Disclaimer: I'm afraid that I own nothing here save the arrangement of words and the plot, if this can truly qualify as one.
Ophelia, or Not Ophelia
He watched as a solitary sheet of parchment slipped from her bag. A sheet of parchment that she left behind, completely unnoticed. Such behavior was completely uncharacteristic of the girl, the young woman, that he'd taught in that classroom for the past several years. Then again, much of her behavior lately was uncharacteristic and abnormal.
It was for that very reason that he had been watching her so closely. They all were these days, all her professors. Of course, she wasn't the only one that had to be watched. There were other students put on the "Watch List," as it had been termed by the Hogwarts staff, but none were so high up on it as she.
The war with Voldemort had cost the community far more than the lives of the deceased; it had cost many of the still living their very souls, the essence of themselves. Depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and survivor's guilt were some of the more prevalent damages upon the collective psyche of the wizarding community. It would take time to heal, and, unfortunately, some would find themselves unable. And it was those thought to find the healing process difficult at the thousand year old school of witchcraft and wizardry that were put on the "Watch List."
He sat for a moment, after his classroom had emptied of the dunderheads, wondering if he should pick up the parchment or completely ignore and disregard it. If he chose pick up the parchment, regardless of what he might find on it, he would probably need to give it back, and he would prefer to keep any interaction with her, or any other student, to a minimum. However, if he did not and there were some indicator of how she was coping - or not coping, as it were - that could be detrimental to her overall well-being, he would feel incredibly guilty later knowing that he might have been able to prevent it.
With that last thought in mind, he stood from his desk and collected the piece of parchment from the ice cold floor. It wasn't an especially remarkable piece of parchment. It seemed to at least a few weeks old, frayed along one edge and a corner torn off. The writing, which he had just come to examine, was not that of her neat, tidy scroll, but haphazardous, at best, and scribbled, at worst. There were entire lines crossed out with heavy black slashes and ink splotches from where she had paused in her writing, probably lost in thought.
It was not the way that the parchment had been treated or the disorganized, sloppy writing that made him catch his breath. He was now glad that he had picked up the piece of parchment and read it. Although, what was written there made him question her parents choice of name for her. It now seemed that the name Ophelia would suit her better, just by judging what she had written.
The wizard shook his head, somewhat disgusted with himself. He should not be thinking about her parents choice of name for her, it was irrelevant at that point in time. What he should be thinking of is a way to speak with her before she does anything rash. It would have to be soon, and he would definitely have to be the one to do so. Passing it off onto Minerva might only serve to worsen the situation. It was his responsibility, his duty, as the one who found the parchment. He would not shirk his duty, although, no one had ever said that it was necessary to be happy about such a thing.
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"Miss Granger."
She turned toward him when he called her, but had clearly been caught off guard. Well, considering that he had been Disillusioned while waiting for her outside the doors to the Great Hall, it stood to reason that she would react that way. "Yes, Professor Snape?"
"After you have finished eating, I need to see you in my office. Right after, Miss Granger."
She gave him only a slightly puzzled look when he failed to elaborate, but answered nevertheless, "Yes, sir. I'll be there."
"See that you are." And then he stalked off toward his dungeons where he would eat in his office and contemplate their upcoming conversation, or perhaps confrontation might be more apropos. This would be one of the many experiences that he would rather do without, but it needed to be done, and it would be tricky. Blast it all! Why couldn't she have dropped that parchment in another classroom?
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The tentative knock on the door came not twenty minutes later. He frowned at that. Should he add eating disorders to their discussion? It should not have taken her such a short amount of time to eat and get down to his office. He had decided to eat after he met with her in the kitchens and before he went up to apprise Minerva of the situation with Hermione Granger. It would be far easier on him that way.
"Enter," and she did. "Please sit, Miss Granger." He was making an attempt to not be so harsh on her. This was a delicate matter, and he had no inclination whatsoever to make it any more difficult on himself.
When the young witch was finally seated, she looked up and directly into his eyes. What he saw in hers disturbed him. Had this been even a few months ago, there would have been far more life within them. Now, there was only a minute amount of curiosity showing there, no nervousness at being called into his office for seemingly no reason, no fire, no shining brilliance. None of her supposed intelligence and eagerness to learn was there. She was not completely numb, but it was easy to see that she was not completely there either. The wizard inwardly sighed at his rotten luck.
With deliberate and unhastened smoothness, he lifted the parchment off of his desk and handed it to her. "Would you care to explain this, Miss Granger?" He kept his expression and tone of voice neutral. He did not wish to scare her off without having even attempted to talk to her. The more answers he could get from her, the easier it would be for him. Hopefully, if she cooperated, he would not have to form a committee devoted to saving her or some other such nonsense that the overly dramatic biddies he was forced to call colleagues would come up with.
She gasped when she realized just exactly what was on the parchment and that he must have read it. That was good. There was some hope, she could feel something.
"Well, Miss Granger? Could you please offer you explanation?"
"It, it's nothing, sir. Nothing important."
He frowned. Two steps forward, one step back it would seem. "Miss Granger, I am not a fool, nor am I a simpleton. I would ask that you not insult my intelligence by trying to pretend that the sheet of parchment in your hands is nothing, when clearly it most certainly is something."
There was some panic showing in her eyes now. "Sir, I assure you. It really is nothing. Just something to pass the time."
It was a lie, and he well knew it. He now narrowed his eyes at her, effectively stemming any more lies she had been prepared to spew forth. "I do not appreciate being lied to."
"But, sir, really -
"No, Miss Granger, no more falsehoods. The truth if you please. And you may rest assured that whatever you say will remain confidential unless it is detrimental to your life or the lives of others. If either is the case, I'm afraid that I must notify the headmistress and the school's matron."
She remained silent for several moments, trying to plead with her eyes for him to not make her tell him. It was to no avail, however. Finally, she relented, and with a resigned air, began to speak. He listened patiently and only ever interrupted to clarify some point that he had not been completely sure of. For the most part, he just let her talk. He got the impression that no one had truly been willing or able to just listen to her before this, too busy with their own lives and problems.
She told him about how she had felt lost right after that last battle with Voldemort. How she had felt some survivor's guilt, but how she mostly felt horrible for all the people left alive and grieving horribly. She hadn't lost any family. She'd lost friends and classmates, but not her entire world. She said that she had grieved appropriately and became accustomed to the loss, but never dwelt on it. However, she couldn't forget those others who seemed to have lost everything, how haunted they were.
One day, when it had been bothering her more often than normal, she sat down with a quill and parchment and just wrote. She wrote about what she saw, how it made her feel, and, in some cases, about how she imagined the others felt. And she had been doing so ever since.
When he asked her why she seemed so withdrawn all the time and seemed to show little emotion, she had a valid answer for that as well. She was observing, not withdrawing. She wrote from her observations of those around her. And she wrote constantly.
They spent nearly two hours together listening and discussing. At one point, he did bring up the subject of her eating and a possible eating disorder. He was wrong. It seemed that she, much like him, preferred to eat her meals in the kitchens with the house elves. And throughout all of this, she had not lied once. He hadn't given her Veritaserum nor had he used Legilimency on her, but he was able to tell. Having been a spy for so long, he was almost always able to tell when he was being lied to without having to resort to the use of Legilimency or Veritaserum. Only a sociopath, like several of the most ruthless Death Eaters and Voldemort, would be able to lie to him.
"So," he began, "this writing of yours that I found in my classroom, is in no way some indication that you are suicidal, Miss Granger?"
She gave a small, ironic smile. "No, Professor. I'm not suicidal. This was an impression that I had gotten from someone else and I decided to write about it."
"That is… a relief, Miss Granger."
She smiled at him again. Her emotions were now openly showing. "Thank you, Professor."
He merely nodded and her and said, "You are welcome, Miss Granger. You may go now if you wish. I believe this discussion is over."
She stood up and allowed the hand clutching the parchment to rest on his desk and took a breath before speaking again, "Really, sir, thank you. No one's listened to me like that since… well, it's been quite awhile. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Thank you."
"Your thanks is unnecessary, Miss Granger. I, as a professor, am here to help you. Any one professor you wish to talk to is more than willing to listen. That is partly what we are here for."
"Nevertheless, thank you. And good night, sir."
He said nothing as she walked out, just watched her go until the door was firmly shut behind her. It was then that he looked back down at his desk and noticed that she had left the parchment behind again. He shook his head and considered sighing before decided that he had done that enough for one day.
Instead, he picked it up and read over it again.
It was a day I'd always remember,
A day I'd never forget.
It was the day that I stopped fighting,
The day I forgot to regret.
I laughed for the first time in ages,
As I left behind battered, musty pages
Of ancient texts and tomes and tales of old folklore
That first day I walked along the shore.
I left behind my questions, my mask, my fear,
I walked away from ideals that I had once held dear.
I let go of those many lost and departed souls;
I pushed away their haunting faces as I swam amongst the shoals.
It was the day I'd always remember,
The day I'd never forget.
It was the day I ceased all fighting,
The day I'll never regret…
My peace was won, my respite, at long last. I am free. I've faced oblivion.
Now, he really did sigh. Could he truly be blamed for thinking that she had meant to drown herself based solely upon her poem? No. But she had explained. It was partly her, but also her as she was imagining herself as someone else. Someone that she might have been if she'd lost more in the war.
It was then that his stomach decided to remind him that he had yet to eat dinner. He picked up the piece of parchment and took it with him for when he went to go speak with Minerva. It would be quite a weight off her mind, he knew, that she could take Hermione Granger of the "Watch List." And, he would admit only to himself, it was a relief to him as well. Her mind should not go to waste.
A/N: Hello! This just kind of popped out at me, so I decided to write it down. Please review and let me know what you think. All comments are welcome just so long as they are civil. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Ta!