Far Out of Reach
"Do you think he's dead?" Hermione asked two days later as she studied in her library hideout, except what she was doing could only be called 'studying' in the loosest of terms.
She had woken up Friday morning feeling exhausted from a night of tossing and turning within nightmares. Her headache only increased when her eyes fell on Snape's black mask she had tossed on her desk before flopping into bed the night before.
The mask stared up at the ceiling, its face so empty of expression but so full of meaning. It represented the shadows of war and the struggles hidden within, the danger of every step taken, and the unknown. There were so many things she – they – didn't know.
And because of not knowing what happened to Snape, she had brooded through classes, watching Dumbledore discreetly during meals and, for the sake of Ron and Harry, covering her agitation by pretending to be angry from a lost point on homework. It didn't help that the two boys had spent the first hour of their cancelled Potions class in the corner of the Gryffindor common room plotting the downfall of Voldemort, which would probably cause the downfall of the entire world if they followed through with many of their ideas.
"D'you reckon we can shove You-Know-Who into the Veil?" Ron suggested warily, eying Harry for any sign of backlash.
Instead of answering immediately, Harry furrowed his brow and stared ahead at nothing in particular.
"That… might work," he said quietly.
"It's better than feeding him to a dragon," Ron grinned, relieved at Harry's calm reaction. "We wouldn't wanna to give Norbert indigestion."
"Where are you going to find the Veil?" Hermione asked feeling dread and attempting to put hurdles in front of any more discussion of the idea. Just earlier, she had pointed out the operational unfeasibility of putting all Death Eaters and supporters under the Imperius. "I doubt it's in the same spot or if we could reach it a second time. Don't you think the Ministry would have added more precautions?"
"Nah, we know what the layout is. There's no way they can change all that. The problem is getting You-Know-Who next to it."
"Of course they would have changed the entrance security and layout with magic," she insisted. "Only Unspeakables are supposed to know what's in the Department of Mysteries. I'm surprised they let us leave without wiping our memories."
"If we can get someone inside the Ministry…" Ron went on.
"Do you think anyone is going to help us break in again?" She asked with exaggerated doubt in her voice.
"If we can find someone in the Order on our side," Harry added, deep in thought. "We'll find a way to get in."
"Harry, we're all on the same side," Hermione reminded him sternly. "We would end up splitting up the Order, and that would only make us vulnerable."
"They're the Order. They should be able to deal with one or two people. It's not like we're asking them to defect," Harry dismissed. "We'll find someone. Remus or Tonks. Ron, what about Bill? Anyway, first keep an eye out for Remus. He comes at least once a week."
As they conversation shifted to topics less conspiratorial, she sighed in relief. They were moving at a snail's pace but moving forward nonetheless. She felt a twinge of guilt at sneaking behind their backs. It was exactly like she had said earlier; working in different directions would split the trio and make each of them vulnerable. However, the past years had shown her the dangers of acting recklessly and it would be better to place subtle obstacles in their paths to head off any hair brained ideas.
Night had passed without a word from the Headmaster. Merely a meaningful glance and a quick shake of his head sent her way during dinner with no comprehensible meaning at all, and Madam Pomfrey's late entry to the Great Hall. Was this their idea of 'informing' her?
She had tried to visit the Hospital Wing, but it had been strangely empty. Wasn't it against a Healer's oath or Hogwarts rule to leave the infirmary unattended? Hermione swore it was mentioned somewhere in Hogwarts: A History.
The next morning, she had visited again only to be turned away immediately by Madam Pomfrey and a "we will let you know". She realized how ridiculous she must look, standing frozen in front of the closed infirmary door for minutes.
Now she was slumped over her books, accompanied by Evander reading quietly in his armchair, and doing a poor job of studying. She propped her head up on her chin and peered at him. Did he even have real books in there to read? If so, he must surely have finished everything over the centuries.
"Isn't there a portrait in the Hospital Wing that you can spy from?" She asked suddenly.
He looked over his book with an irritated glower.
"Do not interrupt me while I am reading," he reprimanded her in a sharp whisper, "It's rude." He resumed reading.
"Well someone's in a sour mood today," she commented with raised eyebrows.
"That's because you are invading my space."
She snorted.
"Your space? Your space ends at that frame."
"I laid claim to this area centuries ago," he told her with a haughty sniff, "and you, girl, are trespassing."
"Goodness. You've turned into Malfoy," she laughed.
"Now you have moved on to insults. Children these days," he criticized, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "No manners at all. You would think they haven't been taught etiquette!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "So why are in such a bad mood?"
"You," he said shortly.
"Me?" She said with mock surprise. "I've been nothing but charming."
"Yes, you," He glared at her. "You've been mumbling about arms and hospital wings all morning. I haven't managed to read anything with you disturbing the peace."
"Really?" She eyed him curiously. There must be more to this than his usual mood swings today. "This can't be the first time I've mumbled, but it's never bothered you before."
He sent her another glare. "If you must know, it's Severus. I'm pondering the same thing you are," he scowled at no one in particular. "You asked whether there are paintings in the Hospital Wing. Well, there is one, but I can't see a thing from it," he stood up from his armchair, cursed, and began pacing. "It is on the opposite side of anything important which occurs in there. Nothing! It can be moved around the room, but I can't since I am inside the painting."
Hermione knew Evander's behavior swung between young and mature quite often, but she had never seen him so petulant. One would think he had multiple personality disorder with how he acted. She usually thought it a form of amusement when taking a short break during her study sessions, but there was an overly childlike quality to him this morning. Where was the man with whom she had debated Arithmancy just days ago?
"Why does it matter?" She gave him a puzzled look. "I thought you don't talk to anyone."
"I did once. Severus was the last person I befriended before you, and he is the reason I haven't made another effort to do so," he said and slowed his pacing. "He was brilliant and eager. I looked forward to each one of his visits like I do with yours. But over the years, I watch him transform. Scars on top of scars. Towards the end of his time at Hogwarts, he was still eager but for the Dark Arts."
"I couldn't stop him. He shared with me many things but wouldn't listen to anything I said. I tried to pull him back, but he has always been stubborn," he growled through a clenched jaw, his voice growing louder as he grew angrier. "It was the first time I felt so useless. Someone I cared for was ruining himself right in front of me, and I couldn't do anything because I am a painting… a painting! And how could I, a painting, feel such hopelessness?"
He paused and dropped his voice back to a whisper. The anger slowly changed into resentment, and Hermione felt like reaching past the paint to hold his hand to relieve some of his pain. She began to see the difficulties of being stuck in the world but not fully within, only able to observe. She realized this was exactly how she was beginning to feel with everything around her. The Order, the Headmaster, Ron and Harry – especially Harry. Was there nothing she could do?
"I haven't spoken to Severus since then, and I haven't spoken to Dumbledore either since then. I blamed him. I still blame him. Him and his favorites, those vulgar Gryffindor pests," he spit out. "Remember this always, girl. Purebloods and Dark Lords are not the only bigots in this world."
He picked up the book that had fallen to the floor when he had stood and sat back down with a sharp glance at Hermione. "That is why I haven't bothered myself with another student. I didn't wish to care for another only to see them fall."
She frowned, "Then why me?"
"I've watched you very closely, girl. You touch the darkness year after year but haven't been tempted once," he explained quietly. "I don't believe you will fall." He had watched her, stalked her even, after she snuck into the Restricted Section in her second year. At first, it was merely curiosity and too much free time, but that curiosity had grown and swelled until he couldn't stop himself from calling out to her. He had played it safe but had been relieved and surprised that his first act of courage in twenty years was going so well. "He soaked in darkness, but you seem to repel it."
Hermione leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling.
"I think I understand, or at least I'm starting to. It's happening with Harry. What did you say to Professor Snape when you tried to stop him?"
"I laid out the consequences, of course, and told him about my past experiences with such unsavory characters. That didn't touch him, so I shared tale after tale of the evil who have passed through the ages. Grindelwald and your Dark Lord are not the first and will not be the last. I thought that showing him the fates of those who serve them would be enough, but one only sees what they want and what they have convinced themselves of. Remember that as well."
After several minutes of deep silence, she returned to her books with more on her mind than before. What Evander just said had given her a vague idea of what was in front of Harry if he continued down his current path. It was time to hit the history books, she thought with bitter amusement. Maybe she could slip ugly history in her attempts to dissuade the two boys.
"No Harry, that won't work! Dark Lord Number Fifty-two ate the dragon for afternoon tea instead of being eaten." Or "Ron, that's not safe at all! Did you know that once upon a time, Resistance X tried to blow up the Drunk Knights of Evil Farmlands? That's where the atrocious name Hogsmeade came from. They bungled the spelling a bit, but the point is it also flattened the village that used to be there. You don't want to lose the recipe for butterbeer, do you?"
Her sudden snicker shattered the somber mood. "But really, that's twenty years isn't it? Twenty years is a ridiculously long time to hold a grudge."
That grabbed his attention.
"Don't you think you're being a bit petty?" She commented. "And rather cliché."
Evander's jaw dropped at the innocent curiosity she planted on her face. A moment later, he huffed indignantly and marched out of the painting, his book tumbling back onto the carpet with a loud thud.
As agreed, Poppy and Albus joined Severus in the private infirmary room after breakfast. It seemed two of the three suffered a difficult night while the third turned into sunshine and rainbows.
"Albus, either share your miracle treatment or tone it down," Severus groaned. "You're radiating light and happiness all over the place, and it's killing my eyes."
The Headmaster smiled happily and replied, "A furry nightcap and a lullaby can do much good for the body and even more for the mind."
"Ugh, Poppy, can't you fix his insanity?" He groaned and dropped his head into his hand. "This is why I try to skip breakfast as often as possible."
"I don't see why you're tired," the matron said crossly. "You only jiggled your body and barked out orders while we did everything for you."
"Jiggled?" He said looking horrified and insulted. "I didn't jiggle. Jiggling is what happens when Albus dances. I, on the other hand, jolted precise points of my body to test their reactions to stimulus, which requires tremendous muscle control. And I didn't merely 'bark out orders'. I instantly formulated effective experimental sequences under rapidly changing conditions, which requires tremendous mental control. I barely had either last night because, if you didn't notice, I had just survived two disastrous apparation attempts immediately after waging war with a crowd of insane men," He growled and glared. "My body hurt."
"You sound as if you're writing the cover letter for a job application," she teased.
"Now, now," Albus admonished cheerfully, "We would not want to exhaust ourselves before we begin the day. Friends must support each other through difficult times."
He was immediately on the receiving end of two murderous glares from two pairs of sleep deprived eyes. The Headmaster took no notice of the angry attention and sat sunnily in his cozy armchair, happily stroking his beard and sucking on a lemon drop.
"Oh, I must apologize! No wonder you two are upset. I have yet to offer lemon drops or tea!" He said apologetically and reached into the folds of his violet robes to pull out a handful of bright yellow candy. "Here, children, take these. I insist. These are as crucial to what you call my miracle treatment as sleep!"
Once Severus's notes from the night before were spread out chaotically across the enlarged desk, he used his customary red quill with an automatic movement charm to begin viciously marking his own work. Albus and Poppy were sitting on opposite sides reading through them as well, adding commentary in the margins with violet and green quills. They worked in an efficient system of each adding comments on topics within their expertise and then passing on their completed page counter-clockwise. Poppy examined medicinal aspects, Severus dissected the Dark Mark and potions, and Albus reviewed a mix of both and everything else. Every once in a while, one would toss out a question to the other two for their opinions or explanations to incorporate into their own thoughts.
Three full rotations later, they slowed to a halt, Severus looking hatefully at the organized stacks of parchment which had originally been parchment strewn every which way.
"Severus," Poppy grumbled and gestured at the table with her hand, "Couldn't you have made this more… organized?"
He sneered and answered with dripping sarcasm, "I sincerely apologize. How remiss of me to overlook a table of contents. It would only have disrupted the flow of observations crucial to the progression of the experiment."
But he had to agree. The notes had been a mess of every thought and idea which hit him last night; it was half an hour of randomness on paper and ink. Even after connecting the dots and rewriting them on fresh parchment, Albus and Poppy had difficulty comprehending the words. Having criticized his students for dreadful essays for over a decade, Severus was mortified to have written such an appalling thing.
"We will begin at the Mark's activation which occurred around half nine. As we saw, the color did not reach the usual jet black. As it flared, I felt a twinge immediately above the scar line past the shoulder. We also noticed the Mark shifting slightly through the call. While I felt nothing within the deadened area, I felt a weak force trying to climb its way past my arm and into the rest of my body. It was like webbing or roots where the power spreads but grows sparse as we move farther away from the focus. I had previously thought the Mark only caused pain to the flesh directly underneath."
"The pain itself was much more muted, but my body clearly recognizes the Dark Lord's call. I believe the curse anchors itself to blood vessels or nerves, or both. But if so, something within the flesh is weakening the curse Mark from spreading through the entire body. Most such curses, take the Cruciatus for example, encompass the entire body. I felt nothing in my feet."
"Then what was your reasoning for vanishing the bones?" Albus asked, recalling it to be the first task he had been commanded to perform.
"Partly to test the effect of the Mark on flesh itself, partly to test healing capabilities, and partly to try to feel a non-curse form of pain in the area. Skele-gro. I also needed to differentiate between the pain from our actions and the pain from my injuries," Severus said while pinching the flesh of his left palm and looked closely at the fingers with newly regrown bones. "Did you notice my notes mentioning the multiple twitches in my left hand during bone regrowth? We need to test the cause since Skele-gro fills the area of the missing bone from inside out even when the process is accelerated. It should have inflated the fingers rather than cause them to shudder. We may be able to build something on that."
A strange glint flashed in his eyes, part curious and part confused. Then he seemed to realize what was bothering him and turned casually to the matron.
"Poppy," he said innocently as if he was discussing the weather, "I believe the slice to my side may have split open again; some of the idiots knew vicious curses but couldn't perform them half right. Will you fix it?" It was best to appear unaffected or he might trigger her anger and endure another hour of scolding.
"'May have split open'?" Poppy repeated incredulously and rushed over. "Move aside, Albus."
Severus allowed her to lift his shirt to examine the tender skin on his right side which had indeed ripped open some time during their study session. She exclaimed at the blood dripping down the skin and quickly set to work, cleaning the injury and knitting the skin back together with weaving motions of her wand.
"Idiot boy, I don't know how you didn't feel it," she muttered disapprovingly. "Stop Occluding the pain or you won't be able to tell if you hurt yourself like this. This cut is deep enough to have prevented you from flexing your entire side and stomach," she pointed out and poked his side. "Can you feel this? Someday, you won't notice your entrails fall out."
"Speaking of pain," Severus ignored her and said, "After applying the Awakening Potion and Invigoration Draught on the right hand with which we emulated the deadened arm, I felt a trace of Skele-gro pain. The Numbing Potion acts to create a nerve block; fifteen seconds of concentrated contact to the solution combined with the Calming Draught slows movement for a short while. Something in the Awakening and Invigoration is reversing the effect. I wanted to repeat the test, but any more would have caused permanent damage. However, it's not essential since we already have a target."
"Permanent damage!" Poppy exclaimed angrily. "You didn't mention that in your notes. That is going too far!"
He shot her a smirk. It was always amusing to see her motherly temper even when directed at him, as long as she didn't become truly furious. Then he would need to run, which wasn't possible in his current state.
"That's why I didn't use all my fingers. I'm not stupid enough to risk losing all mobility," he stopped himself from mentioning his uncertainty of how the billywig would react with the lovage; there had been a fifty-fifty chance of shredding through both the nerve block and nerves.
She would no doubt breathe fire if she found out.
The Headmaster nodded his approval of Severus's methods despite knowing the risks. He was impressed by the man's knowledge of potions and his ability to instinctively sense the necessary actions following new observations. That was a talent rarely found in the world, even among experts within any field. A true Potions Master indeed.
"The Awakening and Invigoration negated some of the effects of the Numbing and Calming on the right hand," Severus went on, "That's why I had you pour it on the Mark, as well. It didn't return feeling to my arm, but above the scar line I could feel the Mark reduce its struggling, which is odd since I expected its force to increase. The flesh is reacting even if I couldn't feel it."
"It reminds me of a rebellious child who calms when you stop trying to control him," The comment was greeted with silence. "I never expected the Dark Lord to be juvenile." He had thought him an overly vengeful monster but had never thought of the Dark Lord as a boy. Of course he had been a child at one point in time. But while most grew out of those immature characteristics or tossed them out for the sake becoming normal adults, he must have retained much in his arrogance. He was the Dark Lord after all; with the power of a king, he could act however he wanted. Fool.
"However juvenile he may be, You-Know-Who is still the greatest threat to the wizarding world, and he is the one controlling you and many other powerful wizards," Poppy admonished, her words mirroring his thoughts, though lacking the amusement. "Is this really the time to be making jokes?" She sniffed, pulling a stack of parchment towards her and flipped through them, looking for a particular page. "If you wish to develop a treatment, do so immediately. I do not intend to wait on you hand and foot for much longer, but while you are injured I require you to stay in the Hospital Wing."
"No, I need my lab," he objected and swept his eyes around the room with a sneer. "I can't brew in here. Just send a house elf to my quarters."
"Absolutely not. You would just bully the poor thing into submission; you can floo to your lab from here, but I will check in on you every two hours so don't even think about doing anything reckless. You will take proper meals and sleep in this room," Her eyes lit up and glinted smugly. "I'm also setting a curfew at ten."
"What! Curfew?" He exclaimed. "I haven't had curfew since I was a student. Just because I am injured does not mean I will be treated as a child."
"You have the restraint of a child," she pointed out with disapproval. "I know for a fact that you will work yourself to death. It is my job to heal you, and I will do so properly."
"Then make it two," he groaned inwardly. He had always been terrible at haggling. That was why he was such an expert at slipping out of any tight situation. The necessity of finding loopholes had honed his Slytherin skills better than anyone else.
"That's ridiculous. What's the point of curfew if it's set so late? Half past ten."
"Half past ten? That's when snot-nosed children sleep," He gave her a withering look. "Twelve forty-nine."
Poppy snorted.
"Eleven. I'm not allowing you out any later than that," she said with finality. "You may have forgotten, but you are supposed to be healing."
"Fifteen after twelve…" Shit, he knew by the tone of her voice that he had lost. He could negotiate science and argue strategy on any day, successfully, so why couldn't he haggle such simple terms?
"Very well," he growled reluctantly. Well, she had said nothing about waking early.
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as if she suspected foul play, but a little girl's sobbing voice calling out her name gave her no time to look deeper. She shot him a frustrated don't-you-dare-do-anything-wrong glare and rushed out to console the girl.
When he was sure she had left Severus sighed, knowing he had passed this round of inquisition. She knew him well enough to see through several of his masks, but he never knew which, making her more dangerous than most.
He finally turned to Albus.
"May I ask you to retrieve my robes over there?" He said quietly, suddenly serious. "I need to give you the cause of this predicament."
He took them from Albus and reached elbow-deep into the robes. He dug around for half a minute until giving up with a frustrated growl he could only half stifle.
"Albus, can you accio wooden box?" He asked sharply. Being too weak to access his magic was getting on his nerves. "I know it's in here somewhere, but the cloth has been shredded so much that it's fallen into a crevice. I enlarged the pocket and enveloped it in a shield, but the assault deformed it."
As the Headmaster waved his wand, the Severus hid his longing for the faint rush of magic filling the air. He vowed to someday find a solution to magically restore magic without risk of losing all of it; Poppy had chewed him out for fixing his own back the night before.
A brown rectangular box the size of his palm flew out of the tattered robes into the Headmaster's hand. It was beaten and dented but held intact with powerful shields.
"No, don't open it yet," Severus cautioned. "Do you remember that cloaking shield I created years ago to hide spells? I reworked it last summer. What do you detect?"
"A burning jinx and an exploding curse," he listed while studying the box intently. "An Entrail-Expelling Curse, and a sense that something has been muffled. Ah, portkey activated by grasp of ill-intent which, Severus, happens to be illegal," he frowned his disapproval. "What else could…"
"Look closer," Severus pressed, eyes glittering triumph.
Albus closed his eyes and grasped the box tighter but felt nothing more than what he had previously discovered. The man had pointed out his cloaking spell which he would have discovered easily without the warning. Did he mean a double layer cloaking? He carefully teased his senses beneath the wards, looking for the layer of cloaking magic and felt it, but something was odd about it. As Severus had said, he had reworked it and restructured the composition; it was woven tighter than before and shifted almost unnoticeably…
"This is…" Albus whispered, "I have never before seen such a design."
"I am certain you understand why I haven't shown this to anyone," Severus said quietly, "Can you imagine the danger?"
"Yes," The word was muttered absently as Albus continued to test the barriers. "How did you do this? I would have taken months had it even occurred to me to create such a thing."
"The cloaking would have worked for most, but there are those powerful enough to feel the cloak and look deeper as you have. But even you didn't dig deeper. What can be sensed can be broken in the end regardless of how powerful and complex it is if one had the skill and patience."
He had Albus to remove the wards above the cloaking shield and smiled darkly.
"While that has been effective for ages in the past, I realized that if I was able to do so, there would certainly be others. Therefore I devised this shield to seem like a simple cloak, but in actuality, it is infused with another layer of magic," Severus elaborated. "Certain portions of the original cloaking spell are still there and can be sensed, but there are almost invisible threads woven within to fill the holes. Those can be any spell, curse, or ward you wish, but the crucial part is underneath. The holes create a layer of magical residue which leaves an almost invisible layer of magical particles on the object and acts as another buffer – 'almost' meaning nearly undetectable. It is stronger and more dangerous and more effective than the main layer because it sticks, and they are too small to sense unless you are looking for it, like dust in carpet."
"The idea came from magical residue which causes explosive reactions to potions instruments and ingredients."
"Amazing spellwork," Albus muttered, still working through what he had seen.
"I confess, it took me half a year to develop this," Severus said, embarrassed. "Sizing the particles took the most time since you can't shrink magic itself."
"I agree. This cannot be revealed," the Headmaster said quietly. "If the Dark Arts were infused with this, we would lose any advantage."
"You cannot tell the rest of the order either. Not many are capable of Occlumency," Severus added. "The spell also takes an Occlumens to cast it. Others do not have the mental control."
"How do you remove it?"
"By layering on another cloaking spell infused with the summoning spell and pealing it off carefully. The first residue layer will mesh with the accio's residue which has a stronger pull."
Albus did as told and looked in awe at the unwarded box. Severus had seen him so captivated only twice before and was flattered at the reaction, but it was time to move forward.
"Albus, we need to discuss the contents, which are infinitely more important than the magic. We can work through it after analyzing the files," he examined the room and said, "This room is adequate. You will need to restore its size. It is quite a large collection."
It was enormous and filled the entire space.
"We'll have to go through the contents slowly," Severus said as he considered the dreaded task ahead. "I need a list of his colleagues' names as soon as possible. It will take time identify their expertise and follow their recent activities. We need to find who has allied themselves with the Dark Lord and deduce what he has them working on, but I will first need to regain use of my arm," Severus grumbled.
"Ah yes, Poppy mentioned something about you missing an arm," the Headmaster said pleasantly.
Severus rolled his eyes. "Albus."
"You are incapable of conducting research alone."
"That's what you are here for," the Potions Master pointed out.
"I cannot accompany you through this. You must find someone else," Albus said regretfully, though Severus was sure it was faked. "However, I believe you have a capable assistant."
Severus groaned.
"She has been concerned about your wellbeing, and there is no one else trustworthy enough who also knows what you do."
"Why does it always come down to her?" He protested in frustration. He quickly ran through a mental list of everyone he knew and realized it was a rather depressing list. If he eliminated his past and current students, excluding Order members, half of it was made up of Death Eaters. In the other half, Albus and Poppy, Kinsley, Bill Weasley and… and… Shit, they were the only ones skilled enough in potions to be of any use, and none of them were available.
"Very well, I will use her," he said flatly.
"Wonderful!" Albus clapped his hands together. "I assume you wish to start immediately."
Hermione had just returned to the library from lunch with a much improved attitude and ready to study when a house elf had cracked onto the desk in front of her, on top of her books, almost toppling over her bottle of ink. Unaffected by the mess, he squeaked out the summon from Snape and left as loudly as he had appeared.
A second later, she scrambled to collect her books and rushed off to the Hospital Wing where Madam Pomfrey shoved her in the floo with a "Severus Snape's Front Room". She tumbled onto her knees in a fit of coughs and briefly wondered when she would get the hang of flooing. But that was forgotten when she realized she was in Snape's quarters, on Snape's floor, and in Snape's presence. She couldn't have made a worse impression of herself. She quickly picked herself off the floor and looked around while hastily dusting of, which caused another fit of coughs.
The space she had stepped into was a dark dreary room with cold stone walls and several weak candles offering dim, flickering lighting. There was threadbare armchair, several stiff wooden chairs, and a stained wooden table in front of the fireplace. An empty chipped cup sat on the surface, looking as if it hadn't seen better days in years. She was surprised by two half-empty bookshelves placed against a back corner of the room; the lack of books didn't seem to fit who she thought was a well-read man. All in all, it was a depressing place which even incited depression. No wonder Snape was in a bad mood all the time.
It was also devoid of Snape.
She sighed in relief and straightened her robes with her dignity still intact.
She assumed he was expecting her arrival since she had been 'summoned', but she was unwilling to test his nonexistent hospitality by touching anything without his permission. Across the room, there was a door barely ajar with dim light peeking out of the cracks. He was most definitely in that direction, but with the combination of good manners her dear mother had drilled into her and the unknown variable that was Snape, she decided entering without invitation went against her survival instinct.
So she waited. Recently, she seemed to be falling into the habit of waiting for the Potions Master, and it was getting rather repetitive. Was he doing this on purpose to get back at her for intruding on his life? That would be rather petty of him. It also seemed she was falling into the habit of surrounding herself with petty people.
Oh well, she had waited long enough.
She gathered her shields to fend off the insults which were sure to be thrown her way, and took quiet steps to the door. It was a battered door with a rusting handle. Why was everything in this room battered? Couldn't he just fix everything with his wand, or did he not care?
She was only steps away when a loud crack to her right caused her to jump.
The same house elf from earlier, who she now noticed was battered as well, glared at her and pointed sharply at the door. With a nod, he cracked out again. What a pleasant personality, exactly a mirror to Snape's, she smiled to herself.
The moment Hermione stepped into the lab, she noticed Snape sitting on a stool studying a stack of parchment. Her eyes immediately swept down his body, and she sighed in relief as she counted two arms instead of one. The image of his ashen face and shredded chest, as well as the severed and very bloody arm suddenly appeared on the ground in front of her, sending a jolt through her hand which had touched and healed that corpse. Then the illusion blinked out.
"Professor?" She grimaced at how weak her voice sounded. "Are you alright, sir?"
He looked up and eyed her thoughtfully before nodding sharply, exactly as the house elf had done earlier, before turning and walking to the tall cabinet she knew to hold dry ingredients. She followed curiously, wondering why she had been called and what her first task would be. Perhaps a Cough-Cure Concoction?
But he didn't open the door. Instead, he reached above the cabinet and placed his hand flat on the top surface, a surface she would only be able to reach by standing on a stool, and almost inaudibly mumbled a string of unintelligible words. She edged closer to make sense of the words, but it sounded to her like string of gibberish meshed together. As soon as he stopped speaking, three door handles spaced one foot apart materialized on the wall to their left. They were as different from each other as door handles could be. One was a short, horizontal bar in rough iron, the second was a round wooden knob with flowery carvings, and the third was a smooth, golden, flat and thin piece stretching five feet vertically.
He suddenly turned to her and asked quietly, "Which would you choose?"
Her eyes opened wide at the unexpected question. He had never spoken to her without issuing a command or spitting out an insult, and certainly not in such a subdued tone; the words were conversational and free of derision, just a simple question asking for a simple answer. But of course it was never simple with Snape.
She took a deep breath and studied the three for a moment, wondering what the criteria were, and more importantly, what the consequences of choosing the wrong handle were. She tried to imagine which he would choose and which he wouldn't choose. This was a situation where Ron's instinct for strategy would be helpful. Where she could have guessed which ones her two best friends would choose, she couldn't with Snape because she simply didn't know how his mind worked. There was no trail of logic to follow.
The only thing she could do was to take the plunge.
Turning her face to meet Snape's blank one, she answered with a cringe, "I don't think I should be the one to choose."
That earned her another thoughtful glance. "In actuality, there are four handles," his said as his hand reached one foot past the right most handle to grasp something and tug. A rectangular section of the wall shimmered, and a door materialized behind the handles. "But never tie yourself to one answer."
She followed him through a dark hall and down a flight of stairs, passing three paintings before stopping at a fourth. There was nothing special about it other than its blankness, but that in itself made it special. Paintings in Hogwarts were never blank. Empty, yes, but blank? Never. She wondered enthusiastically about where it would lead and what kind of protection this one would have.
But he merely hooked a hand behind the edge of one side and pulled it open. No password. No handles. No flash of light or explosions or even a creak. It just opened.
Her brow lifted. She was more surprised by this anticlimactic non-reaction than by the elaborate protection previously. Her mind had been on a high from the excitement of the other entrance and anticipation for the next, but it came to a sudden halt at this.
Her eyes traced the edges of the painting, looking for something to show it wasn't so… boring. But it was just a plain, white canvas with no magic infused. Perhaps this was exactly the reaction he was looking for from anyone breaking in. If they somehow passed the entrance, they would expect something just as elaborate and never think to open it like a normal door. She could practically feel Snape's amusement at her disappointment.
And he was indeed amused; Albus had had the same reaction, although very well hidden. And Minerva, he thought fondly. She, who was almost always annoyingly composed, had exclaimed out loud at the main entrance and then huffed and puffed at this boringness as if it had personally insulted her. The memory still brought him amusement, even a decade after the incident. Comparatively, Granger's control of her emotions was to be applauded, and this girl was only sixteen, or was it seventeen? Only her open facial expressions needed some work but the reaction itself was well controlled. Interesting.
They stepped through – or in Hermione's case clambered through – into a brightly lit, pristine potions laboratory.
Pristine.
Hermione gawked at the smooth counter surfaces, the cauldrons lined neatly against the wall, instruments of all uses placed in cabinets with glass doors, the bookcases filled with books which she could tell were on everything anyone would want to know about potions. And was this room temperature controlled? She began to fantasize about what the storeroom would look like. It must be beautiful inside, she thought dreamily. She was surely ruined for any other potions laboratory in the world.
"Don't tell me you truly thought that decrepit laboratory upstairs is where I conduct my research," he said blandly.
"Um…" she muttered with a sheepish glance at him before quickly dropping her eyes. Now that she thought carefully, it was blaringly obvious. How had she forgotten that he was a Potions Master? She had searched for and gushed over his research like Lavender did each month over Witch Weekly's Top Ten Hunkiest Wizards.
Hermione glanced at him again, apologetically this time, but he didn't seem offended.
"You are not to tell anyone of what you see today," he said.
She agreed enthusiastically, "Of course, sir." Nothing could distract her from her appreciation of the lab, not even his strange lack of malice. Oh my, were those temperature controlled vials? And was that book a study on Avicenna's theory of substance transmutation?
"Miss Granger, pay attention!" Snape's voice sliced through her daze. "You are here to assist me in researching a problem which has arisen recently."
Her attention immediately focused on his words, alert and curious.
"I am certain you recall, my arm was splinched," he said the word with a grimace but slipped smoothly into his lecture, "during apparation. What I performed is called instinctive apparation, which rarely occurs but the danger…"
It was fascinating.
Immediately after seeing it performed for the first time, Hermione had studied every book she could find on apparation because it was teleportation. How often had she fantasized about teleportation before knowing magic? She had been so excited when discovering that it was possible, possibly more excited than when she had found out she was a witch. Waving your wand and brewing potions was incredible as well, but with apparation you disappeared from one space to another. She had easily grasped the theory behind other forms of magic, but she had never been able to understand the logic in apparation.
And now instinctive apparation. In all the texts, it had always been speculation and a passing thought.
"Professor," she interrupted his monologue with a raised hand.
He stopped speaking and glared at her face, and then his eyes trailed up her arm to her hand and looked at it with disgust. "Yes, Miss Granger?" He bit out.
"I have read about apparation," Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course you have, "but I haven't seen the term 'instinctive apparation' used anywhere in the references. Two or three of the texts mentioned something similar but it was more of a speculation. Is it a recently discovered form of apparation, sir?"
He stifled a groan. He dreaded the barrage of questions that were about to be thrown his way, and nothing he did could stop it. Granger was relentless when it came to learning and would utilize every resource available to her. Including him.
Oh well, he needed her to understand the topic, and if that happened through questions, he might as well answer. He sneered and replied, "The rarity of such incidents and the low survival rates allow for next to no opportunities for research. Even St. Mungos has only faced such a case once around seventy years ago, but the witch never recovered from the trauma and amnesia. It only received an official term recently due to the increased practice of Occlumency which increased the occurance of instinctive apparation. However, out of the few incidents, only three have survived the apparation. One lost his eyes, the second lost a leg, and the third came close to retrieving his missing lung but died in the attempt to reinsert it into his body."
Hermione shuddered at the gruesome details. "Why did the others not survive the apparation?"
"Their bodies were shredded in the process. The body parts were found between the space of departure and landing."
"Sir, does that mean apparation is a process of transportation through space rather than… um… disappearance and appearance?"
"There have been theories but no concrete answer."
"Could it be due to a difference between how normal apparation and instinctive…"
"Enough!" Snape snarled. His patience had been fading with each question, and there hadn't been much of it to begin with. "We will be studying an incident of such. If you wish to have a part in this, be quiet!"
"Yes, sir," she answered. Now Hermione was fascinated by a second subject: Snape. As always, he was unpleasant. No, that was an understatement. He was a bastard who made everyone's life hell. It was an undisputable fact. But today, he had spoken to her without insult and answered her questions. His temper was still the same, but instead of belittling her, he had almost talked to her like a professor would to a student. A callous professor, but not the devil that stormed into the classroom each day and hurled nasty words at everyone.
When Snape resumed speaking, his lecture was delivered in a more forceful and irritated manner. His shadowed face showed how much he loathed her presence, and his typically smooth voice had taken a abrasive quality which grated on her nerves. The man had returned to his devil self so suddenly it caught her off guard, but she firmly reminded herself that this was an incredible opportunity to learn from a Potions Master, an opportunity that most could only dream of.
But goodness, he was being long-winded today.
He paused and cocked an eyebrow as if he knew exactly what was on her mind.
"Miss Granger," he purred, "Is there a problem?"
Erk. Hermione suddenly felt like she was trapped in a cage with a dangerous beast about to slaughter her for disturbing its slumber. "N-no, sir," She suspected her face clearly showed how uneasy she was about his possible reaction to her impatience.
He leaned forward, his expressionless face somehow predatory. "Is that so? I can see you are uninterested. There is no reason to waste any more of my time or yours. Shall I escort you to the door?" And even though he was several meters away, she began to feel like the walls were closing in on her.
She leaned back just as much and scrambled for words. "No, sir! There is no need! This is fascinating and… and… I would very much like to learn more."
"I see," he said, the dangerous aura slowly receded into a sneer, "Then we will continue." He launched back into his monologue again. This time, it felt as if his words dragged longer and the number of pauses doubled. He… he… he was doing this intentionally! The first time he had been congenial, the second time he was hostile, and now he was just being plain annoying. This whole act was to throw her off balance and laugh at her expense. Bastard! If he wanted her to storm off in anger, it wasn't going to happen.
"Let us begin."
Finally! Hermione cheered within.
"The object of this study is my arm. As you see, it has been reattached. However, I have lost all feeling in the limb below the splinch line due to deadened nerves. We are here to create a treatment to regain use of the limb," And after a barely noticeable moment of hesitation, he shrugged out of his robes and lifted his left arm onto the table.
As he pushed the sleeve up, he heard her take a sharp breath at the faded Dark Mark. He wondered what the reaction would be if she saw the Mark when active.
"This is another reason for repairing the arm. You know of my other occupation," he said with revulsion. "I cannot execute it with only one arm."
"Your task is to prepare ingredients in my stead," he said and handing her a long list of instructions. "Complete this."
She worked through the list diligently while Snape returned his attention to the stack of parchment, but this time writing something across a clean sheet. A neutral atmosphere formed between the two as both concentrated on their individual tasks, tuning the other out of their own worlds, and only the soft sounds of knife on wood and scratching quills filling the background.
It was quite some time later that Hermione regretfully interrupted the silence, "Professor, I have finished the preparation." Her back was covered in sweat, and her arms were sure to be sore the next day; she finally understood why Potions Masters, experts and educators often hired more than one assistant.
After scribbling to the end of a line, Snape slipped silently off his stool, his left arm flopping to his side, and stepped over to examine her work.
"Adequate," he said dismissively.
Hermione could feel herself about to form a scowl and immediately froze her facial muscles. His less hostile attitude had lowered her guards little by little but showing any weakness in front of Snape was dangerous and stupid; it only opened up holes for him to jab at.
Snape grabbed the entire stack of the parchment he had been studying and shoved it in front of her, only saying, "Read this," before immersing himself back into his world of calculations.
Hermione looked at the parchment in confusion; the words on the pages were spiky and messy and halfway to illegible. Were those a's, e's, o's, u's, or n's? She read through them by guesswork, filling in the blanks, or in this case illegible scribbles, with assumptions of words which might make sense. The result was a jumble of sentences in no particular order, like someone had cut sentences from a magazine and pasted them haphazardly on the page. Was this how his mind was organized? It didn't seem very… sane. Only her aptitude for Scrabble and experience in deciphering Neville's thought processes for potions allowed her to string gibberish into logical concepts. Snape would probably blow a fuse and boil her in a cauldron if he knew she had thought them similar.
He walked over to her just as she finished comparing her own notes to his. "Show me your notes," he demanded.
She had a vague idea that he was evaluating her competence and carefully watched his face, hoping to see any expression which gave away his thoughts, but he barely blinked as his eyes moved down the page. While in the past, only his teaching methods and treatment of Harry irritated her, but now his face, just as blank as the painting outside the room, seemed like the most frustrating thing she had ever faced. And it made her feel like an open book in comparison.
"Adequate," he said briskly.
She gaped. He may have accepted her practical skills in potions brewing, but he had never in the last five years given her positive or even a neutral comment for written work.
"Those were the basics," he said harshly as if to cover a slip. "Prepare four cauldrons. I will explain the process as they warm."
And with that, Hermione worked alongside Snape, doing her best to keep up with his rapid-fire instructions and asking questions which went unanswered. It was one of the most surreal experiences in her life. They worked through the afternoon with her hastily manning the cauldrons and him adjusting complicated formulas while occasionally adding ingredients of his own. Although she barely had a moment's rest from her first time handling four cauldrons simultaneously, she had never before learned so much about brewing and had never before felt so productive. It felt like she had completed four years' worth of advanced potions lessons in the span of four hours.
As soon as Hermione proudly bottled the last vial, the atmosphere changed. While the last several hours had not been comfortable, it had not been totally unpleasant either. Now, though, she suddenly felt nervous, like something critical was about to happen.
Snape grasped one of the many precisely labeled vials and lifted it to his face to eye the murky liquid expressionlessly. Tense seconds later, he set it down with a soft tap and turned to face her.
"Miss Granger," he spoke stonily, "It is now time to begin testing."
Are you nervous, Severus?
Sun, Feb 19, 2012