See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 7

"You're sure." It was more a statement than a question.

Hermione nodded wordlessly, pressing the rose into his hand.

His brows drew inward in a faint echo of his usual scowl as he studied her face. "Why?" he asked quietly.

How could she explain? What could she say to convince a man who had spent the better part of his life wrapped in despair and self-loathing that she wanted to see past all that to the man on the inside? I'm a monster, Hermione, he had said. But she knew that wasn't the whole truth. It couldn't be. There had to be more to him than his façade of anger and bitterness. His actions during the second rise of Voldemort spoke to it – at his core there was something of honor and courage and loyalty, otherwise he would never have risked so much for so many for so long.

That was the part of him she wanted to touch.

But she could not find the words to articulate what she felt. Even if she had, she doubted he would believe it anyway, so determined was he to see only the negative about himself. So instead she said simply, "Because… it's you."

He almost – but not quite – rolled his eyes at this. "How very maudlin," he replied dryly.

She smiled, knowing he'd seen past the transparency of her response. Then her face grew more serious and she reached one hand out to touch his cheek. "What made you change your mind?"

Now it was his turn to pause. His expression changed into something she could not quite understand, and for a moment she thought she might have pushed him too far. But then she felt him draw strength from some deep-seated inner reserve.

"I want to be understood," he said finally.

His tone was that of a penitent who desired absolution but feared his sins were too numerous to forgive. She brought her other hand to his face, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. He returned the embrace, crushing her against his chest with strong arms, and she could feel the longing welling up inside him. A longing not for her, but for himself.

He tipped her chin up with one long finger, bending his head to bring their lips together. They clung to one another and the kiss deepened as they each prepared for the journey in their own separate ways… he filled with doubt and she brimming with certainty.

***

"Give me your hand."

They sat side by side in armchairs he drew up in front of the hearth, leaping firelight making shadows twirl and dance across their faces in hypnotic patterns. He extended his hand and Hermione took it, noting with some alarm that the moisture which had drained from her suddenly dry mouth was now springing up on her palms instead. Thankfully, he made no mention of it as he interlaced his long, dry fingers with her damp ones.

"How would you like to begin?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow at her as he settled back in his seat.

"Slowly," she replied. "Something simple, just a test. One of your classes, perhaps, or some other experience we have in common so I will know if what I'm seeing really happened."

"Very well," he replied. "Close your eyes and concentrate. If we truly are Empath and Object, you should begin receiving impressions of what I'm thinking about within a few moments."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair, trying to clear her mind. But she was so distracted by the thudding of her heart and the even sounds of his breathing that she soon began fidgeting in her chair. "Hermione," he said finally in an if-you're-not-even-going-to-try-then-let's-forget-all-about-this tone of voice.

"All right, I'm sorry," she replied. "Let's try again." She took a deep breath and willed herself to relax, turning her mind outward, towards him.

A few long moments passed before she became aware of a faint glimmer of light hovering at the very edge of her thoughts. The light wavered and nearly faded as she shifted excitedly in her chair, then grew stronger when she poured every bit of her considerable power of concentration in its direction.

Slowly, the shimmer of light coalesced into a flickering tongue of fire. A candle, she realized. The flame was encircled by a fuzzy halo of diffuse yellow light, not entirely in focus. As she yielded to the impression more flames appeared, hundreds of bright blobs of firelight from hundreds of candles bobbing in mid-air. More details swam into view, and though blurry and indistinct they were clear enough for her to understand she was viewing something she had seen hundreds of times in her life at Hogwarts – the Great Hall.

It gave her the strangest feeling of déjà vu as she saw the Hall through his eyes – the loops of garland decorating the walls, the huge pine wreaths, the enormous Christmas tree at the front of the room, the sounds of laughter and talking that were now also invading her consciousness. How odd to be experiencing both her own memories of that night and his at the same time. It was like an exceptionally lucid dream and she yielded to it, focusing on him and his reactions to the goings on around him.

Suddenly the bottom dropped out from under her world and she fell, racing downwards into darkness at the same moment that he rocketed past her up into the light, losing herself until there was no more Hermione Granger in this strange hybrid being they had created, there was only Severus Snape. She was thinking his thoughts, feeling his emotions, seeing with his eyes, hearing with his ears. She could taste a cool sip of pumpkin juice as it slipped down his throat, could feel the chafe of a particularly scratchy pair of woolen socks covering his feet. She was part of his mind, and it was a far more intimate experience than any act that involved the body alone could ever be.

He pulled his chair up to the table and scowled irritably, already counting the minutes until he could excuse himself and return to the sanctuary of the dungeon. Damn Albus for planning this inane Ball, damn him for insisting that Severus attend, and damn the cosmos for fashioning the Earth in such a way that it had the winter solstice which prompted celebration of this ridiculous holiday in the first place. He hated Christmas and everything associated with it. He resented having to give up one of his precious weekend evenings in his room at The Three Broomsticks. And besides, the overpowering smell of pine permeating the room was beginning to make his nose itch.

"Well, well, Severus, I see you've got your holiday face on." Dumbledore's nauseatingly happy grin was firmly in place, stretching wider as Severus's face darkened into a glare. The older man patted his hand affectionately. "Relax and enjoy yourself."

"The only part of this evening that I will enjoy is its conclusion," Severus drawled, and Dumbledore chuckled in response.

"I gather that means you will again decline to portray Father Christmas at the Yule Pageant this year?" the Headmaster teased gently. Minerva's hand flew to her mouth in a fruitless attempt to hide her snicker, but the crinkling of her eyes left little doubt that she enjoyed the image of Severus in red suit and white beard that was flitting through her mind.

He was spared the need to come up with a suitably biting retort by a flurry of commotion at the table behind him. By the sound of it, Potter and his Dream Team had claimed the seats and were quite noisily making themselves comfortable. He reflected for a moment on the fact that prior to the war he would have been vastly irritated by being forced into such close proximity to the Pain-In-The-Arse Who Lived. Much had changed in the aftermath of that final battle, however, and while Potter's mostly-undeserved celebrity status still rankled, Severus was finally able to view the boy with something approaching equanimity – in his own mind, at least. Amazing what a few deflected Unforgivables and three weeks kipping in the rain can do for the perspective, he thought cynically.

Emerging from his reverie, he noticed Minerva was smiling at something over his shoulder. She rose in her seat a bit and said, "You look lovely tonight, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Professor," came the happy response from behind him, and without thinking he craned his neck to see what the fuss was about. He raked Hermione with a quick glance and then turned back, keeping his features carefully schooled with the ease of one who learned long ago that maintaining a poker face is the best way to avoid questions best left unanswered. But anyone watching him carefully would have seen his Adam's apple work hurriedly as he tried to swallow the lump that had unexpectedly risen in his throat.

The girl was beautiful.

For all his years as a teacher, he had never paid much heed to the way students entered Hogwarts as children and left as adults. He formed impressions of most students in their first year, and regardless of how much or how fast they matured, those impressions usually lasted until they graduated. Even if he happened to see them again years later, his first thought of anyone who had ever sat in his classroom was of the 11 year old child they'd been when he first set eyes on them. Hermione Granger had been no exception to this rule – until tonight.

And it made him angry. Furious, in fact, though he was unsure why until he saw her dancing with Black and his anger began to taste of something a bit more unsettling. With a start, he realized he was jealous. He hated the idea of Black being so close to her, touching her even in this most innocent of ways. The man had no right to the intelligent beauty he held in his arms, had done nothing to earn the privilege of saying things to her that made her laugh. He seethed as she and Black spun around the dance floor, the smile on Black's face becoming just another in the endless line of taunts the bastard had given him since they were children.

When they returned to the staff table and she caught his eye, lips curved into a happy smile and the half light creating a heartbreakingly beautiful shadow along the lines of her neck, his jealousy tightened into longing – and he suddenly realized the danger inherent in the situation, as well. "Don't even think about it, Miss Granger," he sneered, trying to deflect the flame before it roared into a conflagration but realizing at once he had made a tactical error. In typical Gryffindor style, she snatched up the gauntlet he had thrown down and after being goaded by both Albus (damn him again!) and the little Malfoy shitweasel, he found he had no choice.

He spent the entire dance with an iron fist closed around his emotions. Later he would allow himself the luxury of analyzing what he was feeling, but now was neither the time nor the place. When she stumbled against him and he felt her heart racing like a scared rabbit he knew they were both in a great deal of trouble. But the thudding he felt through her chest also filled him a surge of… something… something good and hopeful and positive and warm. They held each other for a moment while he fought the insane urge to pull her hair from the confines of its French twist and run his fingers through it. And then the spell was broken, and he silently cursed the knot of Slytherin fourth years who stood snickering at them for ruining the first happy moment he'd had in the gods only knew how long…

***

She felt as though she were deep underwater, so deep that the sunlight dappling the surface was nothing more than a bright speck miles above her head. She was content to float here, gently buffeted by the current and serene in the silence. But then she realized she couldn't breathe and began to panic. She turned and began frantically swimming upwards, knifing her way through the water, faster and faster until she broke the surface and gulped in great lungsful of air.

"Hermione," a voice said, and slowly the world around her came back into focus. Snape sat silently, watching her come out of it with his hands folded in his lap.

"What happened?" she croaked. "Why did we stop?"

"Accio water," he said, and a brimming glass drifted across the room, coming to rest on the table next to Hermione's chair. She gulped it gratefully. "How do you feel?"

She paused for a moment to take stock of herself. "I feel… odd," she replied finally. "I feel a little weak, and a bit disoriented. But I was there, wasn't I."

He nodded. "Yes."

She sat back heavily in her chair. "Then it's true."

He nodded again. "Yes."

They locked eyes and she realized he had broken the contact because he did not want her to know any more about his state of mind that night at the Yule Ball. It made her itch in the middle of her chest to know why, but she knew she had to respect his decision. He was already giving up so much of himself.

"I think that's enough for one evening," Snape said, starting to rise, but she sat upright again quickly, grasping his hand before he could unseat himself.

"No, not yet. Please. Show me something else. It doesn't have to be about me." She entreated him with her eyes, fully aware that she was manipulating him but not much caring about it. He was not the type of man who could be manipulated if he didn't want to be, anyway.

And apparently he did want to be just then, because he did not try to shake off her grip on his fingers. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

***

The subdued murmur of voices was silenced when he stepped into the family sitting room and closed the heavy door behind him. He knew he should stay with the guests, knew his mother would be upset by his absence, but he desperately wanted to be alone. A large, black dog lay prone on a worn throw rug in front of the fireplace. He crossed the room quickly, throwing himself to the floor and wrapping his arms around the dog's neck as he erupted into loud, shuddering sobs.

The animal was only a few years old, but he was already almost completely lame. Severus remembered the day his parents had taken him to buy the dog. His first choice had been a lively, mixed-breed puppy with bright eyes that stood on his hind legs and licked the enchanted child's hand through the wire mesh comprising its cage. But his father had taken one look at the little canine and firmly steered Severus to another set of kennels. No mixed-breed dog was good enough to live in Dunstan Snape's house. Mixed parentage meant weakness, after all, and the Snapes were nothing if not strong. The family may have fallen on hard times in the current generation, but they were still powerful wizards and as fiercely proud as they had been when Severus's great-great-grandfather had first won his fortune and built Snape Manor.

And so the purebred black Labrador – which Severus had named Sirius, a name that had captured his imagination ever since the first time his father traced the pattern of Canis Major out of the night sky with his finger – came home with them, and within a few months began to show signs of hip dysplasia. In short order, the poor animal was almost totally lame and had to be carried about by a pair of house elves whenever he needed to walk more than a few steps. In later years, Severus would look back on that old black dog with irony in his heart, not just because his best friend from childhood shared a moniker with the worst enemy of his teen years and beyond – not to mention a similar appearance when said enemy was in animagus form – but because he proved that, in the end, pure blood was no protection against weakness and rot after all.

A point which his father also made terribly clear shortly thereafter, when he first fell victim to the illness that had so recently ended his life.

"There you are, Severus," came his mother's worried voice from the doorway. The echo of voices from the next room pressed in on him as she crossed the room and knelt down beside him. "I wondered where you got off to."


Severus looked up at his mother, tears still flowing from the corners of each eye. "Don't cry, my love," she said, stroking his back gently. "Father would have wanted you to be brave. You know how he felt about you crying."

Her use of the past tense to describe his father somehow made the death seem infinitely more final than even the sight of the coffin had, and the child's sobs were renewed. His mother sat beside him and gathered him up in her arms, whispering soft words of comfort and rocking him gently as she had when he was a baby.

"For the gods' sake, stop coddling the boy, Avis," a sharp voice reprimanded from the doorway, and peeking over his mother's shoulder he saw the slim form of Benjamin Ash advancing toward them.

Benjamin had been Dunstan's closest friend since their days together at Hogwarts, though Severus never quite understood why. The two men were polar opposites in nearly every respect -- Benjamin was handsome, rich and flamboyant of dress and expression, while Dunstan was plain, financially insecure and rather more on the reserved side. And while Dunstan was strict and his orders never questioned in his household, Benjamin was downright cruel. Severus had heard his parents talking about Benjamin's cruel streak many times over the years, telling stories of his vicious tongue and tendency to strike those he considered inferior to himself – which apparently included just about everyone, from what Severus could glean – when they disagreed with him.

When Benjamin's wife died a few years earlier, leaving him alone with their daughter Marinall, rumors circulated that he'd had her killed because he was involved with another woman. "Benjamin is a hard man but not so hard that he could do that," Dunstan dismissed the stories when those brave enough to do so came forward to solicit his opinion on the matter. "He would never do anything that would bring harm to a member of his family, least of all something which would have such a profound impact on Marinall." For Benjamin did have one characteristic that went a long way toward redeeming him in the eyes of those who would have otherwise written him off as totally heartless, and that was his devotion to family. Especially his daughter, who at the age of 14 was now five years older than Severus. Marinall was Benjamin's biggest weakness and the only thing in his life he treated with the love and respect it deserved. In Benjamin's eyes, the sun rose and set on his only daughter, and she could do no wrong.

By way of their longstanding friendship, Dunstan had become like family to Benjamin – and by extension, Avis and Severus as well – and he treated them less harshly than most of the other people around him. But this still wasn't saying much, and Severus had never quite warmed to the wiry man with the bushy moustache. He hated the nasty way Benjamin spoke to the servants and the violent way he gesticulated whenever he got into an argument with someone – which seemed to be nearly every time he started a conversation. And Marinall never struck him as anything more than a stuck-up little brat who had only to bat her eyes at her father and whatever she desired was hers.

The final month of Dunstan's long illness was particularly difficult for the entire household, not just because of the chilling anticipation of the loss of its master but because Benjamin and Marinall had come to reside there. Ostensibly, Benjamin was there to comfort Dunstan in his last days and be there for Avis when he finally passed, but in reality the man did little more than create even more work for his already overburdened mother. Severus thought glumly that there would be at least one positive result of Dunstan's death – Benjamin and Marinall were sure to be leaving soon to return to their family estate near Paris.

Severus cringed as Benjamin crossed the room to where he and his mother sat huddled together. "Show a modicum of pride, boy," the dark man chastised, leaning down to pry him out of Avis's arms. When the child resisted, Benjamin wrenched the two apart and pulled Avis to her feet. "Come. The guests are leaving. You have responsibilities as hostess."

Avis allowed Benjamin to steer her away from her grieving son and out the door into the foyer. Severus could hear voices murmuring good-byes and the soft sound of mourners bussing his mother on the cheek as they took their leave. He buried his face in Sirius's soft fur again, suddenly dreading being alone in the huge, quiet house as much as he had welcomed the idea just a few minutes earlier.

"Avis, if there's anything you need, I do hope you will let us know," a loud voice boomed in the foyer.

"I will, Diablo," his mother responded softly. "And thank you for coming today."

"It was the least we could do. Dunstan was a good friend. We'll miss him dearly. Where's Severus? Lucius would like to say goodbye, wouldn't you, boy?"

"He's in the sitting room," Avis said. "Why don't you go on in, dear? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you." Severus grimaced. The last thing he needed right now was to have that stupid git Lucius Malfoy encroaching on his privacy. "My, he's getting big, Diablo. Starts Hogwarts in the fall, doesn't he?"

Severus heard the other boy's steps padding across the room but did not look up. "We're leaving," Lucius said gruffly. It was patently obvious he had as little interest in speaking to Severus as the younger boy did in being spoken to.

"Good riddance," came the surly reply.

Malfoy squatted beside him in a hideous parody of his mother's earlier comforting stance. "Are you crying?" There was an incredulous tone in his voice. He tugged at the back of Severus's robes, trying to pull his face clear of the dog's flank, but Severus shrugged him off violently.

"Piss off, Malfoy," he hissed, and the older boy chuckled and stood up.

"Gods, you're such a baby," Lucius sneered. And then the room was empty again, and the house grew heavy with the absence of his father. His chest ached. His mouth was dry and tasted of something sour. His stomach felt full of lead, and his eyes burned.

But he did not cry again.

***

Hermione found tears on her own cheeks when she came back to herself after reliving this memory with him. "I'm sorry, Severus," she said softly, tasting the salt on her lips. "Why did everyone have to make it so hard for you?"

He sighed and turned away, the sight of her tears making him uncomfortable. "That's the way it is in Slytherin families, Hermione. Weakness is despised more than almost anything else. I was conditioned from a very young age to act powerful until I become powerful."

He looked at her again and cupped her cheek, smoothing away a tear track with the pad of his thumb. "I have not cried again since that night."

And the Gryffindor, under no such constraint, cried for them both.

A/N: Thanks SO MUCH to all who have reviewed and emailed me to express their interest in seeing this story continued. The feedback means everything to me! I hope it lives up to your expectations.