From his hidden study Severus Snape listened to Hermione's footsteps as they receded from the potions classroom. He sighed, unexpectedly drained from his dealings with her. While recent experiences were nothing that he had ever dreamed of or wanted, they were certainly opening a window of understanding onto one Miss Hermione Granger.
He sunk back into his chair, body and mind automatically reaching a state of calm meditative equilibrium—inevitable after so many years of practice. When he had first met her, Miss Granger had been a bossy, know-it-all student; one of those infuriating people whose attention seeking and inability to leave a question unanswered had irritated him to no end. In the last few years, however, she had seemed to grow into herself, or perhaps she now realized that allowing others to know the true extent of one's knowledge was not always wise. Personally, he found it dangerous, a lesson he had learned early on. In any case, her only fault in the classroom now was her constant interference with Neville Longbottom.
That boy. His teeth gritted automatically as he thought about his complete failure to get Longbottom to brew a potion correctly. No matter what he did, no matter how hard on the boy he was, he couldn't get a decent day's work out of him.
While his role as a double agent between the Order of the Phoenix and Lord Voldemort dictated a certain type of behavior towards his students, he could not honestly say that it did not have its merits. He knew that his students hated him and he knew that he was an utter bastard to anyone not wearing Slytherin robes. But potions could be a dangerous business, if you failed in doing it right you might die trying. In the process of frightening his classes into submission he decreased the chances of dangerous accidents. Usually.
He sighed again, thinking about Longbottom's experimental potion. He was so angry at himself for letting things get this out of control. He should have been more watchful of what Longbottom had been doing; he shouldn't have counted on Miss Granger to keep Longbottom from getting too far off base. He should have contained the cauldron before it exploded—the list went on and on for ways that he could have saved the situation. And now he was stuck, exposed to the innermost feelings of everyone around him.
He gave an involuntary shudder. It really was horrible, but Miss Granger was right, this might be very useful in the field. He had already mastered meditation in attempt to keep himself calm enough to escape detection. He had mastered Occlumency to keep his thoughts from the Dark Lord. He could master this as well. He was already on his way to doing so, truth be told. The day of the accident had been hell, but since then he had almost subconsciously been blocking the emotions of those around him.
Which was a good thing, considering. He had spent the last 25 years of his life involved with a sickening subculture of the wizarding world, a group of people whose jaded nature and capacity for mayhem had brought him to the point of nausea on more than one occasion. He had long ago become immune to the feelings of others. The rapes and tortures that characterized Death Eater dark revels were enough to bring anyone to their knees, and if he hadn't been able to shut off his own capacity for compassion or pity he would have gone mad. He had not dealt in the realm of emotion for so long that he was finding himself easily lost. Why would someone rely on emotion, something which by nature was so changeable and imprecise? Especially when logic could be used, and when cold decisions had to be made. Being suddenly thrust back into a world that he had long ago turned away from was at the very least confusing, and he was glad that he had easily been able to, if not completely mute, then at least dull considerably, the emotions of those around him.
With everyone but Miss Granger. Her feelings were still as strong as ever. Why? Maintaining his even breathing, his mind floated through the many possibilities. Perhaps it had something to do with their close proximity during the explosion. Perhaps it was due to the nature of Miss Granger's unexpectedly volatile nature. Or perhaps he didn't want to be blocked from her, so his mind was letting her filter through. He sat up, startled. 'Could I…?' he thought. But no, that was impossible. Why would he want to know how Hermione Granger was feeling? Why indeed?
He thought about that moment in the Headmaster's office when she had surprised him with that seething anger. Apparently she was well adept at hiding her own emotion; he had never guessed at the depth of feeling she was capable of based on the implacable mask she seemed to wear around him. Thinking hard, he realized he could not remember the last time he had brought her to tears.
Perhaps that was why he was particularly cruel to her in regards to Longbottom. In trying to elicit some response from her he had apparently stepped over some line. Somewhere in the vicinity of helpless anger and rage. A feeling he knew all too well.
Control was a touchy subject for him. His life was in many ways chaotic and dangerous, so he held a rigid grasp over as many other areas as he could. The classroom was certainly a major aspect of that, but it extended into all areas of his life. He kept his own thoughts under a tight leash, in his potion making he was precise and efficient, even his private library was organized and impeccably straight—not a book out of line or out of place. He had always kept his colleagues at arm's length, with the exception of the Headmaster. And even that was a relationship based on something other than friendship. Trust, yes. Need, certainly. But true friendship, companionship? No. Friendship, relationships, entanglements, they all led to a lessening of control. And that was something that he could not afford to be without. His life depended on it.
So why was one evening with Hermione Granger enough to drain him practically to the point of exhaustion? The realization that Miss Granger was a person outside of the classroom was something of a shock. Well, if not a shock then at least an uncomfortable moment. He had to admit that perhaps she did not always deserve to be treated in the manner he usually did. A further uncomfortable thought was that he could not afford to change his behavior towards her now; not only would it be unbecoming to the persona he had carefully crafted, but the Headmaster had expressly told them not to draw attention to their predicament. So, to the outside world, nothing will have changed between them. Easily done. But how to act with her while alone, in these disturbingly intimate settings?
He groaned softly to himself. What had possessed him to give her a book on meditation? And then offer her private lessons in mind awareness? In a moment of weakness and a rare show of solidarity he had acknowledged to himself that they were in an impossible situation together; and that had prompted him to want to help her in her struggle. He just hoped it would not be the start of something dangerous. 'Or the end of my sanity,' he thought wryly, a grin cracking his face.
Hermione awoke early the next morning, she wanted to meditate before going into the Great Hall for breakfast. She thought that maybe if she had a chance to center herself before facing the barrage of emotions from her classmates it might be easier to handle. Or it might give her an edge on focusing the feelings into her mental safe without directly experiencing them.
Getting out of her warm bed was, unfortunately, the only way to concentrate without falling back asleep. She shivered her way over to the fire blazing merrily in the fireplace, its warmth slowly penetrating her goosebumpy arms. Deciding to sit in her study chair, which was comfortable without being too comfortable, she dragged it in front of the fire. Twenty minutes later she felt calm and relaxed, yet awake and ready to face the day.
At breakfast she wasn't able to completely funnel her friends' emotions away from her conscious mind. She still could hear those people closest to her, and everything else melted into a cacophony. It actually wasn't much different from what her ears heard in the Great Hall, except she was the only one who knew that Neville was disgusted with the way Seamus slurped down his eggs, and Natalie McDonald, a fourth year sitting a few seats down, had a crush on Parvati Patil of all people.
She received a giant shock when Ginny flopped down next to Ron. From Ginny there was the old hurt of unrequited love which she didn't have to feel to know about—she and Ginny had talked about it many times. She knew her friend was resigned to friendship with Harry, and that she had tried to let go of her hurt and anger a long time ago. What she didn't know was why there was a slight anxiety coming from Harry. He smiled and greeted Ginny, but she felt his nervousness ratchet up as she smiled back.
"Harry?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously. She wasn't exactly sure of what his feelings meant, and she wished briefly that she had the ability to read thoughts as well.
"What?" he replied, looking surprised.
"I thought you…" she trailed off, uncertain how or if she should continue. I thought you didn't like Ginny like that, probably wouldn't go over so well. Not to mention it might put two of her best friends in rather awkward situations. "Erm, nevermind. I was going to say, erm, I thought you didn't like strawberry jam on your toast, but then I remembered that you do like strawberry jam on your toast, in fact, I completely forgot that you only eat strawberry jam on your—"
"Woah, Hermione, take a breath! You're rambling." Ron laughed, spraying the tablecloth with crumbs.
"Ron!" Ginny's disgusted face spoke for itself. "Do you mind? I'm trying to eat over here. Honestly! You'd never know that you're of age and almost out of Hogwarts!"
"Srrry," mumbled Ron, through an even larger mouthful. Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry, and Hermione felt his nervousness hitch up again. It was so strong, Hermione felt her own stomach drop as she unintentionally sympathized with her friend.
She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on blocking out the feelings. It worked, after a fashion, and as she opened her eyes she caught Snape staring intently at her from the Head table. She gave him a faint smile and turned back to her own food.
Today was Friday, which meant she had Double Arithmancy with Ravenclaw and Double Advanced Potions with Slytherin. The Arithmancy class wouldn't be too bad, the Ravenclaws were always rather focused on the lesson, so she wouldn't have to deal with any errant emotions. But that afternoon would be the first time she would be around Snape in the classroom, and it was causing her some anxiety. She was having such a hard time reconciling the person she thought he was with the person he seemed to truly be. Or perhaps the person he allowed himself to be might be a better way of looking at it. When it was just the two of them working through a shared situation, he could allow himself to open up a little. Their forced intimacy must be affecting that, Hermione knew for a fact that in their fifth year when Harry spent significant amounts of time alone with Snape he was even more of a bastard than he usually was.
But seeing him in the classroom was going to throw yet another monkey wrench into the works; she was sure that he was going to be relentlessly cruel to Neville and probably to herself as well.
With a sigh she made her way to the Arithmancy classroom, so lost in thought she failed to notice that the swirling emotions of her classmates weren't effecting her nearly as strongly.
During Arithmancy she paid attention on the lesson, and for once the feelings of her peers was helpful instead of distracting. The academic Ravenclaws were focused on what they were learning, and that intensity translated over to her and caused her to feel more focused as well. There were a few moments when other feelings broke into her mind, but for the most part she was able to handle it.
On her way to potions later that afternoon the swirl of feelings from her classmates were not enough to overcome her own nervousness in coming face to face with Snape during class. She was smart enough to realize that his behavior towards his students was mainly a façade and she was sensitive enough to know that he probably didn't take too much pleasure in it. Maybe. She hoped. A Severus Snape who was thoughtful enough to help her protect herself from the emotions of those around her was hard to reconcile with a Severus Snape who actively hated nearly all his students and took vindictive pleasure in their defeats. Intellectually she knew that he would not treat her any differently, but her heart had a more difficult time coming to grips with it.
She gave a violent shiver as she neared the dungeons; the temperature and her own nerves each contributing to her discomfort. She heard a babble of low murmurs as she entered the room, and, with a sigh, took the only available seat on the Gryffindor side. Right next to Neville. As Hermione forced herself to give him a small smile she could hardly believe it had only been a few days since she'd been there last.
"Hermione, I just wanted to say again how sorry—" began Neville.
"Neville, please. Don't worry about it. There was no … harm … done. I'm really fine, you mustn't keep apologizing about it."
Harry and Ron were listening from their neighboring table. "Are you sure Hermione? You have been acting a little odd the last few days," said Ron.
"I already told you, I just feel a little overworked, that's all."
"Then why are you doing extra potions?"
Ron sounded exasperated, and Hermione could tell how baffled he was with her behavior. She had to suppress a smirk. If only he knew that those extra "lessons" were the only thing keeping her sane at the moment. "Ron," she said, forcing a long suffering tone into her voice, "I don't know if you've ever noticed, but I like potions. I may not like the environment as such, but the act of making potions is extremely therapeutic to me. So please, just trust me on this. It's not the extra potions. It's everything else."
"All right Hermione, we believe you."
She reached across the isle to briefly squeeze Ron's hand; unfortunately Professor Snape chose that moment to come sweeping into the classroom.
"As touching as this display is Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, I would appreciate you not exhibiting yourselves so openly in my classroom. Twenty points from Gryffindor."
Hermione pulled her hand back. Her face burned as she seethed quietly to herself. He knew that she and Ron didn't have any kind of romantic relationship. He must be able to feel that the only thing she felt for Ron was a strong brotherly kind of affection. Yet the tone of his voice suggested that they would be snogging on his desk if they had half the chance. She felt Ron's sense of injustice flare next to her as she stared at Snape's back with pure hatred. His back stiffened under her gaze for a moment before moving to stand in front of his desk. Turning smoothly to face them he waved his wand at the board.
"Today we will once again attempt the Filan potion. Mr. Longbottom, be forewarned. If you cannot produce a perfect potion by the end of class you will leave and never come back. Is that clear?"
Neville quickly nodded his assent, Snape sneering at his sudden panic.
"Very well. The instructions are on the board for those who cannot remember from last time." He glowered at them briefly before storming around and sitting at his desk. His eyes glittered darkly as they surveyed people setting up their tools and making trips to the supply cabinet.
Hermione set out the tools she needed for this potion, scanning the list of ingredients on the board to see if there was anything else she needed. It was difficult to concentrate over her feelings about the man at the front of the class, not to mention the waves of indignation from the Gryffindors going directly into her brain and colliding with the malicious pleasure coming from the Slytherins.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry hissed to her left. "Are you mad?"
She realized that she was staring with utter hatred at her Professor who was working resolutely on papers at his desk. Her potions supplies lay forgotten on her table.
His head had snapped up at Harry's whisper, and his eyes locked onto Hermione's.
"Is there something you need help with Miss Granger?" he asked, his tone positively frigid.
"No, sir."
"Then I suggest you get to work." His displeasure washed over her, jacking up her own levels of irritation. She turned to the supplies in front of her, determined to brew the finest potion of her academic career. She spent the next two hours chopping, diluting, brewing, infusing, fermenting, preparing and drafting. She was so focused on shredding her dandelion stems in order to extract the precious juice that a bead of sweat formed across her nose, even in the cold damp of the dungeons. For once she paid no attention to Neville, not even the snickering from the Slytherins across the dungeon could distract her.
At the end of the lesson, her potion was absolutely perfect. She stirred it with a critical eye, but there was nothing that even Professor Snape could find fault with. She finally looked over to Neville's effort, and was relieved to see that his potion, if not the exact correct color, was at least the right consistency.
Professor Snape swept by to examine each cauldron, pausing before both Hermione and Neville. He glared into Neville's cauldron, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "satisfactory." In front of her cauldron he merely lifted an eyebrow for a moment and moved on.
That made her more angry than anything else so far. Her stomach was literally burning with rage. She glared at Snape as he stalked around the rest of the tables, oblivious to everything but him. He pointedly ignored her, although from what she could feel from him he was completely aware of what she was doing. He caught her eye for a split second but looked away just as she registered the momentary sense of shame. Now she was so confused now by him that her rage suddenly dissipated.
"Everyone is to take a draught of their potion. Everyone, that is, except you." He pointed a long, white finger at Hermione. She knew why he didn't want her to take it, but he made it sound as if she had botched up her potion.
Hermione sat back on her stool with a sigh as everyone tasted a sample of their potions.
"No one poisoned? Not even you Potter?" he sneered.
The bell rang and she was lost in the noise of everyone gathering their books and putting away their supplies.
"Quiet!" Snape roared above the sudden noise. "I want a sample of everyone's potion on my desk before you leave. And Miss Granger, come see me for a moment." His imperious tone left no room for argument.
Hermione nodded weakly and bottled a sample of her potion. She walked slowly to his desk, wondering if he was going to apologize to her.
"Don't forget that we have a meeting tonight. 7 o'clock. And don't be late."
Hermione blinked. "Is that all, sir?"
"Yes," he exhaled noisily. "That is indeed all Miss Granger."
She nodded and turned to leave, completely perplexed by his behavior. Knowing what he was feeling only served to cloud her judgements of him, not make things clearer. She headed to dinner, in such a daze that she didn't notice Harry and Ron's worried looks. It wasn't until halfway through dinner when she was surprised by a wave of panic which bolted through her when Dean Thomas bit down painfully on a chicken bone that she realized she hadn't felt anyone except Snape since Potions started.
AN: Sorry this took so long to get up. It's only about half as long, but I thought this was a nice ending point.
Transylvanian: I hope I was able to answer your question!
EvieBlack and Perdita Bly: Thank you, I'm finding it a lot more difficult than I thought to get their voices right.
Thank you to everyone else who read and reviewed this story. More is on the way!
displacement