Chapter 4
As soon as the door to the Defence classroom had closed behind her, Severus slammed his hand on the surface of his desk, standing immediately and stalking towards the stone steps at the back of the teaching platform that led to his office and private chambers.
Taking the dozen stairs two at a time, his black hair slapping messily on his shoulders, he flung open the door to his office and flung it shut behind him. He stood there, breathing heavily. What the fuck had all that been about?
He angrily pulled off his teaching robes and long frock coat, tossing them to the sofa rather than hanging them neatly as he usually did, before heading straight through the other door which led to his private living quarters, undoing the shirt buttons at his throat and wrists as he walked to allow his blood to flow a little easier.
Severus threw himself on his large bed, ignoring the fact that he was still wearing his boots, and lay back on the freshly made linens, looking up at the heavy green canopy above, as if it miraculously held all the answers of the universe.
He had been rooting around in Granger's mind for best part of almost two hours, not that she would have noticed. Whilst not as innately powerful as the Dark Lord, he was a master of Legilimency in his own right, and was easily able to distract her with supposed attention to her more innocuous memories while he delved for the ones he was actually interested in.
He hadn't meant to.
At the first entry into her mind, almost immediately, he had realised that there was so much more to this young witch than he had initially expected. A brilliant academic mind of course, he had suspected no less, but what had been more surprising was the clarity of her memories, the detail in which even the most innocent thought had been remembered and stored.
He had taken a journey around the usual teenage tears and tribulations, which he had found surprisingly short and intermittent. More prevalent was the amount of analysis and good sense that she applied to everything, and the amount of time that she did not spend on hormonal drama.
Far from being frustrated with the two idiots she spent most of her time with, she seemed to always be thinking of ways to better them, to support them, to encourage them. He doubted that Potter and Weasley had a single clue of the efforts the third member of their trio made on their behalf. Albus had been correct; Granger was certainly the brains and driving force of this friendship.
So rich was her attention to detail, Severus had found himself desperate to know more. He wanted to see himself through her eyes. Without thinking about the good sense of what he was doing, he had distracted her by poking around in memories that she would find embarrassing, in order to rifle through her thoughts of him. He had, in Merlin's name, no idea what had possessed him to do such a juvenile thing.
He had felt her admiration as he saw himself lecturing the class in a smooth manner, wisdom dripping from his lips that she soaked up like a sponge. Admiration. Not boredom, or disgust. He had felt her shock and gratitude as he jumped between the children and the werewolf. He had felt her shame as he had mocked her hexed front teeth. And on. And on.
Finally, he had come to the most recent memory, when she had seen him arrive at Grimmauld Place, bleeding and broken from an audience before the Dark Lord where the insane snake had expressed his displeasure with a number of his loyal followers.
The memory was incredibly detailed, right down to the spider that had crawled across her foot as she had attempted to keep silent and hidden as she watch him cover his injuries. Most prevalent of all was the genuine sorrow she had felt. Sorrow? The idea confused him.
Apart from his facial injuries, he had also suffered a broken kneecap that night, which was still causing him problems almost a month later. He was getting too fucking old for this shit.
He had been impressed that she'd finally thrown him out using only the power of her mind. It was a crude visualisation, using imagery of a castle drawbridge, but she had done it. He did not often feel pride at the achievement of a student, but today he did. That must be the strange feeling that was coursing through him, making it somewhat difficult for him to catch a deep breath.
That was certainly it.
He would resolutely not think about holding her hands.
- xxx –
The following week, Hermione found herself excited when she received another note from Professor Snape, again simply giving the time of her next lesson, 9pm on the Friday evening. It would mean that she had to turn down a dinner invitation from Professor Slughorn, but she had already attended one meeting of the so-called 'Slug Club', she hoped he wouldn't mind her absconding on this occasion, especially as it was for schoolwork.
Hermione didn't like the new professor very much, but then she did not dislike him either. She couldn't say that a private dinner with a select group of students being served at the table was not preferable to the usual rabble in the Great Hall, either.
The attentions of Cormac McLaggen, another member of the exclusive little club, were becoming a bit of a pain, though. Handsome he might be, tall and athletic, but in personality the young wizard was an arrogant idiot. He'd made it clear, more than once, that if Hermione agreed to go out with him, he'd ensure she was satisfied. Urgh.
She'd not spent time with any boy since that summer with Viktor Krum ... and by Merlin she didn't want to relive that time. If she were going to accept the advances of any wizard it would certainly not be a Quidditch oaf like McLaggen. Confused by her new feelings for Ron, Hermione was unsure if this wasn't because of the new attention he was receiving from the dizzy Lavender. Jealousy was not an attractive emotion, she berated herself, trying to concentrate on what an unsuitable boyfriend Ronald Weasley would make, alternated with wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
During the week, in the privacy of the prefects' bathroom, she had spent time practising meditation, clearing all the thoughts from her head and replacing them with a perfectly clear mist, the steam from the scented bath water providing the inspiration. This practise had the dual benefit of quieting her busy mind from the stress of her academic timetable, as well as being excellent training for Occlumency. Rather pathetically, Hermione hoped that Professor Snape would be impressed.
As she entered the Defence classroom exactly on time at 9pm, Hermione was surprised to see the stone bowl of a Pensieve, its surface shimmering, on the corner of his desk.
"Tonight, we shall be trying harder, Miss Granger," he told her, by way of greeting. "If you have any deeply private thoughts or particular memories that you do not wish me to view, I suggest that you deposit them here."
He demonstrated how to extract a memory, using his wand to thread a strand of thick mist from his own temple and place it on the surface of the Pensieve; the odd, silvery-blue substance neither a liquid nor gas. She watched, most interested in the demonstration.
"A physical strand of memories can only be extracted by yourself, by your own wand, unless you are mortally wounded, in which case your memories will flow from you unbidden before your death. Remember that."
Hermione nodded, although not really sure why he was telling her, and attempted to extract a memory from her own head, although only succeeded in pulling out a rather bland memory about a childhood birthday party. Nonetheless, she dropped it into the Pensieve, keen as always to learn a new magical skill.
They sat as before in the low wooden chairs that were arranged facing each other. She heard him cast the incantation and enter her mind, just as hard as the previous session, only this time she was ready for him.
She allowed him to see a short memory regarding an incident in Herbology that morning where they had been side-swiped by a Venomous Tentacula, and then focused on the hot steam of the prefects' bath, bringing down a white mist over the entire memory.
Feeling him root around, searching for a way around the mist, Hermione smiled smugly to herself as she felt his confusion. She continued to hold the mist, using meditation to calm herself, slow her breathing and hold the Occlumency shield.
After a while, he broke the connection and pulled out of her mind and stared at her. She was delighted. She had been keen to demonstrate the result of her intensive practice. These lessons might be matter of life and death for Harry, for all of them.
"You have achieved commendable improvement."
"Was that a compliment?" she shot back, not able to stop the rather cheeky retort slipping from her mouth.
He arched a thick, black eyebrow at her, looking most displeased.
"Well ... I mean ... you've never praised my work before. Sir," she added, hurriedly.
"I am not a teacher that is given to gushing sentiment, as you well know. However, never stop doing your best just because someone does not give you the credit you so richly deserve."
Hermione almost fell off her chair, surprised at his rare and unexpected admittance that he did not reward her work as he should.
"Now," he said, continuing quietly, as if the last exchange had not taken place. "You have demonstrated your ability to block intrusion in a satisfactory manner. Your technique of the mist is effective, and will protect you against low-level intrusion, such as the headmaster attempting to find out if it was you who ate all his beloved sherbet lemons."
He did not smile, but there was a slight glitter of amusement in his coal-black eyes.
"However, against a sustained attack from a dark source, the second half of the skill is to present a false memory in place of the Occluded one to fool the attacker. Let us continue."
- xxx –
Hermione was in the Great Hall the following lunchtime with Harry and Ron, the latter of whom was shovelling chicken pie into his mouth as if there was going to be a national shortage of poultry and pastry, and attempting to discuss the disastrous attempt at Occlumency they'd just had, secreted in an unused classroom during a quiet Saturday with nothing else to do.
Harry had indeed found mastering the skill impossible, even after she had patiently explained the similarity to Muggle meditation.
"Honestly, Harry," she snapped, "I don't think you actually want to learn Occlumency at all, it's like you want to let Voldemort into your mind, as if it makes you feel special."
"You think I like this?" he'd shot back. "You think I enjoyed watching Ron's dad get attacked? You don't think I blame myself that Sirius was killed? Come off it, Hermione!"
"Well, you need to try harder then!" she'd shouted, her face reddening at his harsh words.
"Did it ever cross your mind that some people just aren't capable of Occluding, and that I might be one of them?"
"You can do anything if you study hard enough."
Harry shot her a look, and took a purposeful mouthful of pie, chewing hard to signal the end of her lecture, knowing she would make him try again tomorrow.
- xxx –
A few days later, rather than the full week that had passed between her first two lessons, Hermione was perched on the edge of the wooden chair that he always sat her in for Occlumency practice, with Snape opposite her on an identical one, playing out a short, but perfectly false memory as he sat at her eye-level with his wand raised and with a Legilimency connection open in her mind. He withdrew, and nodded his approval.
"Since I was present at dinner in the Great Hall, I know perfectly well that you sat with Potter and Weasley, and were not, as you have just shown me, invited to the Ravenclaw table to discuss Ancient Runes, I must concede that you have worked extremely hard on the technique I taught you last lesson, Miss Granger. However, this is only the beginning. Occluding innocuous memories is nothing compared to the need to Occlude a memory that is the difference between your life and your death."
"Thank you, Sir, and I understand that," she replied, not missing the tiny measure of desperation that he had imbued into his final sentence.
"It is not a question of thanks. Dumbledore considered it essential that Potter learned Occlumency."
"Do you consider it essential?"
He regarded her warily, his black eyes narrowed and suspicious, with an unusual tiredness visible in them, that she had not seen before.
"Do you wish me to be honest with you, Granger?"
"Yes please."
"What are we fighting for? In your opinion?"
"We are fighting to destroy Voldemort, and all that he stands for."
"And do you believe that Potter is indeed the Chosen One, and therefore the one who must bring about the Dark Lord's demise?"
She inhaled sharply at the probing curiosity of his question, before nodding in the affirmative.
"Then I will tell you that I consider Potter will find it useful, but not essential. When they eventually face each other, as indeed they must, the ability to Occlude will neither help nor hinder him."
As she wandered back through the corridors to Gryffindor Tower, she thought about his cryptic and incomplete answer to her question.
She also had the strongest feeling that Severus Snape knew more than any of them realised.
