The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?

by Ibex's Lyre






 Hmm…

I once said I would never apologize for what I wrote and what I did, but there are limits to even my audacity. I am sorry, everyone. I got tied up in school, got tied up at home. I lost passion, and didn't know how to carry on. Even two days ago, I sat down and realized that the story was not going to follow my new plans and ideas. But the story does go on, so there is hope. There is always hope, even when the world seems black, when all turns to barrenness.  Which is why Snape… lies. 

Tegan, you said you love the bond they share? I'll have to disappoint you for a while, I fear. But don't worry, as always, nothing is really as it seems in this story.

Speaking of Snape… You would think that there would be at least SOME stir on the fact that Voldemort is now dead and that Snape was involved, no? Sadly, sadly, I'm too lazy to write about that. Just pretend Snape threatened to Obliviate the next reporter that came near him with an acid green quill.  ; )



"The Two Trees" is by William Butler Yeats. The poem in its entirety is very pretty. I wish I could write like that.

For ill things turn to barrenness

In the dim glass the demons hold,

The glass of outer weariness,

Made when God slept in times of old.

For there, through the broken branches, go

The ravens of unresting thought;

Flying, crying, to and fro,

Cruel claw and hungry throat,

Or else they stand and sniff the wind,

And shake their ragged wings; alas!

Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:

Gaze no more in the bitter glass.




Chapter Three: Broken Boughs

Drip…

Drip…

Drip… drip… drip………………

Eyes silver in the moonlight, dilated and unresponsive came slowly into focus. Numbed and heavy limbs brushed lightly against the walls of the tiny cell she called her bedroom. Skin pricked against the cruel cold of the drafty dungeons, and made her shiver. Intelligence, cleverness… all awoke rapidly as her eyes scanned her surrounding and remembered. There was a grating sound behind her, as though somebody were approaching, and she turned on the suddenly tangled blankets reaching for her wand, but her body responded too slowly. A hand came from around behind and gently pressed a damp cloth to her nose. Eyes went dim as her form sunk back to the bed. In the moonlight, a black robed man caught Hermione's head before it hit the headboard, and eased her back underneath her covers.

He snorted in disgust, eyeing the untouched wand as carefully as though it were a venomous snake. Useful, yes, but there were other things much more reliable. "Really, Miss Granger, you should save your strength… Dream your little dreams until I get back." There was a long pause as he watched her before he finally pulled a squirming little mass of fur from one of the inner pockets of the dark black cloak he wore.  The kitten protested only until she was plopped against the warm flesh of the unconscious Hermione, and then began to purr softly. "Watch her, Quantum," he whispered as he scratched the little cat's head, "until she finds me. She will need… company… when she realizes…" A grim, almost strained look came across his face as he contemplated events that had yet to happen. "If I see that she's taken any foolish notions into her head, you'll be using your tail to clean out my flasks until the fur falls off!"

Snape walked out of the room and out of the dungeons; the only thing that saw were the bright eyes of Quantum as she watched him leave.

***

Hermione woke up with a nightmarish headache and the strange feeling that she had been betrayed by somebody close to her.  It was bright out, and that seemed out of place, but she just couldn't say exactly why. In fact, all things considering, she really didn't feel like saying anything ever again. Not after the way she had been treated that Thursday morning for simply falling asleep.  She glared into the mirror she had tried so desperately to shatter once before, and ignored the curious kitten on the bed, despite her half a mind to hiss it away.

After a few minutes, she padded off to the bathroom she shared with Snape and stripped her clothes. Perhaps a shower would soothe her emotions and help think of why she felt like she was late--a completely foreign feeling to her. Hermione let the hot water flow all over her body, leaving her mind free to thought.  They were mostly dark thoughts, moodiness uncharacteristic to her, and she could only assume that it was the aftereffects of Snape in her mind. As Holier than Thou as always, he had made it clear that she was at fault, not he.  That she needed babysat. That she was incapable of taking care of herself!  The minutes seemed like seconds passing down the drain along with the water. Indeed, it was not until Crookshanks came rapidly clawing at the bathroom door before she finally decided that not even a shower was going to help her solve her problems.  So she dried herself off and opened the door, not so much to let Crookshanks in as to let herself out.

Into Snape's room. 

In her state of inner anger, she had not paid attention, assuming that her cat would be smart enough to stay away from the likes of a man so dark and bitter that even light seemed menacing and sinister when folded around him.

I am a not a dragon, I am a deer… The memories came creeping back from a time when order made no more sense to her than chaos did now. Memories from when she had been on the other side of the mirror, when she had been afraid of breaking through to sanity. But I am no deer, either, to be so easily frightened by a man who has become such a part of me. The thought was somewhat startling, coming into existence on its own accord. It gave her the courage to brace herself for the oncoming storm she knew would come as soon as he realized that she had invaded his sleeping quarters once more--but the hellstorm of fury never came.

Crookshanks was now purring with cat approval, trying to lead his owner into the room. Come, come, he seemed to say. Things are not as they should be.

"What's wrong?" she whispered to the cat and stepped hesitantly into the room. Somehow, it didn't feel like she was breaking her self-imposed vow of silence talking to a cat. Animals, after all, had been her friends when Harry and Ron couldn't understand what it was like to be Hermione Granger. And the moth and the mouse had been nice enough… Hermione shook her head clear of thoughts and looked around into the room Severus Snape, her savior, her tormentor.

The world was dark in there, despite the bright sunlight shining through the windows. Of course, she thought sarcastically. Why wouldn't it be?  Another meow, and Crookshanks pointed in the darkest corner of the room, where Snape kept his desk, and where Quantum was now mewling piteously (she had apparently switched rooms during Hermione's time in the shower). And it was there she saw as she squinted to see better through the cutting darkness the figure of the man she so vehemently hated. Sitting more still than a scarecrow with a splintered pole through its spine.

Crying?

A small, questioning tendril of thought probed the dark place in her mind that served as her link to his, but all she found was the same darkness. Now this worried her--as valiantly as Snape had ever tried to block his thoughts and mind off from her access, his thoughts were too vitriolic and powerful to be completely contained. Something always managed to leak through, even if it was just the normally angry undercurrents of his emotions.

The shuddering of his form came stronger, and the awful noise emitted from his tortured throat came louder. Not crying, no. Laughing. At her.

"So, Miss Granger, prodigy of the Wizarding population--but after Potter, of course--you'll talk to a flea ridden half-member of rodentia, but not to humans. How… invalidating." Angered at his daring to laugh at her and make fun of her cat, Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it. Why waste words on somebody so clearly unworthy of them? This only caused Snape to snort again. "Not even going to defend yourself? How, girl" and he emphasized this with as much glee as he would belittling a first year, "are you ever going to know yourself well enough to become an animagus or a Gryffindor when you don't even have the courage to speak in your own defense?"

Imaginary fur bristled at that comment, and if hadn't been so angry, she would have realized she was still in nothing more than a bathrobe. In fact, his comment was almost worthy of her using her voice. Almost.

Funny now, she shot back at the empty void where his thoughts should be, I'd almost given up on that project. But her mental dialogue seemed to echo into nothingness.

"What's that, Miss Granger? I couldn't hear you. You see, last night I researched a way to sever this bond of ours you are so dependant upon." A sickening smile came across his face as the horrified realization finally dawned across Hermione.  "Oh yes," he said in a silky voice, "it's a shame I didn't run across this potion when the Weasley twins were still running around.  But I didn't think you'd mind since your actions seem to indicate that you'd prefer your privacy, anyhow. Sneaking off in the middle of the nights to places you thought I would never find you? I am not a fool, Miss Granger. I know you in your little, spiteful nature, have gone twice to visit Hagrid in the middle of the night and once as far as the edge of the Forest--and all since I last caught you in the Gryffindor Common Room without my permission!"

As much as Hermione wanted to deny these accusations, she could not. They were true. Defeated, she slowly slumped her shoulders and bowed her head, resigning her to a grim future… alone. Alone! The thought seemed as unbearable as insanity! She was alone, alone, alone, alone-- But Snape was not done chastising her.

"What's the matter, Miss Granger?" Snape continued in his silky, terrible voice. "I rather thought you wanted your privacy. Besides, I'm sure your parents," and the disdain in his voice cut through her like a knife, "will be more than happy to hear the good news. You should tell them while you're blabbering away at home, perhaps before you reiterate to them what a horrible monster I am. Before you get your little Christmas gifts. Maybe that way they'll get you something more for your traumatic little troubles."

Snape finally stood up, and for the first time, Hermione could see what a wreck he was. His clothes were unwashed, his hair filthy. He looked as though he had been to hell and back searching for answers, and had found none. It was ironic that for as much time as she had spent with his mind she still didn't understand him or what he was trying to do for her. That it didn't come up as odd as the fact that he was actually severing her mind from his, when by all rights, he should be finding more ways to keep track of her--if what he had said that fateful Thursday morning was indeed correct. If she was the possible target of those who once supported the dead Dark Lord in hopes to gain power. The two had more in common than they liked to believed, had more invested in each other than they cared to admit, and yet the closer they came to caring about one another, the further they drove each other apart.  Why?

Empathy.

Irony.

Deception.

Subterfuge.

Insanity of sanity; order in chaos.

When they could have reached out to each other and have felt complete at last, they instead chose to push the other away.

"And put some clothing on, you drown spawn of a siren."

The pain cut closer than she chose to recognize.  Hermione held her head high and left his room, slamming the door as hard as she possibly could.  Even still, she could hear his comment resonate through the thick oak. And when he didn't follow to make sure she stayed out of trouble, she let her head rest upon the cold stone walls and whispered the first word that came to mind.

"Bastard."

***

In some ways, it was easier to leave the castle and him now that he had severed the ties, Hermione mused silently as she packed her stuff up for the winter break. At least she was finally getting to go home. Home. The word sounded nice, nicer than any winter balls, nicer than anything she could think of. Besides, who wanted to go to a stupid dance anyway? Not she. Not since…

"Ha!" she grumbled to herself, and checked the time. She'd have to say goodbye to Harry and Ron and dear, dear Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall before she left, too. It was, after all, only Snape that she refused to say a word to, not anybody else. That might interfere with her studies, and she would hate to miss out on knowledge just out of stupid spite. It was only a matter of hours before Hermione found herself sitting in front of her old bedroom window watching as the snows fell into the darkness of night.




It was a long time after ten when her mother came in to look on her child. Mrs. Granger was a short, feisty woman who looked old but not too aged. Her eyes sparkled with love and affection as she waited patiently for her daughter to notice her through the doorway. When many minutes more passed in silence, Mrs. Granger finally did sigh and speak.

"It's a relief to see you sane again. Last time we met, you didn't even know who I was," she said in an attempt to begin a friendly conversation.

"I'm sorry, mum," came Hermione's whisper.

"What's wrong, child of mine?" Mrs. Granger asked after a long silence ensued, and joined Hermione on the quilted bed. "You were never this quiet before…"

And Hermione did but shake her head. "It's just…" Just what? she growled sarcastically to herself. Tell my mum and she'll think I'm a pervert. Tell mum, and then I'll have to admit the truth to myself, and I'm not so sure I want to do that. It's nice sitting in self- pity, anyway. Who needs mental company? I was fine before, what makes it so difficult now? But the one thing Hermione never expected she'd feel was the loneliness, the emptiness that threatened to consume her as the snowflakes consumed the winter world outside her window.  As she let her mind drift back into the gentle storm outside, she heard her mother repeat the question, and knew she would have to make some sort of a satisfying answer. Mothers, after all, had a sort of telepathy of their own…

"It's just what, dear?"

"It's just that… Professor Snape got upset at me the other day because I accidentally fell asleep in my old Common Room and he couldn't find me. He said that I wasn't safe because of what I did… what I helped finish…" Her voice choked slightly at the memories of death. The oblivion that had been so eternal and absolute, that she couldn't even comprehend them. Her mother squeezed Hermione's arm gently with encouragement to continue. "But as much I love going home to you and dad, what makes here safer than the Gryffindor Common Room?"

Mrs. Granger laughed (as much out of relief as anything) when she heard Hermione. "Oh, is that what it is, dear? Well, you won't have to worry about that, now will you?"

"Why… Why not?"

"Because that nice Professor Dumbledore assured us that there would be plenty protection, as ever, to make sure you're safe at all moments, no matter where you go. Something about guardians and wards… or was it guardian wards? Anyway, don't you worry your pretty little head about it, everything's taken care of. In fact, why don't you have a nice cuppa in the kitchen to give you good dreams tonight?"

"Yes, mum." Perhaps something warm would cheer her up.

Mrs. Granger patted her daughter on the back and went off to discover what her husband was up to, and perhaps shepard him to bed. It had been a long day waiting for their daughter to return safely and sanely back, after all. With one more backwards glance to make sure Hermione had listened to her advice, Mrs. Granger disappeared from the room.

***

The Granger kitchen was neat and tidy; it had always been as such, and Hermione had no doubts that no matter what happened in her life, it always would be. It was warm, too: in the corner of the room, a small black oven filled with gently glowing embers provided the room with enough heat and light that Hermione did not have to waste any more energy to see what she was doing. She filled the old family tea pot with water and set it upon the black surface to heat, and continued her sentry's watch out the window that looked upon the snowy forest that sat on the edge of the somewhat smallish town her parents lived in. No, they weren't the wealthiest of dentists, but it beat living in a major city like London. Less pollution, less crime. And when she was lucky, she would sometimes spot small vestiges of wildlife… although more often than not, they were usually unmoving by the roadside…

"Mreow-ow?" It was Crookshanks pattering down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

While she waited for the water to warm, she searched through the cupboards for her favorite mug and paused to pet Crookshanks as he leapt up onto the kitchen counter and watched her with his moonlike eyes. In fact, he was a big comfort to Hermione, for he had not left her alone for any substantial amount of time ever since Snape had cut the bond. And now he sat there, like her guardian feline. For more than just the first time, she was glad she had gotten him and not some other familiar at the shop.

When the water was finally warm enough, Hermione took the kettle off the stove and poured the warm water into the mug. In the few moments it took for the tea to steep, she gave a final pat to Crookshanks and began to clean up what she had gotten, in order to assure that the kitchen remained as neat and tidy as before. As she sat down and finally began to sip it, she had to agree with her mother. Something warm was nice at soothing nerves. And besides, had Professor Dumbledore ever let her and her family go unguarded before? But the question was: how? Truth be told, she had never once seen any evidence of any guardian angel for the Granger family before--or guardian wizard, as the case may be. And through she knew of many ways and wards a house could be protected with, she didn't exactly think of any that the Professor would use. He was, after all, a very odd wizard with quite a way of thinking. So how?

"Mrrrr….?" Now Crookshanks was at the same window Hermione had looked out moments before, pawing at the glass panes, and staring fixedly at the great world outside.  Probably wants to play with the snow like at Hogwarts, she thought, not paying much heed. Hermione went back to sipping her tea, but Crookshanks was rather insistent. With a sigh, she walked over to the window and began to pet him, searching for what he was so interested in. When nothing appeared for a few minutes, she clucked at the cat and shooed him off the counter--and saw out of the corner of her eyes something strange flitting past the window.

"What?" she said as she squinted, trying to see where the thing had gone or even what it was.

Maybe we should go outside?

Had she thought that? Hermione gave Crookshanks an odd look, but the cat gave her a blank one in return and began to paw at the door.

"Well, it seems like one of our minds are made up," she muttered as she grabbed her cloak and wand and went outside into the snow with Crookshanks.

The snow that swirled around the two was thick as a quilt but gentle and calm, bearing no other threats besides the cold and the wet. Her cat immediately began to pad towards the edge of the forest, expecting Hermione to follow. So she did, not wanting to lose her tom to a fox or a stray dog. Deeper and deeper into the forest they went, and Hermione could only marvel at how it had changed from the friendly playground she had remembered as a youth into the giant, indifferent entity it was now. Not quite dead, not quite alive. Sleeping, like even time was sleeping here in this world of white unchanging under the blanket of snow that covered the pines and all things uniformly. Farther into the midnight black forest, went the cat and the witch, searching for the shadows of the world.

Every now and then one of the denizens of the forest would wake up and stir, or the ever-present ravens of cold hatred would flap noisily above somewhere, but Crookshanks would always stop and wait for Hermione to catch up before running forward again to some hidden path. And in the darkness they followed the paths of swirling thought, till neither knew where one began or the other stopped. And it was here Hermione finally understood. Here she knew what the sirens had mocked her about. Inner animals, inner plants. To know what it felt like to be the might hazel, with roots eternally searching deeper and deeper into the blind ground even as her leafy branches sought the sunlight and the rain from above. To feel the sap run slowly against gravity like the nature magic it was. Or to know what it was like to be the fox that barked in the night and chased predators away from her kits as a sacrifice to the ever hungry demons of the night if only to allow her children to see one more dawn.

After what seemed like an eternity, the two finally stopped in a clearing. The cold, cruel-searing wind cut at her like a knife, but she did not feel it. Instead, she knelt to the world like an offering to the gods of the world long gone. And waited. Waited for that creature in the shadows to become evident, waited to see what the world was made of.

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Okay, I wanted to get this posted ASAP, so I didn't have much of a chance to de-error it. : ) Please forgive any mistakes, I'll get to them as soon as I can. I felt that you people deserved to see this hot off the keyboard.

I want to thank all you people who have supported me, all my readers. I couldn't have done this without you.

-Ibex