Chapter 3: I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free (Nina Simone)

Luna marvelled at the graceful paper owl and its message. She pondered the reasons why Hermione would send it to her instead of Harry or Ron. Maybe she did not want to worry them, or she wanted to avoid having them interrupting whatever she was doing to help the Headmaster. Maybe it was a notice in case she did not reappear. Anyway, she took her time looking for the boys.

An hour later, the three of them could be seen hastening towards the Shrieking Shack. Ron was red with anger, Harry, pale with worry, and both were breathing heavily. Luna appeared unfazed. In fact, she was concentrating on regulating her breathing. They were all completely worn-out but she arrived first to the unusual scene. Hermione and the Headmaster seemed asleep in each other's embrace. She saw sparks. He looked healthier than he had in a long time. Still, his cheeks were as hollowed, and his cheekbones as prominent. If Luna had to give a title to the moment, she would call it "Pietà of a Valkyrie". Hermione had been healing him. Rather, they had been healing each other. Luna was picking up a curious vibe between them, especially where they were touching. There was definitely something different about them. Her contemplation was disturbed by the gasps of her companions who nearly made her topple over the couple in their hurry. A mixture of emotions passed on Ron's face: anger, shock, disgust, worry and relief. By the time she had turned to Harry, his own expression was one of concern and what seemed to be guilt. Silently, Ron checked Hermione's breathing and pulse. After a slight hesitation, Harry's trembling hand was getting a hold the wrist of the man who had loved his mother for so long. It was all so disconcerting.

They exhaled "He is alive," "She is breathing."

Then, there was an increasingly awkward silence as they reflected on what to do.

Luna spoke up, "I think we should take them to Madam Pomfrey and keep them close together because a spell is still at work. Separating them could prove dangerous."

They nodded reluctantly. Harry Transfigured a piece of wood into a stretcher and Ron Levitated their bodies onto it and maintained it in the air. By the time they were done, Luna had Transfigured something into a soft blanket, to keep them warm and safe from prying eyes without impairing their breathing. She then sent her Patronus to the infirmary. The boys endeavoured to carefully make the stretcher float toward the outdoors. Luna led the way, making sure no one would harm any of them. Ignoring the questioning looks they got from the people they came across, they hurriedly walked up the first flight of stairs when they were stopped by a note from the matron.

"The Infirmary is inadequate. Wait for me in the Headmaster's quarters. Ask for entry from his office. Password: Albus Dumbledore."

It did make sense, although they felt uneasy about invading Severus Snape's privacy and introducing Hermione to his quarters. Without further ado, they made their way towards the Head's office. Upon their arrival, Harry put the stretcher down and, with a determined tightening of his jaw, put the memories from the Pensieve back in the bottle.

"I'll need it for the Wizengamot. He deserves justice." Ron and Luna could only guess the contents of the memories. The only certainty was that it had something to do with Harry's mother.

Luna said "We wish to be granted access to the Headmaster's quarters. He needs a safe place to rest."

The ceiling shimmered and white ropes which ended in small loops slid down from the part of the ceiling that suddenly looked like the surface of an ocean observed from beneath on a sunny day. Luna imagined beautiful tropical fish swimming over their heads. As she absentmindedly grabbed a rope with one hand while putting a foot in the loop, she thought about a majestic whale, dolphins and other sea creatures swimming around her. Ropes attached themselves to the ends of the stretcher. Too spent to muster any surprise, Harry and Ron followed her lead, minus the vivid vision of sea life. They arrived to a huge circular room enclosed in a magical glass dome, similar to one of a sumptuous yet tasteful greenhouse. The glass panels were delimited by delicate looking branches, rising to the top. They were not aware of it, but their colour changed with the seasons and at the moment had settled on vine green. It was like being in some kind of a water globe. On its base were curved walls with iron circled portholes similar those of a submarine. They could display most of Hogwarts' grounds provided that someone was in danger and that no one's privacy was being invaded. The room had a welcoming and whimsical atmosphere.

On the walls, against the soft blue fabric wallpaper, were shelves made of cream-coloured wood. They were decorated with stylized Celtic knots, intertwining and rising up. Leaves-carved torches covered with multi-coloured glass orbs were fixed between the shelves. Those were full of an eclectic collection of objects from the Muggle and the wizarding worlds and possibly other ones. On one side was a selection of books: recipes, art books, travel guides, languages and so on. In that reading area, there also was a black and silver magical trunk that did not go with the décor. That was the only thing likely to belong to Severus Snape rather than Dumbledore. Was he reluctant to impose his presence in the quarters of the man he had killed?

Every part of the room was dedicated to an activity without partition walls. A white grand piano covered with other instruments constituted the music area. There also was a marble bathroom in the same blue as the wallpaper mixed with glittery purple adorned with shell-shaped cream coloured bathtub and appliances. A meditation or game-playing area with velvet cushions could be found near an imposing round bed covered with silk cream-coloured sheets, and a cosy purple comforter. Drapes of the same colour with golden embroideries of stars and moons stood above the headboard, ready to create a cocoon of solace for the sleeper, or at least protection from changes in temperature and lighting. They approached the bed which still was bearing the indentation of the Headmaster from the previous day.

Instinctively, Ron pulled on the sheets and comforter to straighten them before helping Harry to lower the two sleepers on their backs onto the bed. They looked so peaceful as Luna's blanket was pulled down from over them. Ron sat beside Hermione and pushed her hair away from her face, greedily watching her breathe. Harry stood by the end of the bed, like a sentinel mindful of his precious friends and his old enemy. Luna was watching something in the closest porthole. She informed them, "Madam Pomfrey is just below the room."

And sure enough, she appeared, let go of her rope and quickly reached her patients. "What happened to them?"

While listening to their answers and asking more questions, she performed diagnostic spells on them all and put her hands over each one of the sleeping figures' heart and hummed in very low tone. As they lay on their backs, side by side, one of his wrists was stuck to hers. The intimacy of that contact was masked by his robe, although it is unclear who it would have bothered at that point. Poppy stopped her examination, changed the compress and told them they were both in excellent shape.

"As far as I can tell, Miss Granger has found an antidote to the venom and administered it. Afterwards, she probably succumbed to sheer exhaustion. I can hardly explain their vital closeness, but I presume it has something to do with the power of compassion and care which is not surprising, coming from your friend. They ought to remain close at least until one of them wakes up and tell us more. The Charm I am performing will keep them hydrated, and will ensure I am warned if their vitals get critical. It is not necessary for any of you to stay awake. You all need to rest. I assume I can trust you to take care of them when you wake up without fear of discrimination or divulging of private information. Are we clear?"

She was very imposing despite the dark circles under her eyes. With renewed respect, they acquiesced to the woman who had been carrying so many lives on her shoulders.
After she left, they took off their patients' shoes and asked the drapes to glide around the bed. The upper part of the drapes twisted itself until the sleeping area resembled a suspended nest.

The rest of the group went to sleep on the cushions under the blanket made wider by Luna. When Ron asked how they could dim the light coming from outside, blinds appeared on the glass panels. They fell asleep with images of what had happened the previous day flashing in their minds. They were grateful for the oblivion of sleep, and wished their nightmare was over. Things could only get better after Voldemort's death, couldn't they? Luna's last thought before flying to the land of dreams was of Dumbledore, sprawled on those pillows, eating sweets and drinking a cup of traditionally made Japanese tea with a dear friend of his. Her pleased sigh made the victory a little more real for the boys as they dozed off.

When Severus woke up, it was dark. But the smell and feel of the particular sheets and water mattress told him he was in bed in Albus' quarters. Those blasted drapes are evidently concealing the real time of day. Truthfully, he had found them confining and annoying, but with the year he'd had they had become the only thing that helped him to rest a bit. Somehow, it felt like being protected by Albus, without compensation required. There was a warm hand against his own and his body temperature was colder than usual. Bracing himself for the truth, he took a moment to accept the fact that he was in Hermione Granger's body and vice versa. There was no denying it as bits of her memories, emotions and thoughts were assaulting his mind. Why? Why me? Why can't I catch a break for once? When will the sheer torture that is my existence ever cease? That new source of information was as complicated to explore as the recollections of a dream. Wasting no time, he concentrated on how and where she found the Dark ritual. A few memory sequences gave him the gist of it, but every time he tried to get a hold of her motives and emotions, something started to trouble his train of thought and he felt slightly nauseous. Well, that takes care of my worries about protecting the last bastion of my privacy. I hope she gets so sick from nosiness she is expulsed from my body and I get my life back. Come to think of it, do I want my body back? On one hand, I'll probably be sentenced to Azkaban, or murdered, again. On the other hand, she'll be celebrated as a heroine and has her life in front of her. But if I stay in her body, I might have to be friendly to Potter. Ugh, I really wanted never to see him again. I cringe at the prospect of hearing him blab about MY memories. I'll make him keep his mouth shut.

He decided that escaping in her body should be his last resort because although he had many bouts of self-loathing, he refused to let someone else have the power to damage his honour, and turn him into a fool. He imagined Granger hugging and kissing her buddies in his body and he almost snapped. That would not do. He had to find Narcissa. But beforehand, he searched for his vessel's recollections of the Dark Lord's fall. He was not ready for the myriads of emotions that event provoked in him —relief, guilt, anger, triumph, sadness, emptiness and much more— notwithstanding that those of Granger forced themselves on his mind. He was also unprepared for the sense of purposelessness that filled him as he contemplated what he was to do with the life he had not expected to have.

He chose not to dwell on the fact that his biggest secret bad been revealed to the Dark Lord by Potter. His response was insulting. He had just dismissed the matter. He never understood or cared enough to be affected by this betrayal. Severus wished he could kill him more. Potter had managed to come out his required task of assassination as innocent as possible. It figures… At least, it has been with a spell I taught him. But because of him, people know about my resilient infatuation. Oh, it's unbearable. They will see me as a pathetic loser, and an obsessive creep. It seemed Granger had mainly been relieved to understand where his loyalty lay but she might pity him after seeing some of his memories. But he had not been lusting after a dead woman! It was more than physical love to him. She was his salvation. She was his link to all that was pure, beautiful, and worthy in this world. But he was definitely unwilling to clarify that distinction to others, least of all Potter. He concentrated on what to do with the appalling notion that a young woman was going to wake up in his body. He was not fond of it but he was used to it being a defining point in his life. At least, he knew how to use it well, to put off bothersome creatures for instance.

Something told him she would wake up when their physical connexion was broken. Making sure not to separate their hands, he searched his pocket to find his wand. The first wand he grabbed was Bellatrix's. It responded to him better than to her. And he could still use his own. Severus checked if their health was satisfactory. Finding nothing distressing apart from their predicament, he tapped the drapes with his wand to see the rest of the room without being seen and talk privately with his newly found partner in bed. How disgusting… Rays of sunlight were escaping from the sides of the blinds. Severus noticed a tangle of arms and legs on the cushions. A blanket had been discarded during their sleep. The youngest male Weasley was lying behind Potter who was cradling his friend's arm close to his chest. Miss Lovegood was on her back, limbs spread about in a carefree way, as could attest her legs thrown over the boys'. Her right hand rested next to their joined hands. They were the picture of carefree youth. What a sickening display of affection... How can they stay so defenceless in spite of the war? That much he was curious to know. Shaking his head, he stopped delaying the inevitable and turned to his next task.

With a long-suffering sigh, he moved closer to his original body and detached the feminine hand that was now his from his real wrist. Then, he directed it towards his lips. They never had looked so attractive to him than that day. Wait, what was that? That is a weird thought to have about one's own body. I mean that they seem less despondent. Yes, that's it. They were warm and familiar. And he could feel his heartbeat against his soft palm. That caused a complicated pang of longing somewhere inside of him. To the casual observer, Hermione would appear to be making an overture at her helpless old Potions teacher, and with obvious pleasure. In reality, Severus was preparing to "woman-handle" his ex-student in case she did not react well to the news. His hand motion accomplished, she began to awaken and open his eyes, well her eyes. Oh, this is going to be a real nightmare…

Hermione was overwhelmed by her memories of the previous day and disturbing memories of many dreams she did not remember making. They all had one thing in common: they seemed to belong to someone else. Merlin on a cracker! What happened? She instinctively tried to sit up to have a better view of her surroundings. But a firm hand on her mouth continuing into an elbow across her chest kept her lying down. Her body felt strange. She was missing something.

"Do not be afraid," a voice said in her ear. Her voice told her not to be afraid but she had not opened her mouth because a hand was propped against it. That made no sense. Plus, she would not tell herself to not be afraid in a situation that definitely called for such a reaction. Thus, she felt extremely agitated.

"As I said, you have nothing to fear from me. I… am Severus Snape. I don't know what you remember of yesterday but you apparently used a device given to you by Narcissa Malfoy in a foolish attempt to save my life. I can't fathom what you hoped to accomplish from that apart from joining Potter in the Hall of Fame for your self-righteous sacrifice and stupidity. But what you got is this. We are trapped in each other's body indefinitely. I give you credit for my body and my mind still functioning, but you should not feel proud of what you've done because you put us both in jeopardy. And don't think I owe you anything because I saved your life more than once. I don't know if we will be able to disclose the situation to other parties so we have to discuss our conduct in the alternative. I'll remove my hand if you show me you're ready to face the situation like an adult."

Her anger at the disparaging comments, the lack of appreciation, and the whole situation, found perfect firewood in her new body. That is to say, it took her over more powerfully than ever, so much that she felt she would explode from it. It was as though balls of flames were blasting though her. She was so not prepared for that. She reasoned with herself. He does not have the upper hand in this. I may have taken a risk but I did what was right according to all the information I had. And we are alive. Maybe, he is as confused as I am.

Thinking about the recollections she kept having, she understood they were parts of his psyche remaining in his body and tried to keep them at the same mental level as her own memory to have a better understanding of his behaviour. He had hesitated before saying his full name. That was significant. He probably had mixed-feelings about being alive. He did not want to owe her for his life. He was disturbed by the whole thing and furious at her. Perhaps he was also mad at other people, the world, and himself? Those were only the layers of meaning she could grab onto. But the deeper the layer she tried to get a hold of, the more nauseous she felt. Obliged to stop her speculations, she began to feel a little sorry for herself. She did not want to have to deal with his cruel remarks, or his body. She wanted to go to her friends and more friendly teachers, to find her parents, to celebrate the end of the war and to finally begin her adult life. The war aside, she had so many doubts about her future.

Instead of working on that issue, she was lying in bed with Severus Snape inside of her body. At that, her mind formed a very different mental image. Of all the things to think at a moment like this… But she was too used to carefully envisage all the ramifications of a situation that she could not help herself.

Meanwhile, he had to quell the impulse to apologise to her for hurting her feelings. Although he was used to self-deprecating humour and emotional pain on so many levels, he usually did not have to witness the effect of his success on his own face. But she had to understand he did not want to be in her company, or anyone else's for that matter. He just wanted to be left alone and free, if he were truly given a second or third chance at life. However, he knew something humiliating was coming his way and had the nagging hunch that the blow would be delivered by her. Ha, ha, Snivellus… You actually thought you had a shot at happiness? You're so pathetic you don't even know your limitations! The joke's on you because you're really dead and your afterlife will be spent witnessing someone with your appearance actually enjoying herself, in a way that you never did, proving once again it's you that is rotten to the core. That wasn't even a seven on the Snape nastiness scale, but he was starting to tear up.

Hermione had yet to come to grip with the idea of inhabiting the sour man's body. She would be mortified if her friends knew, which they would if the process was not reversed soon. In Harry's body, she had not had the time to dwell on what it meant to have a male body. Her current position was so unreal, she submitted without a second thought to the puerile impulse of licking the palm against her lips, either to disgust him or to sample the taste and know if she could recognise it as her own. And since she had been forced to breathe through the nose —which was more sensitive— she had to admit the familiar olfactory messages were coming from a body she was not in. Those sensations were troubling for all the obvious reasons, but most of all because the familiarity was reassuring but it was reaching her in very unnatural way. She wanted to relieve her stress through tears but that body was sort of blocking her feelings in the throat.

When she turned towards her real face, as in looking in a mirror, she could see a few tears falling from her eyes. He had withdrawn his hand as soon as her tongue had touched it, as if bitten by a snake, again. The intimacy had bothered him but more than that he had had the compulsion to grab the tongue and hold it close. Mine, he wanted to shout before remembering how absurd and sick that would have made him appear. She could see her face bearing a look of comical disbelief. It did bring her a little comfort. She felt ready to discuss their problem calmly, after he stopped crying. Without hesitation, she put her left hand on the top of her head, doing circular motions with her fingers in her bushy hair. He noticeably tensed but allowed her to continue her soothing ministrations. If anyone asked, he would just say he thought being touched by her might help her body calm down. As soon as his quiet sobs stopped, he pushed her hand away. She propped herself against a pillow and she stretched her unusually long legs. While gently checking on her neck, she started to speak.

"I could no more convince you of my good intentions than of the fact that both of us being alive should be celebrated. I can't pretend to understand how you feel and I didn't expect you to fawn over me with gratitude." At that he snorted, and quite ungracefully, she thought. She went on. "You are right to be mad at me because you didn't consent to my trying to save your life. But know I had no choice. It was the decent thing to do, and I have not planned this. If we have to agree to disagree, fine. And with a little bit of luck and work, we may never have to see each other again." She was posturing and trying to avoid giving him more grounds to hurt her. It was easier to hide her emotions in his body. But reconciling the insights she was given by his body and his behaviour were proving difficult. "In the meantime, things are going to get more confusing. And since we are in each other's body, I believe we should at least privately be on a first name basis. I just can't address myself as Headmaster Snape." She gave him the time to object.

He looked as if he were granting a huge favour and said, "As much as it pains me to tolerate it, it will probably make dealing with this emotional body easier. Your friends are going to wake up soon, so let us be efficient. If we are not able to discuss the body swap with other people, I'm sure you can think of a few reasons why discretion is paramount." He arched his eyebrows for emphasis, but the effect was more funny than intimidating until he added, "We are going to use each other's body on a regular basis, after all. That is until we can…end the spell." Both of them thought of what that could entail. "You will be easy to impersonate. On the other hand, you had better make it convincing. Be aware that it'll be dangerous with some of the Dark Lord's partisans still at large, even if most of them are likely to keep a low profile."

"So, we agree to do our utmost to keep our reputations and relationships in the same state they were…ahem… provided to us?"

"Right."

"Shall we, I don't know, shake on it perhaps?"

He really wanted to answer something snarky but he needed her cooperation to make it work. He extended his right hand without a word. When they touched, they both felt a tingle. She let out a breath, and he frowned reflexively, each of them relieved to be closer to their flesh. She was hit by a sudden thought. "S-Severus, are you sure you want me to act like you did before?"

"What are you trying to say?" He seemed affable, but the temperature noticeably dropped a few degrees just with his tone.

"Well, you nearly died and Voldemort is gone. And the justice system may exonerate you. You can do whatever you like and be whomever you want. Er… It was my understanding that your… treatment of others was largely dependent on your role in the war."

She flushed and was getting a little bit sweaty. The smell was both foreign and familiar. In a way, he was as much punishing himself as he was enjoying letting her stew in her own juices. "Yes?" His voice trailed on the "s".

"I don't want to be out of line… But maybe I could make you more likable. It would make your life easier and more enjoyable," she rapidly suggested.

He looked at her for what seemed an eternity, before revealing the most vicious expression she ever saw on her face. It was repulsive. "I see… So, you would have me distribute smiles and candies all around, and win people over with my new sparkling personality. The past will be forgiven. I will avoid ending my life as a sad and lonely man. Is that what you're telling me?" There was so much spite in his voice that it made her feel sick to her stomach. On the top of her own feelings, she had reminiscences of the feelings and memories related to the hurt he had caused, his self-hatred, and his misanthropy. And she was reminded of her own helplessness and shortcomings.

"I'm sorry I even suggested it. Still it could make sense if you sort of mellowed out a little on account of your injury, couldn't it? Because, as much as I want to help, there's only so much nastiness one can muster."

"You'd be surprised," he pointed out tiredly. "You would do well to remember that if you don't play my role convincingly enough, I may reveal to Mister Weasley that our affection for each other may not be what it was."

"Are you really blackmailing me? Really? I was not being malicious, but fine, be that way! I will be Dramatic Snape in all his glory!" If he had not been in her body, she would have tried to strike him.

"Dramatic? I am not dramatic!" he suffocated.

"Oh please! You are the most dramatic person I have ever met! Every day, you play the part of the snarky teacher or Headmaster. You hide your real feelings, until they explode in other people's faces. And even then you exploit every movement, every word, and every intonation for maximum effect." Getting on her knees, she put a penetrated look on her face, and said with an ardent voice: "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death."* Inspired, she slowly raised a hand up to some invisible star she was attempting to snatch. Before she completely lost herself to the theatrics, she lowered her hand to his eye level, and concluded "You see what I mean? Dramatic." And mean too, when he could be so much better than that, she thought.

"You actually memorized that speech? Of course, you did." His tone was derisive, but he was a little flattered.

"Yes, I did. It was beautiful and inspiring up until you proved to be completely prejudiced and unfair. Then, it was just a sad symbol for a missed opportunity."

"Who do you think you are to be passing judgement on me? Everything you know, you learned in books. Your only use to your supposed friends is as a walking library and surrogate mother. And you insist on consorting with a boy you have nothing in common with. You pretend you know right from wrong, but you are a beacon of moral relativism. On top of that, you are clueless about your own future. You were so afraid of what to do with yourself after the end of the war that you readily risked your life for someone you hated. Well, spare me. I have no interest in being your new project."

We will never know what she would have retorted because Ron's snoring had stopped and he was loudly yawning.

Severus was all business at once. "Pretend to be asleep for as long as possible. I'll find Narcissa to end the spell. Use my memories to know how to interact with people if we have to fake being each other."

He tapped his wand against the drapes which appeared opaque again, and put their wands between them just in case.

As the trio was awakening, they lay back on the bed. Severus was sorting out his feelings about what had transpired, when Hermione whispered: "Be kind to them, especially Harry. And whatever you learn about them while in my body, you can't use against them when we are back to normal."

He showed no reaction until she begged "Please." He could not abide that, not with my voice, he told himself. Furthermore, he was acquiescing to a future in which he got what was rightfully his. A good luck charm of sorts…

As the drapes were rustling open, Hermione's worries were eased by an "Agreed."Resonating in her mind, the word helped her bracing herself for the travesty they might have to create.

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* Rowling, J.K. (1997) Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. London: Bloomsburg Children's, p. 102 (ISBN 0747532745).

Thanks to my wonderful Beta Zarathustra46.

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