Chapter 18
Usually, she doesn't arrive early to brew. This afternoon is different only because her previous class was cut short by Umbridge pretending that she had something very important to discuss with the professor. If not for that, she wouldn't be here. Actually, she's surprising herself by knocking on his office door like this, when tomorrow is the brewing day.
'Professor?'
Her soft call is met with no response from the inside, but that does not in any way keep her from knocking a second time.
'Professor Snape?' she callas again along with her knock.
Still, no reply comes, but that does not keep her from trying one last time. Only once she's done this, she tells herself, and he doesn't respond, will she believe that he's not locked himself inside of his office, simply ignoring any call wanting his attention. It will only be a slight pushing of his door, a gentle pressing of her hand on the its surface and if that doesn't get her any result, she'll relent and leave.
Doing so, pressing her open palm against the door, brings her a most unexpected result right in tune with a snippet of memory from Harry's concluding lesson. As the door makes a fast unlocking sound, it just as fast glides backwards, creating an opening enough to fit her body through, into the inside. Stepping further than one step into the office, she half expects him to say her name, only no sound comes. Other than her own feet carrying her deeper into his office, there's no other sound.
'Professor, it's me, Her-' she begins to announce herself only to abruptly change her mind.
She would very much still like to announce her presence to him, so as not to catch him unaware, it's only that she can't announce herself by her name, can she? Her name is what she would, in any normal circumstance, announce herself with, but she has never had to announce her uninvited presence to a Hogwarts teacher before, hence her uncertainty.
Miss Granger is how she should call out for him with, seeing as he, like the rest of the teachers here, only ever that, but she doesn't want to refer to herself as that. It would too formal coming from her own mouth. Simply Granger would be a tad more appropriate, she believes; it's less personal yet familiar and yet she'd also rather not use it either. Would it be too much to hope that he recognises the sound of her voice? Although, it's not at all fair to expect him to know that it's her when they have no appointment, is it?
'Professor Snape?' she attempts to get him one last time, telling herself that if he doesn't respond, she will leave.
Strangely –she suspects it has something to do with not wanting this to be a wasted trip- even as she tells herself that, her feet keep moving further inside, leading her to his table. Why she removes her bag from her shoulder, gently placing it on his table, when he hasn't responded to her call, she can't say. Silence means that she should leave, she tells herself, except, she makes no move to lift her bag or turn her feet to begin leaving. What she does begin to do, however, is wonder whether she is right in the head.
A single short breath after asking herself that, a harried sound swishes into the room, causing her to quickly scan all around her, looking for the source of the sound. Just past the entrance, she finds him quickly advancing into the office. He had not been inside, then. She starts to open her mouth to greet him, but the look on his face forces her not to say anything. The hard appearance of his face is one that could lead him to chide her for being in here without his knowledge and should he decide to say anything not nice to her, she will wholly take without saying anything to him in return. At this point, she won't even try to leave, because she made the choice to come here without letting him know. Whatever it is that he may have in store for her now that she's here uninvited, should be accepted without resistance.
'Miss Granger,' he states.
His voice is unsurprised, if she's interpreting it correctly, and his eyes keep on hers only for a second before travelling down. Following them, she finds them drawn to his right arm. His sleeve is folded back to just above where his elbow joins his forearm to his upper arm, though it's the gash in the centre that engages her attention entirely. It's open, lightly bleeding and somewhere in her mind, she knows that very spot has one of the more preferred veins for blood donors. It should be oozing a lot more than that, she vaguely notes, more concerned with the fact that he's bleeding at all.
'Professor, what happened?' she looks up at his face and then at his arm again. 'You're bleeding. Are you all right?'
Stupid question, she mentally reprimands herself as soon as she's asked it. Of course, he's not all right! Who is ever all right when they're bleeding from their arm? This nonsense of a reaction is not becoming of her! After meeting Harry, blood and accidents should no longer shock her to idiocy. Inspired to stop being an idiot and rather act, without really thinking about what she's doing, she freely takes his right hand into her.
The small action brings his arm closer to her, allowing her the freedom to examine the wound, to see how deep it goes. It doesn't seem like a deep gash, neither does it look like he was cut precisely, and yet, it's bleeding. How much pain must he be in? Is that the reason for his hard expression? The need to know makes her look at his face, only for her realise that she's walking on the path of idiocy again as soon as she sees his still face.
Really! What is she thinking? Instead of wondering about things that are right in front of her face, she should be gathering her wits together to do something to stop the bleeding.
'A healing spell, a healing spell,' she recites to herself, using her other hand to draw her wand out from her pocket.
What's a good spell that she's probably used on Harry? She needs a spell that will stitch his flesh together and not leave a scar. Fairly quickly, she finds one in her memory, a simple healing spell that really only mends the flesh together. Not waste any more time, she points her wand to it, speaking the spell as she does and slowly his flesh begins to knit together, becoming one whole again.
'It's gone,' she whispers in gentle relief once her spell completes itself.
Although his skin is back together, she still needs to clean all of his blood away, which she does effortlessly. Just to assure herself that she's done good work on healing him, she runs her thumb over where he'd been bleeding. Feeling no bump, no uneven piece of skin either, she begins to smile at the success of her work, at the same time lifting her head in preparation to ask him if he feels better now that the bleeding's gone. Precisely then, it hits her what a mistake she's made.
Her heart, taking the warning from her mind, makes to leap out of her chest.
The tremor arising from the abrupt jump, is a cold, very chilling sort of feeling, that temporarily settles itself where her heart jumps from. Her heart doesn't make it out of chest, thanks to the jail of a cage that is her ribcage, but even being stopped by that barrier, sends another wave of an icy tremor though her body, this time freezing her on the spot. Apparently realising its fate, her heart returns to its place, but not without disturbing the entire rhythm of her body. If she happens to be shaking before him, it's the severe, unmoving look on his face, that's responsible for everything. But that she stupidly clutches onto his hand with the hand already keeping it, can only be attributed to the disruption caused by her heart. Apparently, that hand thinks itself above the laws that fear is founded upon. It will surely be the second death of her, after Professor Snape kills her, if his silent stare is anything to go by.
How dare her hand betray her like this. This is Professor Severus Snape. It does not matter that he gave her a book to read for a night, or that he gave her advice. It does not make a difference that since Harry's lessons ended, whenever she came to brew, there was a small difference in their usual routine or that he would mostly answer her questions if she had any. It doesn't matter that she thinks him to have become like any other teacher in the school, who gives her attention when she needs it. At the end of it, he is still Professor Snape.
It's turning out to be that she is an idiot, after all. How could she forget that Professor Severus Snape is a wizard perfectly capable of healing his own injuries? Where did her sense go to? What happened to it? Where did it get distracted enough to stay there? Because had it stayed with her, it would have reminded her that she promised never to touch him again without his permission. This new shame, atop her fear, is the end for her, and more than those two, she cannot handle; it's better that she faces away from him.
'Look at me,' he says following her aversion.
It's a soft command, not exactly coaxing, making her feel like leaving her own skin. She suddenly has the biggest urge to dissolve into something that he can't see, smell, hear, or destroy with his words. She can't look at him again when what she saw already made her like this.
No, she thinks as she shakes her head in response to his command. She's sorry, but she cannot do that.
'Miss Granger, I said to look at me.'
His words are still soft, dangerous to her still, so she shakes her head again. Following that, he touches her. What he does is stretch his hand with his thumb acting as an anchor on one cheek, to the other cheek with the rest of his fingers. Pressing into her cheeks, his fingers guide her head to turn his way –she assumes- but she quickly shuts her eyes before they can meet his.
'Open your eyes,' he says, adjusting his hand to hold her chin up with his hand after seeing what she did.
'I can't, Professor,' she quietly refuses, afraid to be too loud with her refusal.
'Look at me, Miss Granger,' he tries again.
'I'm sorry, Professor,' she starts with her eyes still closed. 'I saw you hurt and bleeding, and I just… Professor, I am sorry. I'm used to mending my friends, and I suppose that because they automatically trust me to heal them, I got carried away with you. I didn't mean to imply that you aren't capable of healing yourself, Professor. I didn't mean to forget that you are a teacher, and that I shouldn't have behaved that way.'
He should please just accept her apology, and kick her out for today. Whatever he wants, he can do, because she just can't look at him.
'As you will,' he states, releasing her face also prying her hand off him.
Through closed eyes, she hears him move past her, their clothing surprisingly not making contact. She expects to hear the door click shut, locking her inside, but not hearing it, she opens her eyes to sneak a look in the door's direction. Finding that the door is as open as when he walked inside and then taking it in that he hasn't locked her in or threatened her not to leave, her shame heightens.
'Professor Snape, I'm ready to look at you.'
She's says so, when she's really not. What it is really, can only be named atonement. Being the single cause of everything that happened here, her responsibility is to take her beating with pride. Although she has none of that at present, she can give off the air of having suddenly gained it when he walked away from her, leaving her to pity herself without him there.
'Are you now?' he asks from where he is.
No, she is not, but what else can she do?
'I am,' she assures him with the lie, going as far as to make her feet begin towards him.
Her feet carry her to stand in a way that has her face visible to him, just as he adjusts the direction of his face, bringing him eye to eye with her. Standing in front of him, while she wonders what he will say to her, he reaches for the hand that had held onto him. Confused, she watches him press into it with his fingers, probing actually, and then lightly turning it around in his hold, as he examines it. Although initially shocking that he simply took her hand into his, she can't fault him for doing so, when she too had taken the liberty of touching him without his permission. However, what will he do now that he has her hand?
'Miss Granger,' he lifts his eyes to hers, 'did you truly withdraw your actions due to remembering what I bear?'
What? Does he think that she froze because of the Mark on his skin?
'Professor, that wasn't why I...' she tries to correct his thoughts. 'I thought...'
She pauses there, blankly staring at him and oddly finding it hard to tell him why. That it happened is humiliating enough, she would not like to voice it aloud, if he would please. He, on the other hand, simply waits for her explanation to come, which is why decides to give him one.
'Professor, you looked at me as though I had forgotten who you are,' she explains the difference. 'You looked intolerably flummoxed at what I had done. I wasn't refusing to look at you, because I changed my mind about what I did. It was because I knew that you would be angry with me.'
'Incorrect,' he evenly replies, letting go of her hand then.
Blinking, she asks, 'Pardon?'
'Incorrect, Miss Granger,' he repeats just as evenly.
'You're not upset?' she asks, taken aback quite far.
'No.'
'Oh.'
That's such a relief! To know that she apparently did nothing wrong in his eyes takes away all of the fear and humiliation, that she looks down to her feet to smile to herself.
'Unless your smile is directed to your shoes, would you look at me, Miss Granger?'
Not wanting to change his mood, she promptly looking up, keeping her smile exactly as it is for his benefit. Had he not wanted to see it, he would not have asked her to look at him. For a moment, their eyes meet for a moment, just before he lazily turns them to his exposed arm. Her eyes naturally follow his.
'Acceptable,' he says, nodding his head to the healed arm.
'I didn't even disinfect the wound, Professor,' she tries to wave away, to show him that she messed up anyway, so there is no need to thank her.
If he hears her, however, he does not make anything of it. Well, except for the shadow of a smile that crosses his face as he runs two of his fingers over the same place he'd been cut. To her surprise, the trail of his fingers leave behind an open gash where she just stitched him together.
'Professor!' she exclaims her surprise, her eyes needing him to explain what he's doing.
'Did you come here for something, Miss Granger?'
'Not really, Professor,' she replies, wondering why he's avoiding to answer her.
'I'm expecting Professor Trelawney.'
Oh.
In a way that she didn't piece it together before, she now understands. It makes sense, actually. Who would he be if he didn't just provide an explanation to her query and then excuse her from his presence with a single sentence? Odd, though, she reasons, how he allowed her to heal him when he knew exactly that he didn't need the cut closed.
Now that she's in her right mind, the rolled back sleeve should have told her that he surely would not leave his office open like this and then come in bleeding, for no reason at all. Although she had no idea that Trelawney was capable of more than just spewing prophetic nonsense and much less that he would spend time with her. He doesn't strike her as the sort of person to indulge in things such as the prophetic world and all that is mysticism and yet, he just told her that Trelawney is coming to him.
Unless they are friends, which she doubts, Trelawney would have no better input in dealing with a cut than she would. That woman does not seem capable of performing basic spells at all. Of course, she's a witch with magic, but she looks more negligent to do with magic than interested to use it at all. Why Trelawney's coming, she needs to know.
Pointing to the cut, she asks, 'Professor, does it have something to do with that?'
While it doesn't immediately look as though the question bothers him, she reconsiders it when he –as if to confirm the existence of the cut- looks at his own wound and then at her. During the time that it takes him to respond, she reprimands herself for asking about something that has nothing to do with her. That she healed his first cut does not make her his healer and therefore entitled to ask whatever she feels has to do with any subsequent wounds.
'If your curiosity will kill you,' he coolly, his stare completely fixed on her, 'you may stay.'
'Really?'
Somewhat amused, he makes a sound that's a cross between a stifled snort and the infancy of a chuckle, saying, 'Of course not.'
Free from harshness though his answer may be, it still hits her with disappointment.
'Bu-' she begins only to stop herself from saying more.
'You can see me at a later time if you wish to,' he tells her or rather seems to be consoling her for raising her hopes only to crush them in the following second.
The disappointment from before is still very raw within her, and although he looks sincere with his invite she can't be gullible again. This time, she will not respond to his invite.
'I mean it, Miss Granger.'
'I thought you meant it when you said that I could stay,' she rebuts, that loss still eating at her.
'Because I am not capable of making jokes, I'm sure?' he questions, one eyebrow raised for dramatic effect, she supposes.
He can make jokes, she thinks, feeling a frown forming on her face, it's only that, 'You've never made jokes with me.'
'No,' he thoughtfully answers, 'not in the same way that you have with me.'
This man.
She can't help it smile at his humour. So unexpected it is, that its apparently all she needed to rub away whatever disappointment she held within. He is full of surprises today, this man.
'Fine,' she accepts, still smiling, 'you have a point.'
'And you,' he puts emphasis on the word, 'have to go.'
The way he said it, he might as well added the word please at the end. So naturally he spoke those words, as though the two of them have had conversations like this one countless times and it's perfectly normal for him to speak in that easy way to her. Quite honestly, the thought makes her stomach move. In a good way.
'Yes, Professor,' she agrees beginning to take the needed steps to retrieve her bag from his table.
This Snape, she likes. This Snape is nice. He makes jokes with her. He talks to her politely, well as politely as he is willing to be with her. He still refuses to tell her some things, but he is nice. Those thoughts take her to his table and reaching it, she retrieves her bag, hoisting it onto her shoulder. After that, she walks to the door only to remember that his door had been locked before she entered. Greatly curious about that, she turns around to question him about it.
'Professor, why did your door unlock for me?'
'It did not open for you,' he tells her, his back turned on her. 'I am expecting Professor Trelawney as you know.'
'Oh, of course,' she reasons. 'You'd set the door to unlock for her in the case that she arrived before you did. But, Professor, I'm not-'
'It was set to allow entry to anyone who wished to see me while I was attending to something else. It was temporary and fully in my capacity to control as I wished. I was not very far behind you.'
So, he knew about her and allowed her in?
All right.
She will leave now.
26Chapters
'Ah! Miss Granger!'
For how rare the head of school has been since the beginning of term, she never would have guessed that while going to her next class, straight from conversing with Professor Snape, she would run into him.
'Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore.'
'Good afternoon,' he replies, walking on past her.
That is unlike him, she notes. Having acknowledged her, she thought that he would stop to converse with her, but he's simply carrying on with his feet. Harry's been saying that he's barely present at the school anymore and much less engaging to any student. She wonders why that is -if it has something to do with the Ministry and the control that they are trying to have over Hogwarts. Not that she should worry about it, but... Now that they are meeting, she might as well get clarity on Occlumency.
'Professor Dumbledore?' she calls for his attention also making sure to catch up with him.
'Yes, Miss Granger?' he halts in his steps, elegantly manoeuvering his body's attention to her.
'I was just wondering why I had to be with Harry and Professor Snape during Occlumency. I didn't even take part in the lessons.'
'You speak in the past,' he states, keenly peering at her.
'Yes, well... Um...' she stumbles on her words. 'They ended quite some time back. I was only wondering why I had to be there, because Professor Snape wouldn't tell me.'
'It was nothing, really, my dear girl,' he says after stepping to her and placing his hand on her shoulder. 'In hearing that Professor Snape allowed you to brew for him, I thought that he would find it easier to teach Harry with you there. And Harry, no doubt, would feel better if you were there with him.'
'It wasn't better,' she mumbles, recalling how Professor Snape had transferred all of his disdain onto her.
'I am sorry, my dear,' he apologises with an air of regret about his words. 'These times are hard indeed, as I'm sure that you understand. I'm afraid that my mind can only see more towards one thing these days. Forgive me.'
It can't be easy for him to be dealing with things for the Order, working to gain Hogwarts back from the clutches of the Ministry, and then worrying about the wizarding world in general.
'I understand, Professor.'
'I knew that you would,' he offers her a small smile. 'But tell me, the lessons have come to an end, then? Did Harry grasp any of it?'
She shakes her head, fighting the urge to grit her teeth at the picture that paints of Harry to the Headmaster. She hopes that she's not ruining his image before the Headmaster.
'He didn't, Professor.'
'I see,' he nods, continuing with, 'I am sorry again for putting you in an uncomfortable position.'
'It's all right, Professor.'
And it really is. If not for that, she would not be on good terms with Professor Snape. She wouldn't ever have gotten the opportunity to have a distorted falling out with him otherwise, one which led to where they are now; partially amicable.
