Beggars Can't Be Choosers
by Verity
Chapter ElevenSeptember 15, 1997
Hermione stayed put when Potions ended; Harry gave her a questioning look, which she answered with a shrug that could have meant anything. She'd tell him some excuse later.
She watch calmly as Professor Snape moved about the classroom with a peculiar sort of grace, performing routine tasks, and deliberately ignoring her. He was rather like a cat, she thought, and this thought surprised her; Crookshanks (who was currently rooming with the pretty Siamese Parvati had adopted the previous year) had a sweet nature and a sense of honor about him, but one could hardly call him graceful. But then, she wasn't really likening Professor Snape to Crookshanks – more like a male version of Parvati's Siamese, aloof, haughty, and dignified-
"Miss Granger?"
Her head jerked up abruptly and she turned to look at him; she'd almost had her nose in the remains of her Desiccation Draught. Odd. "Um," she said, in a manner that was not nearly so decorous as she'd intended. "I had been meaning to ask you; do you mean to sound that appalling nickname to the heavens all night long tonight as well? Because you won't get her to talk to you that way, you know, and I got hardly any sleep, and I have an Arithmancy exam tomorrow-"
"Pause for breath, Miss Granger," Snape instructed her. He was struggling, Hermione noted perplexingly, not to smile. She blinked, and exhaled. "Your point?"
"Please shut up," she said fervently. To hell with decorum. She'd be lucky if she stayed awake past lunch.
"That's extremely disrespectful, Miss Granger."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures?"
"Are you quite well?"
Hermione considered various answers to this question before she realized it was serious. She flushed. "I can take care of myself, thank you, Professor, if only you will cease trying to summon Lamp-Bearer from the dead. You won't be able to, anyhow, as she's not dead, and for a number of other reasons beside the point."
"Not dead?" he asked her incredulously. "I watched her die, and I'd have to say otherwise."
She sighed, buried her face in her hands. "Her body was willing but her soul was not. She's in the dream world." Snape was silent; she took this as consent for her to continue. "It's- kind of between here and where most people go when they die. If they don't become ghosts. She's not a ghost. She's something more and something less."
"How?" His voice was harsh.
She looked up at him, thinking, there's a lot about Professor Snape I never knew. "More because – when people go – oh, it's hard to describe – they become part of an all, something that's part of everything living. And the dream world – it holds everything that ever was and everything that ever can be. But she's less because you'll never be able to speak to her, not unless you're part of her mission, and you're not. She's said."
"Are you a part of her mission?"
Hermione shook her head. "No."
"Then how are you able to talk to her?" As he'd spoken, he'd crossed the room to loom over her – she was still sitting behind her lab table, her ingredients neatly sorted and all ready to go back in her bag.
It was a question that had bothered her from the first time Madam Dowling had asked her – she'd been four then, just learning the ways of silence and meditation that had guarded her until she was ready to begin her vows. The dream wraiths knew, of course, had always known…
"How did you know Lamp-Bearer's Name?" she asked him.
"She told me. Many years ago."
"Do you know in which world that Name had power over her above all other?"
Snape shook his head. This felt so odd – as if their roles had been reversed – and Hermione found that she rather liked it, being in control when everything had spun outwards – everything else –
"This world," she said. "Do you know why I would rather not answer your question now?"
"You don't trust me."
"I don't trust anyone." She started packing up her bag. This was silly – her saying this to Snape, of all people – even if some inner voice that she knew wasn't mother was telling her that he was her mentor, he was her teacher, this was perfectly reasonable…
"Not even Potter?" Hermione looked up – he hadn't gone away, was still hanging over her, tall and imposing but not threatening, she realized.
"I can't afford that." Her voice was bitter.
"I understand."
"You can't," she said sharply. "I don't know why I even bothered talking to you. Scream your lungs out for all I care. I'll put a Silencing Charm on my room." In one rapid, uncalculated movement, she stood up, her rucksack slug over her shoulder, and found herself roughly three inches from Snape's nose.
"Sleep well, Miss Granger," was all he said before he softly kissed her on the forehead.
She wasn't up to confronting the swirl of conflicting emotions that greeted this kiss. So she bolted.
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It was beyond stupid. It was tactless, thoughtless, completely inappropriate.
But, Merlin, the look in her eyes…
The rug in Severus Snape's office was worn and faded from the pacing of past years; he suspected it would soon produce a hole and promptly be replaced by Winky. Damned house-elf. He continued to pace, hands clasped behind his back, brow furrowed in thought.
Hermione's eyes had been so lonely – so cold – she had reminded him of Luck then. Luck had never learned how to trust – not him, not even her own family – and where had it gotten her? Dead. Physically, at least. He couldn't let it happen again.
No, never, that had been utterly inappropriate, kissing her on the forehead, even in such an innocent manner – Hermione Granger, a student… a student with Luck's eyes.
He was saved from any further ponderings by a knock on the door. "Professor?" It didn't sound like Hermione.
Severus took a seat behind his desk. "Come in."
Draco Malfoy entered the room, looking rather ill. His skin was paler than usual; shadows had come to rest beneath his eyes. Compared to Malfoy, Severus reflected humorlessly, he himself probably looked in the peak of health.
"I need to have some Dreamless Sleep potion," the boy told him, sounding too desperate to employ his usual drawling sarcasm. "I've been having dreams. Nightmares."
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It's been a while since I've done a thanks sections – thanks to all the people who have reviewed, both on The Site That Must Not Be Named & WIKTT! I'm planning to do a big listing of everyone at the end of Beggars (I'm aiming for the end of May.)
The Complete Idiot's Guide to Wicca and Witchcraft should be available in your local Borders. That's where I got mine.
I apologize for lack of snogs, BTW. I was planning for chapter five… but as you can see, the characters had other ideas. *grin* The kiss in this chapter is intentional homage to Laurie R. King's fantastic The Beekeeper's Apprentice and sequels as well to Flourish's equally fabulous fanfic Coda: Hero.
Verity
