DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.
Chapter 49: Whom My Soul Loves
Severus, having warmed himself by the fire and washed the stink of Azkaban off of his body in a very hot shower, stood in the middle of his sitting room, his wand in hand. Every wall was lined with books, and the room was sparsely furnished, except for a low couch, a long table that sat in front of it, and a threadbare green and silver rug worked in intricate patterns. This last was a Prince family heirloom--the only one his mother had inherited.
The rug was spotless. The Elves had clearly been in while he was away, as he distinctly remembered having left several piles of parchment on the floor. These were now stacked neatly on the table and, of course, completely disarranged.
Normally he would have Floo'd the kitchens to complain, but he had other, much more pressing things to think about.
He raised his wand.
"Expecto Patronum."
In the warmth and quiet of his own rooms, it was easy enough to cast the Patronus. He half-expected to see the silver doe, in spite of whatever it was he'd seen in Azkaban. He'd been too shocked to be sure of what it was. All he knew was that it wasn't a doe.
He watched it emerge from his wand and soar into the air, twisting around gracefully to look at him.
He gestured with his wand and the animal came closer, hovering in front of him and staring at him with huge, soulful eyes.
A Patronus, in his opinion, should not have huge, soulful eyes. The doe had been unmanly enough. This was absurd. It did a somersault in mid air, wiggling its bushy tail at him as if daring him to complain that his protector had chosen to assume such a form.
He vanished it with one quick movement of his wand and then did the only reasonable thing that a man in his position could do.
He went to the library.
0 0 0
"Ginny," said Hermione uncertainly, "have you got a minute?"
Ginny, her hair still wet from a post-Quidditch shower, looked up from her Transfiguration text.
"Yes," she said immediately, closing the book as soon as she saw Hermione's face. "What's wrong? Still the… whatever it was?"
"I don't know," said Hermione miserably. "That's what I need to talk to you about."
Ginny sat up, her forehead furrowing. "Okay."
Sighing, Hermione closed the door behind her and threw herself onto Ginny's bed, burying her head in her arms.
"Something happened."
"That much was obvious, Hermione. What happened?"
"I--I don't know."
"Don't feel too bad about that. Not even Madame Pomfrey knew."
"That isn't what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know."
"That doesn't make any sense. You've got to know."
She sat up again, running her hands distractedly through her hair--which only served to tangle it even more badly than it already was--and chewed on her lower lip. "Well, yes, I know what happened, but I don't know what happened."
It appeared to take Ginny a moment to work this out.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well it's just that yesterday, I went to St. Mungo's with Neville, and then we were by the library, but then Professor Snape saw us kissing, only I didn't know he saw us, and he seemed really angry about it, and he was awfully--"
"Wait, wait, you kissed Neville?"
She felt her face growing hot. "He kissed me, actually."
Ginny looked interested. "How'd you feel about that?"
"I don't know. I… wasn't expecting it."
"So how was it?"
Hermione grabbed a pillow, fluffing it up compulsively. " It wasn't bad, I guess. I just wasn't really--I don't think of him that way, you know? But Professor Snape just assumed that I was--well, I don't know what he assumed. He was awful, though. He said I was sullying myself with Neville and that it was degrading and--"
"What?" Ginny looked bewildered. "Hermione, why would Professor Snape say anything like that?"
"I don't know, Ginny! That's the point!"
Ginny gave her a hard look. "Hermione, there's got to be something you aren't telling me. Why on earth should Professor Snape care who you snog?"
"He shouldn't."
"Exactly. So why does he?"
Hermione looked around the room. "Ginny, cast Homenum Revelio."
"What? Why?"
"Because I've got to tell you a secret."
Ginny cast the charm and then locked the door and, for good measure, cast Impervius and Muffliato as well.
"Might as well be thorough," she said, shrugging. "Now, what's this big secret?"
"It's not about Professor Snape. Well, not exactly."
Ginny crossed her arms and simply waited.
"It's--it's about the potion."
"Which potion?"
"Verus Ortus."
"You mean it's about who you slept with."
She felt her face growing hot, remembered again Draco's hot, moist breath on her face and the swipe of his tongue over her face. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to dispel the images. What had Harry said about Occlumency? Clear the mind. Be calm.
She took several deep breaths and, to her surprise, it seemed to work. The images receded to the back of her mind and she was able to redirect her thoughts.
"I didn't sleep with anyone," she said uncomfortably.
Something in Ginny's eyes flashed, although she kept her voice under control. "You aren't trying to tell me that you lied about not being a virgin, are you? Because that's a lot to put all of us through for something that wasn't even true."
"No, I'm not trying to tell you that. I said I wasn't a virgin. But I also didn't sleep with anyone."
"If you didn't—oh, Merlin. Hermione," Ginny looked stricken. "You weren't--I mean, you didn't get--"
Hermione nodded carefully, not sure how much of her newfound self-control she could retain if she spoke.
"When?" Ginny was aghast.
"Fifth year. After the Ministry."
"Merlin, Hermione. Why didn't you tell us? You at least told Dumbledore, didn't you? Tell me you told someone."
Hermione picked Arnold up from the edge of Ginny's bed and cradled him in one hand, moving her fingers through his soft hair. "I told Professor Snape."
"You told Snape," repeated Ginny flatly. "Of all the people you could tell, you told Snape?"
Hermione's nose began to tingle, and she knew that her face was getting red; tears weren't far behind. "Well I didn't really mean to, he caught me by surprise and it just sort of came out. I was so upset about my mum and dad, and--"
"Wait, when did you tell him?"
Feeling rather guilty, although she didn't know why, Hermione looked away.
"Christmas," she mumbled.
"Christmas."
"Yes."
"Nobody before this Christmas?"
"Well, no. It just never really seemed the right time."
"Hermione! You should at least have told McGonagall, even if you didn't tell Dumbledore. Or Madame Pomfrey. Merlin knows what could have happened to you--"
"Professor Snape made me see Madame Pomfrey," she protested, feeling defensive.
"Oh, brilliant," said Ginny sarcastically. "That makes it all okay then."
"And he--well, he did something about the person who did it."
Ginny ruffled her own hair messily with one hand in an unconscious and amusing imitation of Harry. Hermione managed a watery smile, though it didn't do much to make her feel less maudlin.
"I don't like to ask, Hermione, but was it... someone we know?"
She thought about Draco, thought all the way back to first year and to everything that had happened since. That's when her tenuous grip on her emotions failed.
"I j-just always thought that Hogwarts would be safe," she gasped, her lip quivering. "I should have listened to Moody and been v-vigilant."
"Oh, Hermione, no. Who was it? Tell me. I'll kill him for you. I swear I will."
"I think Professor Snape tried," she admitted ruefully, with a loud sniffle.
"Hermione, what exactly is going on between you and Professor Snape?"
She felt a sudden panic, and was glad that her face was already red from crying, since otherwise she surely would have blushed. She'd never been a very good liar.
"What makes you think anything is going on?"
"Oh I don't know. You come here telling me a story about how he jealously accosted you after you kissed Neville, and now you're saying you told him that you were r--that someone hurt you, and that he went after whoever it was and tried to kill him?"
"Well, maybe tried to kill was a bit of an overstatement," she said feebly.
Ginny considered this for a minute, and then shrugged. "I don't think it was. It didn't sound like it was. Anyway, what's the point here?"
"I don't know," repeated Hermione despairingly. "I just feel so alone," she admitted, sniffling again, her lip beginning to quiver as she gave voice to things she'd refused to speak about this far. "I miss my m-mum and dad, and there's nobody to give me advice, and everybody hates me, and they're all glad I c-can't do magic anymore."
She was crying now, and absolutely ashamed of herself for it. Ginny, however, simply moved her homework and Arnold aside and gave Hermione a long, long hug.
"No wonder you reacted so badly to Ron," Ginny finally said, pulling her knees to her chest and looking at Hermione over them.
"He wasn't to know." She wiped her nose on a handkerchief and sighed.
"He didn't exactly wait to find out what happened, either."
"No, he didn't."
"I wish I could help."
Hermione smiled weakly. "Thanks for listening."
"After all the times you listened to me moping about Harry, I think it's about time I got to repay the favor. Not to compare the two, of course, but—"
Hermione nodded. "I know what you meant. Look, I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean for all of this to come up. I just—I don't know what I really wanted to talk about."
"This, probably," said Ginny, with a wry smile. "Don't be sorry. Who else would you talk to about it?"
Hermione sighed, wiping her eyes again. "Exactly."
"So don't be sorry."
"I think I'm going to go lie down. I'm… tired."
"I don't doubt it. Go have a nap. It'll be dinner in an hour or so. We'll see you there. Oh, and Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"You, er, I don't suppose you'd let me talk to Harry about it, would you?"
Perhaps if she'd been less exhausted, she might have said no, but she was exhausted, and she already felt so exposed that there didn't seem to be much reason in refusing her permission for something that Ginny would probably go ahead and do in secret anyway.
"Go ahead and tell him, if you like. Just ask him not to go spreading it around, will you?"
Ginny jumped up from the bed and gave her a tight hug. "I'll see you at dinner. Go get a rest."
0 0 0
Severus knocked on the door to Filius Flitwick's office. He'd spent hours in the library, but the conclusions he'd reached made him too uncomfortable for him to allow the possibility of doubt, and the library books, in the end, did not provide all the answers. He had to confirm them with an expert, and Flitwick was a specialist. He was the man to ask.
"Severus!" squeaked Flitwick, standing aside to let him into the office. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I wish to consult with you on a matter of some delicacy, Filius." He closed the door and turned his back to Flitwick, pretending to inspect the titles of Flitwick's private library.
"I am at your service, as always. You have some question pertaining to Charms, I imagine?"
"The Patronus Charm."
"Ah, but your own discipline should have familiarized you with that!"
He curled his lip, although Flitwick couldn't see it. "Merely the basics, Filius. I can cast one. I have not made it a special study."
"Of course not, of course not. What is troubling you?"
He touched the spine of a book uneasily, his back still turned. "My Patronus has changed. I do not know why."
"Has it really?" exclaimed Flitwick with a noise of delighted surprise. "To what?"
Severus cleared his throat and finally turned around, sighing resignedly.
"Expecto Patronum," he said. Once again, he saw the graceful silver animal burst into the air and turn a joyful somersault. It gamboled around Flitwick's office with a simply indecent amount of energy, peeking curiously into corners and under tables and shelves.
"Good gracious! Is that a--?"
"A seal," growled Severus unwillingly. "A harp seal. A baby harp seal."
"Extraordinary," breathed Flitwick, watching it cavort through the office. "Does that particular animal have any special significance to you?"
"It most certainly does not."
"I see," said Flitwick, who was sounding more and more interested (and therefore more and more excited). "Fascinating. No meaning in it whatsoever, as far as you are aware?"
The seal paused and looked straight at him. He looked back, staring into the huge, uncomfortably familiar eyes, eyes that reminded him so intensely of--
"No."
"You're quite sure?"
"If it did, I doubt I would have come to you admitting that I had no idea why my Patronus has changed."
Flitwick was already riffling through a book. "Well," he said, after several moments of furiously hurried reading, "in some cases, when the Patronus changes, the charm itself will identify and take the form of a certain animal based on the things that inspire it. That is to say, both the things that give you strength and the things that you lack emotionally will be present in the animal."
He flipped through another book, his tongue between his teeth. "Yours is very unusual, however. I don't see it on the regular list—no, not common at all. But then, you are a very uncommon man, are you not? Let me see, you say you have no idea what could have precipitated the change?"
Severus picked up one of the books that Flitwick had discarded on his desk and looked at the cover. "Not exactly. It is the form of the Patronus itself that confuses me. There is, in fact, an… unusual situation, in which I am currently involved."
"And you think this could be the catalyst?"
He wrinkled his nose. He was absolutely positive it was the catalyst.
"Possibly," he said, shrugging and laying the book down on the desk again.
Flitwick peered at him over the top of his spectacles. "It might, in fact, be helpful to know the nature of the situation."
Of course it would. He sighed, touching his fingertips to the scar on his neck and rubbing it unhappily. "It is a very… delicate matter."
"My dear Severus, I assure you that any secret you have is completely safe with me, as it always has been."
Frowning, he ended the charm. The seal, which had for the last few minutes been nuzzling his knee affectionately, vanished. A moment later, he almost regretted it. It left him with nothing to look at while he avoided meeting Flitwick's eyes.
"Coniugium Mentium Verarum."
Flitwick, for the first time that Severus could ever recall, appeared to be at a loss for words.
"Well," he said, after several very tense minutes had passed, "as I said, you are certainly an… uncommon man. Well, I'm dashed! That would certainly do it. And you're quite positive it is the, er, Coniugium? More commonly referred to as Matrimonium Verus--"
"Yes."
"Good gracious, Severus. I am--I'm dashed. I had absolutely no idea. How long has this been going on?"
"Some time," said Severus stiffly, unhappily aware that the trend of Flitwick's questions would very quickly make it possible for him to guess the truth of the matter if Severus didn't consider his answers carefully.
"Is the other party—er, forgive me for asking, but I know you've no family and I'm afraid staff gossip hasn't covered much in the way of your, er, preferences."
"It is a gir—a woman," he said, amending the statement at the last moment. She wasn't a girl, after all, and even if she were, it wouldn't be wise to tell Flitwick that. It made things sound even worse than they really were.
"Naturally, naturally. I had to ask, you know, just in case. Don't know many men who would inspire a Patronus that took the form of something quite so, er, fluffy, but I'm sure there are a few out there."
"Quite," growled Severus repressively.
"Of course, one doesn't want to pry, so I won't ask who it is. If you feel a desire to tell me, of course, I would not say no. However, as I say, it is not my business and I doubt it will be relevant to the discussion. Let it not be said that Filius Flitwick poked his nose in where it was not wanted! Where was I? Ah! Yes! Now, of course, the Coniugium would explain it completely. I'm only rather surprised that if, as you say, the enchantment has been ongoing for quite some time—one would think that the Patronus might have changed to reflect the lady much sooner."
He scowled. "Dispel any romantic notions from your head immediately, Filius. We were not even friends before the enchantment occurred. It was an… anomaly."
"Oh, I say!" cried Flitwick, sounding more delighted than ever, "this is an interesting case. I've never heard of such a thing. That would certainly explain the delay in the change. I assume you have spent some of the intervening time getting to know one another?"
Hardly. "In a manner of speaking."
"Well, well, well, let me see," muttered Flitwick, abruptly returning to his book, which was incredibly thick, and nearly as tall as he was. "The seal itself represents many things—protection, creativity, longing, dilemma… and love, of course."
"Love?" Severus repeated before he could stop himself. "I beg your pardon?
"Well naturally," said Flitwick, looking up in surprise. "My dear fellow, your Patronus has changed due to your soul-deep connection to a woman who must, by necessity, be your perfect equal and counterpart. Even you can hardly attempt to argue that you aren't in love with her."
"I most certainly can!" He sat down heavily, hoping that Flitwick would continue to be buried too deeply in his book to notice Severus' alarm.
"Nonsense," chortled Flitwick, turning another page. "Well—how much would you say that you draw on this lady for, shall we say, the inspiration for your Patronus?"
He opened his mouth to say 'none,' but then closed it again as he recalled that moment in Azkaban. He'd been so sure that it was all over, that his soul was about to be swallowed up. The memory made him shudder. No afterlife. Never another moment with Lily, never another sudden jag of emotion or insight or energy from Hermione—he had fully expected to be doomed to an eternity of emptiness, sucked into the gullet of a creature that would trap him forever.
"I thought so," said Flitwick, who was once again peering at him over the spectacles. "Has her Patronus changed as well?"
Severus blinked. Did he even know what Hermione's Patronus was?
"I don't know."
"I suggest you might wish to find out. See if she returns your feelings, eh?" Flitwick chuckled merrily, closing the book and levitating it back to the bookshelf, as it was too large for him to move in any other way.
"I have no interest in seeing if she returns feelings that you only imagine I have," said Severus coldly.
"Well, deny it all you like," said Flitwick, "but I know the truth. At any rate, I think that certainly explains the change. The animal itself—I suppose there simply was no animal that you previously associated with her?"
He thought fleetingly of a squirrel with an extraordinarily bushy tail. But no, that might have been something he'd have connected with Hermione-the-child. This was not Hermione-the-child. This was Hermione-the-woman, and she bore almost no resemblance at all to a squirrel, with the possible exception of the bushiness, on the rare occasions when she still wore her hair loose. Somewhere along the way she'd lost those huge teeth (when had that happened?) and become much quieter. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she no longer associated with Weasley, and Weasley's sister had taken over the management of Harry Potter. With nobody to nag, she might simply have fallen out of practice.
"There was not," he conceded, bringing himself out of his reverie.
"I thought as much. Well, in that case it's simple, really. The charm is more complicated than most—more complicated than even most specialists in Defense Against the Dark Arts are aware. Of course, anyone who is able to cast a corporeal Patronus has probably imagined at one point or another that the resultant animal displays quite a bit of intelligence, you know. It is usually written off as a projection of the caster's feelings or emotions. This is only partially true. In fact, those who have studied it believe that the charm does approach some level of what we might describe as sentience."
Severus blinked. "You mean the charm is self-aware? Is that possible?"
"It approaches sentience, there is no evidence that it achieves it. We do know, however, that the charm senses many things about its caster and will take its form based on those things. If she is the most powerful influence on your soul and emotions, and you have no particular reason to associate her with one animal more than any other, the charm simply assumes an appropriate shape."
"So you said."
"You know," said Flitwick thoughtfully, "come to think of it, that seal looked rather familiar, didn't it? You wouldn't mind casting it again? It seemed to put me in mind of someone."
"I think not," said Severus curtly, standing up. "Thank you very much for the information. I suppose that there is not… another possible explanation?"
Flitwick settled himself back in his chair, grinning cheerfully. "None whatsoever," he said. "Glad I could be of assistance. And let me offer you my congratulations, Severus. It is high time you found someone to settle down with."
"You lead a rich fantasy life, Filius," growled Severus as he closed the door.
0 0 0
"I need to talk to you," said Ron at dinner, when the girl sitting between them (a friend of Romilda Vane's) got up to say something to a friend at the Hufflepuff table. He spoke in such a low undertone that it took Hermione a few moments to decipher what she'd heard.
"About what?" she murmured into her soup spoon, glancing for some reason at Professor Snape and hoping that he couldn't tell she and Ron were speaking. The way he'd reacted to Neville—well, she didn't much fancy being yelled at again, and if he thought Neville was degrading, she didn't think he'd be very fondly inclined towards Ron at the moment.
Not that it was any of his bloody business.
"Things," said Ron vaguely and making some sort of incomprehensible gesture with his hands.
"'Things'? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I need to talk to you. Alone. Please, Hermione. I know you hate me, and I know I'm an ass, and I know we aren't friends anymore, just please talk to me, okay?"
She touched the handle of her wand where it nestled into her sleeve as if it were a talisman against evil. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
Ron had apparently seen the gesture, and he looked hurt. "Hermione, I know we've had some difficulties, but you don't actually believe I'd attack you, do you?"
"No," she admitted. "But I don't like being alone with anyone lately."
"We could go find an empty classroom and get Harry or someone to stand guard outside. You could even cast Muffliato—"
"No," she said tersely, "I couldn't."
"Oh, right. I forgot. Well, I'll cast it then. That isn't the point."
"Lovely that you can forget, Ron," she snapped, forgetting to be quiet this time. Romilda Vane and Lavender Brown, who had been deep in some very giggly conversation, both stopped and stared at her suspiciously. Ron eyed them, his face going a bit red.
"Sorry about them," he said uncomfortably. "Romilda's really a good kid. Brilliant at Defense, you know. That's how she got into our class."
"Yes," sneered Hermione, "I'm sure she is a good kid."
"Oh come off it, Hermione, she's not that young."
She sniffed haughtily. "My opinion hardly matters anyway, Ronald."
"Fine. Will you talk with me or not?"
She looked down at her onion soup, which was hot and fragrant and reminded her strongly of Mrs. Weasley's. "If Harry's willing to stand outside the door."
"Thanks, he whispered out of the side of his mouth. A moment later, Romilda's friend returned and Hermione resolutely removed all thought of Ron from her mind. She was getting better at that, and the knowledge rather pleased her.
0 0 0
"Severus Snape," hissed Poppy furiously as she let him into her office, "you had just better have an explanation for what happened to Hermione Granger today."
Severus, who had spent the seven-minute walk from the dungeons to the Hospital Wing rehearsing this conversation in his head, stopped and looked at her blankly, wondering what on earth she was talking about.
"What about her?"
"She passed out in her own Common Room, if you please, woke up here, where she insisted that she'd heard you say her name, and recovered fully only upon the administration of chocolate. Well, naturally I was baffled, until I attempted to contact you to consult on the matter and discovered that you weren't here!" She paused and gave him a furious glare as she jabbed her wand viciously at her tea kettle, which immediately emitted a loud shriek.
"You can only imagine my surprise," she continued, with the air of a woman who is fighting a losing battle with a very bad temper, "when the House-Elf I sent to fetch you returned and informed me that you were gone to Azkaban of all places. Azkaban, Severus! And not so much as a warning to me? The girl succumbed to a Dementor attack when there was not a Dementor to be found for miles!"
"That's impossible," said Severus slowly, but with a sinking feeling that it most certainly was not impossible.
"Oh is it?" snapped Poppy, who had finished making the tea and was now thrusting a cup of it irritably at him. "Sit down and explain yourself. Now."
Severus sat.
Poppy Pomfrey had been the matron of Hogwarts since several years before Severus first began attending the school. Aware of his unhappy family situation and of his isolation amongst his fellow students, she had taken it upon herself very early on in his life to play the role of surrogate mother. His father had never let him home for holidays apart from summers, when he had no choice. As far as he knew, his mother had never argued the point, although there had been so many arguments about other things over the years.
It had taken him a very long time to address Poppy by her first name when he'd returned as a teacher, and she had never really given up her role in his personal life. It was always Poppy who cared for him when he was ill, always Poppy who discovered his deepest secrets, lectured him soundly over them, and then comforted him when they weighed him down.
If Albus Dumbledore had become the replacement for the father who had never wanted to love him, Poppy had been the replacement for the mother who had never been allowed to.
Poppy, too, was the confidant for his most private and most tortured secrets. He had never given her details about Lily, but he suspected that she even knew about that long before she admitted to the knowledge, although he'd kept that one secret only to himself for so many years.
He had not come to find her because of anything to do with Hermione's incident in the Hospital Wing, which he had only learned of in that moment. At least, in his mind when he'd decided to see her it hadn't had anything to do with that. Now, of course, it actually had everything to do with it.
Because he'd come to her for someone to talk to, for someone to confide in. He'd come to her for a bit of motherly comfort and reassurance.
And now she was spilling hot tea all over his trousers with the vehemence of a woman whose offer of tea will-not-be-politely-declined-if-you-know-what's-good-for-you-young-man.
"Well?" she snapped.
"I went to Azkaban," he said, aware as the words left his mouth that they sounded absolutely idiotic.
"Oh,did you?" she said, feigning surprise. "I hadn't gathered that."
He shrugged, staring into his tea and feeling that he was not coming across much better than he had during his most sullen teenage years. "There were Dementors."
"Do tell," said Poppy dryly.
"I was with Andrew Atwood. He's just as incompetent as he ever was. I couldn't cast a Patronus, and neither could he."
He set up cup down on the tea table angrily. "And I don't want any tea. Damn it, Poppy, I cannot simply cease living my life because she might be affected by things that I do! How was I to know that Dementors would affect her?"
"Neither of you could cast a Patronus successfully?" She looked at him, her anger melting away suddenly into concern. "Did you lose consciousness?"
"No," he admitted reluctantly, "I didn't."
"But that doesn't make sense," she said slowly. "One would think that they could hardly affect her worse than they do you, if you're the only one actually being exposed."
"Didn't I just tell you I don't know?" he snarled, dangerously close to shouting. "Poppy, I—don't—know." He was breathing hard, awash with guilt and anger and, if he were perfectly honest with himself, abject terror. This was territory so uncharted that there wasn't even a blank space left on the map for it.
"Finish your story," she said, watching him closely.
He turned away from her, composing himself before he spoke again.
"I was, in the end, able to perform the charm. And—" his voice failed. He swallowed convulsively, reaching up to rub his throat in some vague hope that she might assume it was some lingering effect of his injury.
"And?" she prompted, her brow furrowed.
"It changed," he muttered.
Her eyes widened. "To what?"
"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted. He was beginning to feel very tired of casting the charm, but it was so much easier than explaining. He couldn't imagine attempting to explain to Poppy without much embarrassment. Better to simply get it over with.
The seal, after a few merry somersaults, began, as it had in Flitwick's office, to nose around curiously, poking its head into everything. He watched it, remembering all that Flitwick had said about the near-sentience of the charm. How much of it was a real magical creature of some type exhibiting real creativity, and how much was simply his own projection of (he had to admit it) Hermione?
Poppy, too, was watching it, her mouth open.
"It even looks like her," she finally said.
"That has not escaped me."
She stopped watching the Patronus and looked at him. "You didn't come up here to discuss Miss Granger at all, did you?"
"Not in that context."
"I'm sorry. I assumed you knew."
"I know now."
"But what does it mean?"
He stared at it morosely, wondering how it could even exist, given the thoughts going through his mind at the moment. "Flitwick says it means I'm in love with her."
"Filius knows?"
He jerked his shoulders in an unhappy shrug. "He doesn't know that it's Hermione."
She raised her eyebrows at his use of her first name, but she let it pass. It was a merciful gesture on her part and he inclined his head gratefully. With a wave of his wand, he once more removed his Patronus from sight, glad to be rid of it. She looked at the spot where it had been a moment before and then turned back to him, scrutinizing his face carefully.
"Is it true?"
From anyone else, that question would have warranted a stormy, robe-billowing exit. From Poppy, however, it was exactly what he had been hoping for and he welcomed it with relief. She could ask those sorts of questions. She could look at him and not merely pity him for being Severus Snape.
"I don't know," he admitted despondently.
"Which is as good as saying it is," she replied.
He merely groaned and closed his eyes, hanging his head so that his hair would obscure his face. "I am not in love with her."
"I see."
"Don't."
"Don't what, Severus?"
"Don't use that pitying, disapproving tone. It would be impossible for you to disapprove more strenuously than I do."
"Whether I approve or disapprove is hardly material, Severus. She leaves school in a few months. She's of age. Once she's no longer under your authority as a student, you're free to do what you like."
"I am not free to do what I like."
His eyes were still closed. From a few feet away he heard her exasperated sigh and the slight rustle of her robes as she stood up and cleared away his teacup, which he was obviously not going to touch again.
"Why not?"
"Because," he growled, "what I would like is for Hermione Granger to leave Hogwarts and my life and never disturb me with her presence again."
"Oh Severus," she said, sighing again, "I do feel so sorry for you."
She seemed as aware as he was that she was quite possibly the only person living who could get away with saying such a thing. But, in his secret soul, he had to admit that he had come to her for this. He started to say something, but he didn't know what it was he'd been intending to say, and so he stopped. There was no point in running at the mouth when there was clearly nothing that could be said.
"My poor boy," she murmured, and he felt warm arms going around him and stroking the back of his head. "How hard this must be for you."
He allowed himself for just a moment the luxury of allowing her to hug him before he drew away stiffly. She took the hint, knew she'd be allowed to offer no more comfort, and took her seat again, both of them pretending quite convincingly that it had never happened at all.
"You'll have to tell Minerva," she said gently.
"There is nothing to tell."
"Severus, you must face facts. If your Patronus has changed—"
"It is immaterial! A mistake, Poppy!"
From the look she gave him, however, he knew that she believed that protest no more than he did. He stood up, resisting the urge to kick her very sedentary and incredible ancient kneazle, which had slept in the same corner of this office at least since Severus was eleven years old.
"Don't tell her, then," she said simply, "but if it progresses any further, Severus—do you understand me? If you see the slightest inkling that she… reciprocates…"
"Nobody could wish to discourage that more than I do myself, Poppy," he muttered.
She gave him another hug, tucking a neatly wrapped packet of sweets into his pocket, exactly as she'd done when he was a boy. Then she took his hand, patted it gently, and opened her office door.
"All will be well," she said with a maternal smile that was simultaneously irritating and comforting. "Now get you gone, before your need to storm out and reassert your manliness and independence rears its ugly head."
He scowled at her as he went.
0 0 0
The fact that Harry was standing guard outside the door did very little to reconcile Hermione to the fact that she was alone with Ron for the first time since their fight in Grimmauld Place. She trusted him not to hurt her, it was true, and even if she didn't, Harry was standing outside, just waiting to run in and play the hero once again. She just didn't like being alone with him anymore. He reminded her of Draco, and of Damien Wilkes, and of her mum and dad. Being with Ron meant being with every other unhappy memory.
They were in an old, disused classroom. Nearly a week had passed since he'd asked her to talk, but it had taken that entire week to organize and arrange things to her satisfaction. In the meantime she'd gone on studying, keeping her head and her hand down in classes, and generally avoiding everyone except for Harry, Ginny, and Luna. Neville still hung about, but something had changed between them, as she'd expected it to, and the familiar ease and frankness that had marked their friendship before seemed to be gone.
Professor Snape had changed, too. She had anticipated that. She hadn't anticipated, however, how hurt she would feel because of his sudden coldness. Of all the people in her world at the moment, he was the only one who hadn't treated her differently after she'd lost her magic. For him to change now seemed cruel.
Ron had taken a seat at a desk and was watching her morosely.
"What is it?" she asked irritably, not sitting down.
"I have a confession to make."
"Oh, how lovely. Another one? Really? Honestly, Ron, what makes you think I want to hear it?"
"It's about you."
She gave him a quelling look. "I hadn't a clue."
"I've already groveled enough, Hermione, don't you think maybe you can stop rubbing it in soon?"
"Fine," she snapped. "What's your confession?"
"I overheard something," he said, his face going red.
She crossed her arms, trying to hide her fear of whatever it was he might be about to tell her. "And?"
"Well, I didn't mean to. Ginny was talking to Harry about it, they didn't know I was there—"
She looked down at him, frozen in place, her dread increasing. The only thing Harry and Ginny could have been discussing was not something she wanted Ron to know about at all.
"I should have known," he admitted miserably. "I should have given you a chance to explain. I thought that if anything like that had happened, that you would have told me."
She pressed her lips tightly together, unwilling to try her voice.
He looked down at his hands forlornly. "I don't understand why you didn't tell me. I'm not—I'm not trying to blame you. I just don't understand how you could tell Snape, even, and not tell me."
"If you'd actually paid some attention," she said, her voice trembling with barely controlled emotion, "you'd know I only told him after—after Australia."
"I know," he said slowly, raising his head. His hair had grown very long, and it fell around his face much as Professor Snape's did, except that it was silky and red instead of lank and black. She didn't like it much. He tossed his head to move his hair out of his eyes, and she liked that less.
"And that's what got me thinking," he added a moment later, when she didn't respond. "You wouldn't tell us what happened. Well, I guess that makes sense. You wouldn't tell us who it was, and you wouldn't tell Gin either. But she said that you said that Snape did something about it."
"Professor Snape," she murmured from force of habit.
He shrugged. "Professor Snape, then. It wasn't hard to guess after that, was it? It happened at the end of fifth year, nobody ever heard about until Christmas, and then—"
"Then what?" she interrupted sharply, trying to quell her horrible feeling that he was about to say something she very much didn't want him to say.
"It was Malfoy," he said in a soft, dangerous voice, and she saw now that his hands were clenched tightly and his eyes were very cold. "Malfoy. Merlin, Hermione. I'm sorry. I know I'm an ass, and I know I have no right anymore to even say this, but I swear to you—if I see him, if I ever see him, I'll kill him."
He said it with such cold, intense conviction that it didn't occur to Hermione to doubt his word. She simply stared at him. For some reason in all the scenarios she'd run through in her mind, this one hadn't presented itself.
"Malfoy?" she repeated, faltering slightly. "What makes you say that?"
"Because everybody else it could have been is either in Azkaban, dead, or still here at Hogwarts and still in possession of their skin."
"Ginny and Harry should have been more careful," she said softly.
"I should have been more careful, Hermione. I should have protected you. I should have known he'd try to go after you. And I mean what I said. I'll kill him."
She shrugged, unsure of what to say.
He sighed, and rubbed his face slowly with his hands. "I'm sorry for ruining everything Hermione, and I'm sorry for putting you through this. I just wanted you to know that I knew, and that I—I wish that I'd acted in a way that would have made you feel like you could trust me with it."
0 0 0
"Longbottom," said Severus very softly. The boy looked at him with his huge sheep's eyes and flinched. Their last few lessons had been brutal. Severus had decided it was time to really take him in hand and give him a taste of real life Defense. After all that he'd made it through during the previous year and all that he'd learned since, Severus felt no guilt at all in leaving lecturing behind altogether and pursuing much more practical methods for Neville Longbottom's education.
He took careful aim at the boy's gangly legs and thought Tarantallegra, a blast of light exploding from his wand before Neville had even shut the door all the way.
He stumbled aside, his own wand already in his hand and pointed at Severus' head. "Stupefy!" he roared, dodging behind a desk as soon as the bolt of red light was flying towards Severus.
Severus' shield charm was up with long seconds to spare, and he nonverbally cast a jelly-fingers jinx, but Neville had retained his position behind the desk and made an annoyingly poor target. Nor did he immediately retaliate, satisfied for the moment to put into action Severus' lessons about using non-magical objects in magical battles.
His lip curled. Time to remind the boy of the flaws inherent in that particular approach.
His silent Reductor curse blasted the desk into thousands of tiny pieces and sent Neville reeling backwards. He could barely erect his own shield charm before Severus' spells were upon him, raining down like multicolored fire on the shield, which glowed and shimmered faintly under their assault. It was already beginning to fail.
At the last possible moment before the shield dissipated, Neville scrambled to his feet. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted.
"I think not," sneered Severus. "And keep your mouth shut when you duel, if you intend to be taken seriously as an adult wizard." He punctuated the remark by casting the same jinx nonverbally, barely even moving his wand. It caught Neville shamefully off-guard and his wand flew from his hand and into Severus', who smiled coldly and advanced on him.
"You see? I have tried again and again, boy, to impress upon you the importance of keeping your mouth and your mind shut when you do battle. If your enemy can hear your spells, he can counter your spells, especially if he has, either because of magical or natural talent, particularly heightened or honed reflexes."
Neville had taken refuge behind another desk. Severus kept his wand trained on that desk, his voice mocking. "In my case," he said, "seven and a half years of teaching you have left me with reflexes that I can only describe, in all humility, as superhuman."
He saw, for a moment, Neville's hand, flat on the floor as he shifted his weight—Neville's pasty, dirty, unworthy hand, that had dared to touch Hermione as if it had a right to do so. Seized with an incomprehensible rage, he sent a jelly-fingers jinx at it so quickly that it hit just before the boy pulled his hand away.
It wasn't a direct hit, and would only affect one of the hands, but one was better than none.
"You can't linger there forever, Longbottom," he jeered. "You're never going to win a duel if all you do is hide behind a desk. Still, hiding is what you do best, isn't it? That is what your many months in the Room of Requirement seem to indicate, at least."
For a moment, there was no response. Then, with a roar, Neville lifted the desk with his entire weight, hurling it at Severus. It was a heavy desk, and without magic it must have been incredibly hard to lift indeed, but he managed it somehow. Severus waved his wand at the desk, transfiguring it in mid-air into a vat of icy water and sending it back to dump itself over Neville's head.
"A better attempt, but still pathetic," he snarled. "You ought to have moved the moment that you were on your feet, and made it more difficult for me to retaliate."
"Because I'm s-so afraid of a little water," muttered Neville rebelliously through blue lips.
"Water is not the point, Longbottom. The point is that you are without your wand, and you are now both very cold and very wet. There is nothing you can do about it. My advantage is increased because you cannot dry yourself or warm yourself effectively and quickly without magic, and therefore will now be distracted."
"Accio wand!" shouted Neville. In Severus' hand, the wand gave a feeble twitch.
He laughed unkindly. "Oh, hardly. It would take a great deal more power than you have to achieve that."
"I know what this is about!" shouted Neville through chattering teeth as he dodged the hexes that Severus was now once again throwing at him almost without pause. Some of the spells ricocheted off walls and into desks, punctuating their duel with small, thudding explosions.
"What is 'this', boy, and what is it all about?" he asked with a sneer as his Impediment jinx hit home, and Neville fell unceremoniously to the floor.
"These lessons," said Neville, whose lip was now oozing blood. He snatched up a heavy chunk of broken desk and hurled it at Severus' head, using the distraction to charge forward and attempt to tackle him.
The attempt failed in its main object, but it did throw Severus off-balance, and he stumbled backwards and fell across an overturned chair, landing on the floor. In a heartbeat, Neville was on him, wrestling him for possession of the wands.
"These lessons," grunted Severus as Neville's knee knocked the wind out of him, "are for—" he moved his arm, jabbing the point of his wand into Neville's wrist "—your own good, boy."
The Stinging Hex made Neville's wrist swell up immediately, but he didn't stop fighting for control of the wands.
"It's about Hermione," continued Neville with a snarl, aiming a punch at the side of Severus' head. "I heard what you said to her."
He dodged the punch and grabbed Neville's swollen wrist, twisting it until it was nearly at the breaking point. With another jab of his wand, which he now had room to maneuver, he sent Neville flying into the air. A moment afterwards, he stood above him, his wand pointed directly at the boy's throat.
"You lose," he said frostily. "Now explain yourself."
Neville wiped a smear of blood from his chin with the back of his arm, looking up at Severus. "You're angry with me for kissing her. I heard you yelling at her."
"Ten points from Gryffindor for eavesdropping, Longbottom, another ten for sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, and ten more for having the insolence to suggest that I give a damn about what you and that wretched girl get up to as long as you don't do it in the hallways of this school."
"Fine, sir," said Neville glumly. "Can I have my wand back, please?"
Severus tossed it to him, trying to ignore the impulse to keep it and use it to throttle the boy with his own robes instead.
"You will clean up this mess. You will repair the desks. And you will come to your next lesson better-prepared to defend yourself. And," he added over his shoulder before he left the room, "five more points from Gryffindor for being stupid enough to remind me of that incident in the first place."
Author's Notes: Loved writing Flitwick and Snape. Yay!
Just started a new job with many more hours than I was previously working, so update rate is going to slow down, but no worries. I will not be stopping this story before it's done.
Thank-you to readers and reviewers, and to those who have cheered me on in various ways as I worked on getting this chapter done while attempting to also deal with all the ways in which real life is currently kicking my butt.
