Chapter Four
When Snape came to breakfast that morning, he looked so tired that Hermione almost felt worried for him. But then she remembered what a prat he was and all concern faded in the wake of her anger and embarrassment.
"Professor Snape," Minerva said as he sat on her left, his designated seat as resident prisoner. "Miss Granger informs me that she no longer needs help cleaning her rooms."
Severus felt his stomach.drop in amazement. It was similar to the feeling of missing a stair in the dark, but more painful. She was going to leave him without any help to make an experimental magical channel; he should have known that she would shy away with the threat of doing something illegal. She had been willing to break the rules for her fiancé and his best friend, but why should she help her greasy, decrepit Potions teacher? He sighed and glanced at his plate.
"She said that she still required your assistance, however, in gathering ingredients for a potions experiment. I told her that you would be more than willing to assist, and she has my permission to take you outside as long as she keeps you properly restrained."
Hermione was shocked when he looked up with eagerness and surprise on his face. That look, so young, made her stomach leap oddly. She dismissed it as a reaction to the copious amounts of tea she had been consuming recently and returned to her meal. But could he possibly want to work with her? No. Of course he did not. He needed her. She was his only tie to regaining at least a little magical power, and that was the only reason his face lit up like that.
Professor Snape was so incredibly relieved. She hadn't abandoned him, after all, only made it easier for them to work on his staff. He turned back to his bowl of porridge with a slightly happier disposition. What Miss Granger did not know about her helping him was that he really did need her. He had felt his magical powers building up in him like lava beneath a volcano, lingering just beneath his self-control, but ready to explode at the drop of a hat. It made him restless and excited, always pacing with butterflies in his stomach, and he felt that he would die if he couldn't find a proper outlet soon.
- - - -
Two days later, he was sent a note through the fireplace that he was to be by the door immediately after his lessons. Urgh. Would they never stop pestering him with these distractions? He wanted a way to perform magic, but he also had a stack of essays from first years. It might take a week to get through them all if he went undisturbed, months if things continued like this.
After a day of his usual dense students and unsatisfying write-ups, he limped to the staircase, the pull of that invisible force egging him on. It was now familiar, and he was happy to say that he hadn't tumbled over for a few weeks. When he arrived, Granger was standing with her back to him, out of breath. She seemed to have run down, as her hair was bushier than usual, her robes were askew and rumpled, and she was not wearing shoes.
Wait. No shoes? He looked again. Oh, she was putting them on. She turned slightly as she balanced on one foot and screwed on one of her sensible flats. When she got that one on, the other followed. He stood still for a moment, watching her attempt to balance. Half a second later her arm was milling furiously just as she began to fall. Rushing forward, the professor tried to catch her, but was restrained by his infernal infirmity and had to watch as she fell, his arms stretched in an attempt to break her fall from three feet away. Of course, he failed, but that had been expected. She looked up at him from the ground.
"Are you all right?" he asked, not with concern but with curiosity. Her eyes were wide and her mouth flapped open and closed a few times, emitting a few high-pitched squeaks. "So sorry, Miss Granger, but I don't speak Mermish."
"I'm…fine," she wheezed. Apparently the breath had been knocked out of her. He almost laughed. He allowed himself a low chuckle as she pulled herself clumsily from the ground. She gave him a truly angry scowl, which sobered him a bit.
"Come on," she said, walking out the doors.
The air was crisp and cold, making him happy he had worn his jet cloak over the customary black robes. He noted that the silly know-it-all had not known enough to wear an extra layer. She shivered hard as she walked out to the edge of the forest.
"What, pray, are we in search of, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily.
"Wood. Anything magical, really. Unicorn hair, any plants you can think of. We're working in a previously unexplored field. We can't afford to exclude items."
"Well, that makes our job so much easier," he remarked in a low voice.
"What?"
"Nothing."
It was still slightly light outside, but when they walked into the forest, all sun was completely blocked. Hermione pulled a jam jar from the pocket of her robes and charmed some blue flames into it.
"Here you go," she said, giving the jar to him. The flames were warm and bright, casting light onto her hand. A hand that had previously worn a glittering ring on the third finger that was no longer present. He nearly asked her what happened, but then remembered the day she had sent him away, tears filling her eyes. She lit the tip of her wand and they trudged on, Severus with an increasingly burdensome limp.
"Oh! Here," she sighed, exasperated that he refused to ask for help. She conjured up the walking stick for what seemed like the fortieth time.
Why would he never ask for help? Even when he had been dying in the Shrieking Shack, he had refused to look at any of them and voice his need to be saved. Sure, it was sudden, and certainly Harry and Ron were distracted, but he could have said, "Miss Granger, if you would please reach into my pocket, I have the antidote." No, he wasted precious minutes throwing his memories at Harry, and of course after that Harry was completely hopeless, and of course Ron wouldn't think to save him, and of course he let himself black out. If he had just asked, he wouldn't be limping in the first place! In the darkness she found herself remembering that night.
Harry
looked at Snape as the professor died in front of his eyes. She had
been quick to give him the flask, eager to know what Severus Snape,
ultimate traitor, could possibly have to tell Harry, the bane of his
existence. After the two boys left, she searched through his robes,
hoping to find…something. Anything. Perhaps a will, a notebook,
some crucial information. Normally she wouldn't be seen rifling
through a dead man's robes, but desperate times and all that.
She found a few scraps of parchment with Headmaster-ish notes
scribbled on them. A few of the notes weren't comprehensible, at
least not until after the battle, and none of them were important, so
she continued to rifle through the pockets. Why did he have so many
darn pockets? The little velvet bag caught her attention the
moment it brushed her fingers. Why was the Potions professor
carrying a velvet bag in his pocket? What did the bag contain? Was
this the key to unveiling Voldemort's downfall? Eagerly she tore
open the drawstrings and dumped the contents onto the floor. A few
handfuls of what looked like dried herbs and leaves fell out, along
with vials and small bottles. She nearly laughed. What had
she expected? A potions master with a bag full of potions should
have been anticipated. She shuffled through the bottles and vials,
reading a few labels, sniffing some unlabeled ones, when she saw the
vial of creamy potion. It looked like expensive muggle conditioner
and smelled dangerous. Anti-venom, done the magical way. It
wouldn't hurt to try, right? She parted his lips, her hands
manipulating the chilled, pale flesh, and then poured the potion into
his mouth and massaging his throat to make it go down more
quickly. It had worked. Those black eyes opened and blinked a
few times. "I'll send someone to help you. I have to go,"
she told him, and then ran from the room, leaving the bottles and
vials all over the floor and a pained, injured Severus Snape
alone.
"There's a unicorn," he whispered. She turned sharply and sure enough, the beautiful, horse-like creature stood, grazing leaves from low branches. It still had patches of gold fading into the pure silvery-white of an adult, but it was obviously male, and in fine condition. A sinful curiosity filled him as he looked at the beautiful specimen.
"Can you get a hair?"
"I'll try," she answered, then walked to the creature with a slow, even pace. The unicorn looked up and its muscles tensed in preparation for flight, but he didn't move. She inched closer and closer, and the unicorn remained.
Severus Snape was amazed. Here was a girl with nineteen years of life under her belt, two boyfriends, one fiancé, and months alone in the presence of the two adolescent boys, and she could still touch a unicorn without force.
For a moment she stroked the white coat, gleaming in the moonlight, and then inched to the tail of the creature. There she tenderly separated a few hairs from the rest and jerked. The unicorn whinnied and shied in protest, but didn't run. She gave it one last pat and returned to his side.
"All right, let's move on. I think I saw a nice birch tree over there," she wandered away towards the tree, leaving Severus alone for a moment. He inched toward the unicorn that was gazing at him curiously, with a look of intelligence and understanding. His palm stretched out toward the soft white nose. His pale hand was inches from the velvety muzzle—
"Professor?"
The hand jerked away, and with a regretful look at the unicorn, he moved toward Hermione Granger's voice.
Quite a lot had been learned in this venture, he decided.
- - - -
Waking up the next morning was torture. His dreams had been painful that night, full of dead faces and the Dark Lord's wrath.
His life could have been simple, he thought. He could have been born to a happier mother and a father with control over his temper. He could have lived in another neighborhood, where he didn't know of anyone named Lily Evans. Life could have been easy. None of it would ever have happened. He would take the fate of a Squib over that of himself. What good was magic if it couldn't be used? But it was pointless to ponder the past. It was like the hypothetical Schrodinger's cat in the box. He had already opened the box. He couldn't make the cat come alive again. Thus, his fate was sealed, and he should get out of bed and go to breakfast before he lost himself in silly Muggle quantum mechanics theories.
His day was full of groggy half-memories, half-dreams, and the imposing faces of his students, all staring at him in expectation. He gave them simple assignments, too tired to really consider, much less grade, a complex potion. One cauldron was melted. Or perhaps two? The memories of the day were fading quickly. Age was creeping in on him, and he loathed it. Or perhaps it was not age. Maybe he was just worn out from the night before. Maybe he wasn't so old at all.
That thought carried him to his bed an hour early and led him to a more peaceful night.
A few days later Granger took him out to the woods again. She informed him that she had been collecting things herself all week, and already had a myriad of supplies, so they could start working in a few days. He thought it rather anticlimactic that they only took a few more samples of wood, captured some Bowtruckles, and took some appendages from a dead Acromantula.
"Are you sure this is all we need?" he asked, trying to keep the longing to stay in the forest from his voice. It was the second time he had been outside since that carriage ride to the school. It had absolutely nothing to do with the lithe young maid crunching through the forest at his side.
"I'm not sure, of course, but I think this is enough for now. We will begin work on the… well, the whatever it is that we are creating." She paused, thinking and considering the effect of her next words, knowing how precarious the balance between them dangled. "We shall have to go to my personal rooms, as none of the others have an entirely confidential password."
He saved himself from stopping in his tracks, but just barely. The contents of the room would be obvious. Books, dust, probably a small bed tucked off to the corner, and some personal little touches. Photographs, perhaps, or a slightly flawed tapestry bought cheaply at a witch's sale. He took delight in thinking of her bedroom for a few moments, but then realized what he was doing and reminded himself of the cold and the dark.
Hermione heard a sound and jerked her wand to look in the direction of the noise. It was nothing, but Snape's eyes fell upon her hand. Her bare hand. He immediately stopped and began looking around on the ground.
"What are you doing?" she asked irately, ready to settle by her fire with a cup of Earl Grey.
"Your ring, Miss Granger, is not on your hand. I assumed it had fallen off, so I thought I would aid in its recovery."
"Well, thoughtful as that is, Professor, it is not necessary."
"Oh, you put it away for safe-keeping?"
"No."
"Miss Granger, I find that I am quite baffled by you answers, which at best are ambiguous. Would it be impertinent of me to ask specifics?"
"Rather. Professor, I am in no mood to discuss breaking up with a man who has probably only suffered heartbreak once, and from his own stupidity. Why must men be so stupid, so insensitive, so tactless!" she yelled, breaking into digressions in the middle of telling him off. "I did absolutely nothing to him, you know! And what did he do? Broke it off, without so much as a warning. I am left completely alone before the whole wizarding world while he goes to chase tail, or whatever it is people call whore-mongering these days."
Snape was stunned, but said nothing. Listening was too fascinating for interruption.
"Did you know they actually wrote a column about our engagement in the Daily Prophet? Yes, about two hundred words on Harry Potter's best friends tying the knot! And now I shall be utterly humiliated across the social pages. I can see the pictures now, Ron at all those parties he attends since he became famous, with some prettier, dumber thing hanging on his arm. How could I honestly be so stupid? He's nearly twenty now, but we're too young. Far too young for marriage, wouldn't you say? I've always known I was more mature than him, but I never expected it to manifest… like this." She had gotten quieter as she ranted on, sitting down. "I just wish I knew what was going on out there. Being in this school is like going to prison, but better food. The only way I get information is from other people, and I don't like it. Why did he have to break it off?"
A greatly subdued Hermione began to cry. Then she began to sob. Finally, she howled and bawled, leaving Severus to stand
"I'm sorry," he said. She gasped and looked up to find him kneeling in front of her, his hands over her own. "I really do understand."
She looked into those horribly black eyes and found something she had not expected: warmth. He had always been cold, acrimonious, and sharp with her, but here he was, kneeling before her, asking forgiveness, and telling her he understood her pain. Not only that, but he meant it. She looked into his eyes and found true pain both reflected and originating in them.
"Thank you." She stood and turned to her desk. "Let's get to work."
The pair worked until it was time for Severus to leave. He left the girl's room, then was joined by the ever-silent Clarence, and walked to his own quarters thinking of what he had learned, not only about wands, but also about Hermione Granger. His store of information was growing. There was both relief and pain in this information.
Severus Snape had always been manipulative. He would not have survived all those years with Voldemort had he not been able to pull strings and create events. Now he was manipulating the Granger girl, but this was different. He was getting involved. Rule number one in the double-crosser's guidebook, if such a thing were to exist, would be never to get involved. If he had sympathized with Lord Voldemort, would he have been able to mercilessly arrange for his death? Had he opened up to Dumbledore completely, would he have been able to carry out the necessary murder?
No, he should not have let the girl know about his pain, the undying love that burned in his heart beneath the layers of pain and apathy, the love that motivated any act of good that he had ever carried out. Blast! He never should have let anyone know about Lily. Now Lucius, Potter, Granger, possibly the Weasley boy, and all of those people from his class at Hogwarts knew. How long before a novel was written? When would the story appear on the cover of some rubbish magazine? Would it be such a long time before the entire world knew Severus Snape's greatest weakness?
This fraternization would have to stop, immediately.