger with her friends; she knew now that it was all in vain. Everyone was going to die anyway. And now Harry was gone. He had been her last anchor to reality. Ron had never understood her, and now that Hermione was drifting, he found himself hanging out more and more with Seamus and Dean. Severus did not notice this sad little girl as he made his solitary way down the corridor. He rounded a sharp corridor and slammed into her, knocking all of his books out of this arms and onto the floor. A small book fell out of Hermione's pocket and landed in the pile, unnoticed by either. "Watch it, girl!" Snape snapped. Hermione did nothing, just looked up at him with those forlorn, haunted eyes of hers that were now a darker brown than ever with depression. He felt a pang of guilt for snapping at her like that, but quickly pushed it aside. She was just a student, a seventh year. She was grown up enough to take care of herself. "Don't just stand there, help me pick this up!" he ordered. She bent to do so. She stood up at the same time as Snape did, and handed him the last of his things wordlessly. Snape nodded curtly and fled to his office, not noticing that Hermione had not noticed her little book. He shut the door firmly behind him and sat down in his favorite chair. He needed to write, gods he needed to write. He pulled his own small book out of the pile that he had set on the desk, and took out a quill from his desk drawer. He set it in an inkwell and opened his diary. Suddenly, he froze. This book was not his. The handwriting was the neat script that he knew so well, that of his least favorite know-it-all student. It was Hermione's diary. Snape was sorely tempted to read it. The teachers had been trying to fathom her now-marred mind for the past year, and this would help them to grasp how her mind worked now. They had tried counseling sessions, but the girl retained her brilliance and responded with carefully planned answers that left all of the staff, even Dumbledore, baffled. Yes. He could read it, but just to help the staff. Snape opened the diary to the first page and began to read. It started on the first day of school, about a month ago.
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Sept. 14 Dear Diary, It seems silly to be talking to a book as though it were a person. I've always read about people doing it that way, but it seems stupid to me. I'll stop. This is just going to be a journal, nothing more. No secret spells that come form the nether regions of what they perceive to be my twisted mind, no black magic, no evil plots to overthrow the school.
Snape stopped reading for a moment, surprised. This girl had a surprisingly good perception of how most of the school saw her now.
Everyone is afraid of me now. I hear them whisper, ever since I knocked out that insolent little bitch of a fifth year Slytherin without even using my wand for insulting my mother. I don't know why I'm so violent all of a sudden. It might just be a byproduct of my depression or whatever the hell the teachers are calling it. I don't know.
Sept 16 That Malfoy bastard tried to badmouth me again today. He only said about three words before I hit him with the Erectinius hex. It is a curse that I read about a while ago that causes men's dicks to shrink to the size of the one that they had when they were roughly two or so. It's quite painful, so I've heard. Something's bothering me. Normally, I would have been hysterical with laughter. But now I just stood by impassively, watching in silence as Malfoy writhed. I can't seem to feel anything anymore. I feel as though I am just a husk, incapable of laughter or joy or happiness of any kind. Those teachers that try and do the counseling crap, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick, would say that this is only passing, but I have felt it for a long time now, ever since the Pensieve. Though it ruined me, I'm glad I got it. I needed to know how they died. I needed to know that they did not cower or beg. My father' last words were of love, and my mother's were wishing forgiveness on those Death Eaters whose souls are doomed for eternity. I know now that they were compassionate above all else. I wish I had gotten closer to them. You never know when life can be whisked away, just like that. It can be deliberate, or it can be so simple a thing as tripping over a stone. Everyone says to live life to the fullest, but I don't have a life anymore. It ended with my parents'.
Snape felt sympathy for the girl. He knew that feeling, himself. He had been living like that for the past twenty years, at least. Ever since he had found out what it had really meant to become a Death Eater. As Snape read, he felt he had come to know the girl more and more closely. She was depressed, yes, but still kept all of her brilliance. She was brave to live each day, facing the stares and whispered rumors of other students, and, yes, even teachers. She went through it all with her head high, even though she had no pride left. Snape was on the last entry. It was from yesterday.
October 22 I hear all of the girls whispering. I've taught myself to lip-read, so I can see what they're saying. Most of it is about me, but not all of it. They've been giggling over a certain professor for the past week or so. It got me thinking about boys. I have never really loved anyone, not even Viktor. He was just a sort of fling, to vent some feelings, I guess. I've watched all of the boys in my year and in those below my year, but none of them seem-well, mature, though I'm not close enough to any of them to tell. I don't think I'll ever love, even if I do live long enough.
Snape stared in shock at the last sentence. The poor girl. She must have so many bottled-up feelings that she had no room for either love of others or love of life itself. She used to be such a vibrant girl, so passionate and adamant. And that bit about living long enough. "SNAPE!" He jumped up, wand in hand. The door burst open and in walked a very angry-looking Hermione. "Yes, miss Granger?" Snape asked, eyes narrowed, trying to hide the diary behind his back. "You have it! You have it! Did you read it? Tell me you didn't!" Hermione sounded hysterical. Snape hesitated a moment before answering, but that was all the clever Hermione needed. "Give it here." Her voice was low and deadly, not unlike Snape's own.
"Miss Granger, I-" "I said give it here!" Snape stepped back, startled at the vehemence in her voice. "Five points from Gryffindor for raising your voice to a teacher," he said automatically. "I think my cause is justifiable, Snape, when the teacher has stolen something of the students'," Hermione replied angrily. "How could you! Those are my private feelings-my private thoughts, my life! How dare you!" Snape stepped around the desk and opened his mouth to reprimand her, but Hermione drew back her hand to slap him. Snape caught her wrist adroitly, and Hermione suddenly burst into tears. Snape had never been in his situation before, and he did not know how to comfort a crying teenage girl. He did feel bad for her, however. All of the things going on inside her, all the emotional battles, must have been too much, and this had been the final straw. He patted her back awkwardly, and, much to Snape's surprise, Hermione flung herself upon him, sobbing hysterically. Snape patted her back some more, and finally the girl collapsed, exhausted. "You are in no shape to go back to your dormitory, Herm-Miss Granger," Snape said, catching himself before he addressed her by her first name. "I think that you should rest here for a while before going back." Hermione nodded, eyes still closed, sagging against her teacher. Snape hesitated for a moment, then picked her up and carried her into his private quarters. The living area had several chairs and couches, and Snape laid the pale girl on one of the couches. To his surprise, instead of stretching out as most people did, Hermione curled up into a little ball, knees against her chest and arms hugging herself. It was a strange position, that of a frightened child. At that moment, Snape's heart went out to the fragile girl, and he covered her with a blanket. He then sat down on a nearby chair to watch her as she rested, intending only to let her stay for a few minutes. But Hermione fell asleep before he knew it, and Snape did not have the heart to wake her. It looked like she had not been sleeping for a long while, and she needed rest. Before he knew it, he himself was nodding off, the crackling of the fire lulling him to sleep. Snape slept on the chair, and dreamt of his poor student who rested not five feet away.