Echoes
Chapter 16: The Art of Persuasion
Hermione lay immersed in warmth, comfortably oblivious to everything--a state brought on by exhaustion from the previous night's events. Somewhere within her deep sleep, she sensed a slight tickle on her cheek, but she could not move to reach it. Gently, something cold and wet made contact with her warm skin, nudging her to the edge of consciousness. As her eyes fluttered open, she saw, but did not register, whiskers and a nose cautiously sniffing, prodding near her face.
Instinctively and without any true awareness, she pushed the furry mass away, realizing too late that she had once again jilted Crookshanks, who, taking the hint, leapt from her reach.
Regret for her actions brought consciousness, so that as she opened her tired eyes, she saw a grumpy cat across the room, glaring at her from on top of the dresser. His coat glowed a deep shade of orange as the light from the low fire gently bathed the room. His enormous furry shadow flickered on the wall behind him to the ceiling above.
She wanted nothing more than to go to her cat and comfort him, to reassure him that he was still wanted, but a warm body and heavy arm were still draped around her, enveloping her body in warmth and safety. She could feel Snape's even, warm breaths against her neck, and she knew he was yet asleep.
How long she had been asleep, she did not know, though it felt as if she had only closed her eyes. Her muscles were weak and worn, and her eyes ached as she looked around with half-shut lids.
Cautiously, she slid her arm towards her night stand to check the time. As her slight movements provoked a response from the body around her, she tensed, froze, realizing that Snape had awoken.
"What time is it," Snape mumbled sleepily as his arm tightened around her waist.
"Too early," she murmured as she pushed her body closer to his, hiding her face in her pillow. It was half past five, and given that they hadn't gone to bed until nearly one and weren't asleep until a good while later, the morning had arrived much too soon. Hermione was resolved to sleep a few hours longer.
A growl sounded in her ear, and she realized that this however was not his plan.
"Stay," she implored, rolling to face him.
He paused watching her pleading expression. His eyes and face were soft as his hand moved to her mouth, and he leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips before replying, "Once I'm awake, I have no hope of falling back asleep." He sighed, "I'll just become frustrated if I stay here."
Pulling the covers back, he slid from the bed, and in an instant, she was alone, though the warmth from his body lingered.
She propped herself up on her elbow and watched him moved about the room, gathering his clothes and silently dressing.
"Are you going to start the research right away?"
"Soon. Are you coming?" he asked looking up at her as he kneeled to tie his shoe.
Hermione hesitated slightly, revealing the sensitive subject she was about to broach, and Snape's face darkened. With a forced casualness, she answered, "Actually, I'm going to see if I can find some time today to speak with Harry alone."
Snape's body stiffened, and his face tensed as he stood up and towered menacingly above her. "What for?" he asked coldly.
His height and expression would have made any first year tremble with fear, but Hermione had long since learned to ignore his intimidating manner. She was, however, very aware that she needed his approval if Harry was to work with them again.
"Sirius will be leaving soon, and we could really use another person for the Avada Kedavra research." The moment the words left her mouth, a sneer formed on his lips, and Hermione regretted bringing up the subject. Snape was not in the best of moods this morning, but the topic needed to be discussed.
She'd always had difficulty determining how her words and actions would be perceived by others. Over the years, as she watched students and teachers flinch and roll their eyes whenever she raised her hand, she had learned to resist the urge to openly display her knowledge, understanding that she sounded arrogant. Her interpersonal skills were still weak however, and she struggled now as she tried to find the most tactful way to persuade.
He spat, "Potter has made it quite clear that he cares nothing about working against the Dark Lord if it involves dirtying his hands."
Remaining calm, she replied, "I think I can get him to agree, but it might take most of the day to convince him." She paused and looked into his eyes, gathering as much softness of expression as possible and continued cautiously, "Severus, if he does come around, will you hold your tongue in front of him?"
"He will not agree," he simply stated, crossing his arms. Though he had certainly not warmed to the idea, his features were no longer as harsh, and he had not immediately refused to act civil around Harry.
These slight indications of acceptance gave Hermione the incentive to persist, "If he does agree, will you?"
A look of disgust contorted onto his face, as if the words he was trying to say tasted awful. In the end, he did not speak at all, but rather nodded sharply. Stiffly picking up his robes, he hung them over his arm and silently turned to leave.
Hermione let out a sigh of relief that he had agreed, and before her breath was completely out, he had growled the command to his room and, stepping into the fire, was gone.
Though pleased with the outcome, Hermione was a bit surprised that he had not argued more. Severus was a stubborn man, and as being such, did not always listen to reason. But this time, he had, and she smiled to herself with the thought that his willingness, however grudgingly incurred, could probably be attributed to her.
She sighed and looked over to the dresser where a disgruntled Crookshanks still sat, his bushy tail flicking back and forth. His yellow eyes stared unblinking, and his squashed face scowled at her.
Hermione wrapped the bed sheet around her and sat up, calling, "Come here old boy," but the cat held his ground and remained unmoving.
Tentatively, she approached him, the sheet twisted around her body as it pulled from the bed like a sail. The closer she came, the more Crookshanks backed away, until finally he could go no farther, and so leapt swiftly from her reach, scrambling under the bed.
Exasperated, Hermione let the sheet fall to the ground, and trudged to the bathroom to wrap her fuzzy robe around her, before attempting another approach.
Padding back to the bed, Hermione secured the rope tightly around her waist. She crouched down to peer under and focused her attention on making amends. In the dim light of the room, it was difficult to see anything under the bed, but she could make out Crookshanks's scrunched silhouette. He was obviously uncomfortable, as he barely fit.
"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, Crooks. I love you too," Hermione apologized gently.
The cat responded by backing away, his fur scratching against the bottom of the mattress.
Sitting up, rubbing her sore eyes, Hermione realized that she needed to re-evaluate her strategy. Mere words were not working. As she contemplated her next move, an old saying about a direct link between a man's heart and stomach popped into her mind, and she grinned at the absurdity of the archaic belief. In this instance, however, it might apply. Food, particularly something really smelly, might lure the cat near her.
She summoned Dobby, and in an instant, a small pop sounded behind her.
Turning her body to look into his huge green eyes, which began to brighten and twinkle as she asked wearily, "Dobby would you bring me some tuna?"
Bouncing on his brightly stocking feet, he squeaked, "Oh, yes Miss!"
It still amazed Hermione how alive and animated house-elves became at the simplest request.
Another pop brought a small dish filled with the pink fish pieces, which he presented to her, holding the smelly chunks under her nose. She flinched back, away from the tuna, but accepted his offering gratefully.
Crouching back down, her head against the floor to look under the bed, she waved a small piece just shy of the edge of the bed.
"Come on old boy. It's all right. I have something for you," she coaxed softly.
His shadowed figure stirred slightly, sniffing into the air, waiting, watching her suspiciously. It was not until she set the chunk on the floor, under the cover of the bed, that he moved.
Backing up, she held a second piece out, and after finishing the first bit, Crookshanks grudgingly approached her.
Using one hand to scoop up the large cat, she moved to the bed. Placing him on top of her lap, she broke the tuna into smaller pieces, scruffing his neck while he ate.
Within a few minutes, Crookshanks was comfortable enough to curl up on her lap and to begin cleaning himself from breakfast. Though he gave the appearance of ignoring her, he stayed there with her, near her.
The warmth his body produced and his gentle movements soothed Hermione, so that her exhaustion crept up on her once more. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep the morning away. She ran her hand down the cat's fur and asked gently, "Would you like to take a nap, Crooks?"
The cat did not respond. Taking his unresponsiveness as agreement, she asked Dobby, "Will you come back in a few hours and make sure I'm awake?"
"Dobby will remember, Miss," he clapped with excitement at his new responsibility, and with a final pop, he disappeared into the floor.
Slipping under the covers, Hermione laid still, listening to her breathing, as Crookshanks cautiously crawled on top of her chest, turning circles to find a comfortable spot. He rested his chin on her collarbone and knitted slowly into her bathrobe. His slow, rhythmic purring and soft weight eased her into a deep sleep.
If waking the first time had been difficult, it was nothing to the reluctance she felt as Dobby's thin fingers wrapped around her arm, shaking her. Worst was his high-pitched voice, which was reminiscent of fingernails down a chalkboard that screeched out, "Miss, please Miss, you is to get up now."
Slowly, she roused from her deep, dreamless sleep. With her eyes still closed, she took in a conscious breath and managed to hoarsely groan, "Coffee."
The aroma floating warmly to her nose, helped ease her grogginess, and Hermione opened her eyes and pushed herself up against the headboard. Crookshanks reluctantly rolled off her chest and repositioned himself quietly onto her lap.
"You is not getting enough sleep, Miss," Dobby said, handing her the steaming cup.
The coffee felt better in her mouth than it tasted. Its warmth cleared her mind, and she wondered if there was more to his words than just concern.
Placing the cup onto the night stand, she ran her hands soothingly along her cat's back and looked up at Dobby.
"What exactly do you know Dobby?"
"Dobby knows you is having secrets. Oh, Dobby knows all sorts of things, Miss. That you is being with the Professor, Sir." His big ears twitched, and he whispered, "But Dobby is keeping secrets for Miss and Pr-Pr-Professor, Sir," and he shook slightly.
Hermione could sense his fear and though she knew that it was best for Dobby to avoid Snape, she felt that it was highly unlikely that Snape would ever act on his threats.
"You know he would never actually hurt you," Hermione comforted.
Dobby cowered back in fear. "Dobby is not sure. Professor would never hurt Miss, but Dobby is not Miss. Professor, Sir says to stay away or else Dobby will be pickled," and he quivered.
Hermione shivered slightly as well, remembering the blank, staring eyes of the creatures within the pickle jars. Though she sympathized with him, she couldn't help thinking what odd creatures house-elves were. Dobby was certainly frightened of Snape, but he never showed any animosity or malevolence towards him, and he had in fact, helped her keep their relationship a secret. Years ago, she would have attributed his behavior to the oppression he suffered, but Dobby had been freed. He was more independent than any other house-elf Hermione had ever met.
Giving Dobby a gentle look, Hermione smiled, "You're a good elf, Dobby. Thank you."
All of Dobby's fears seemed to suddenly melt away and he beamed with pride. "Thank you, Miss. If you be needing anything else, you let Dobby know," and with that, he disappeared once more into the floorboards.
Checking the time, Hermione realized that it was still quite early, and she should eat before her inevitable talk with Harry.
Stripping down to nothing, Hermione walked to the dresser and threw on a sweater and slacks. As she dressed, her mind drifted to the previous night, and an unsettled state--one of doubt and restlessness--came upon her. The feeling was not pleasant, but it was one that could as easily bloom into happiness as not. She began to worry about confessing her love so soon to Severus. He had not chided her for it, but he also did not reply accordingly; not that she would have expected him to. He was a closed, private person, so that his emotions were not easily expressed.
If her confession had been an error however, how would it affect their relationship? With these questions consuming her consciousness, she opened the door to leave and absently descended the stairs.
On her way down to breakfast, her thoughts were interrupted as she passed the library and caught sight of a very disheveled Harry. He sat in a large arm chair sulking, his shoulders sagging forward, his eyes staring blankly at the floor.
Hermione was surprised to see him awake so early and wondered, as she watched him from the foyer, if his sullen looks were from a hangover or something else. His hair was more tousled than she had seen since the attack on Hogwarts, and his eyes had lost their luster. Hermione recognized his clothes from last night and suspected that he had never made it to his room.
Concerned, Hermione approached him and asked, "What are you doing?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders, muttering, "Nothing. Sirius left early this morning." His words sounded hollow and empty.
Hermione sat down in the chair next to him, and for some moments, only watched him silently. His body language and expression reminded her of a lost child, and she realized how fitting that comparison was, even though he was nearly a man. Eventually, she awkwardly comforted, "At least he was here for a little while."
Harry crossed his arms and shrugged once more, prompting her to gently squeeze his arm. Though Harry looked a mess, the knowledge that Sirius was gone was a great weight lifted from her.
She leaned back in her chair and watched him thoughtfully. He looked as ill as he did melancholy, but hoping that food would provide a needed distraction, Hermione asked, "Why don't we eat in here?"
Harry didn't answer, deciding instead to pick absently at a frayed piece of chair and ignored her as she called for Dobby.
The little elf was more than eager to oblige, and handing one plate to Hermione, tried in vain to give the other to Harry, who simply looked away in disgust and began rubbing his temple. Taking the second plate from Dobby, she set it on the table next to Harry and gave the house-elf a sly wink, before sending him away.
The smell of syrup was strong, as she looked down at the steaming pancakes that balanced on her lap. Gesturing towards the table she said, "Your breakfast is there if you want it. It looks delicious."
Hermione noticed his face turned a shade paler with her talk of food. Turning away from the plate, he choked out, "I'm not really hungry. I think I had a bit too much to drink last night."
"Really?" Hermione teased, raising her eyebrows with a smile.
There was an awkward pause, as Harry cleared his throat and replied, "Sorry, if things got out of hand," and he looked up at her cautiously. Harry's coloring improved with his confession, his cheeks now taking on a pinkish hue.
"It's all right. No harm done," Hermione said quickly, trying to avoid rehashing the night's excitement.
"Yes, but I should have stopped Sirius from grabbing you," he replied regretfully. Pausing, his mouth turned up slightly as he added, "The look of shock on your face was priceless though!"
Taking the plate from the table, Harry stabbed a pancake with his fork, showing no interest in bringing any of it to his mouth and grumbled, "If only Snape wouldn't have been there. Sirius still has marks all over his body."
Hermione sat back and chided playfully, "Oh, Sirius deserved the hex."
"Maybe," Harry admitted, "but not from Snape."
"Snape really isn't that bad Harry. You might even like working with him if you gave it a chance. He's brilliant, and his research is fascinating."
Harry muttered something unintelligible under his breath that sounded vaguely like, "Fat chance."
The tension was now almost tangible, and Hermione knew it would only worsen with her next words.
Too nervous to look at him, she watched her plate as she asked quietly, "Would you consider coming back to work in the lab?"
Harry suddenly dropped his fork and gripped the side of the chair, so that his knuckles became white, the tendons sticking out with his hold.
She continued quickly, sounding more optimistic than she felt, "While Sirius was here, you really did miss a lot. You'd be surprised at the progress we've made."
Touching his clenched fist, Hermione added softly, "Truly Harry, I thought working with the Killing Curse would be dreadful, but it's not. The potion works more often than not, but it's not perfect. That's why we need your help." She looked into his eyes and implored, "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
Harry set his plate aside and leaned forward, balancing his forearms on his spread legs. His head slumped forward, and his eyes focused on his hands as he replied, "Even if that's so, I don't think I can work with Snape."
"Harry, if it means a way to fight Voldemort, to win, isn't it worth almost anything?"
Harry sighed, but did not answer, and Hermione ventured a request, "Let me show you how well his potion works."
Nodding, he closed his eyes and whispered, "All right," before moving his hand to his mouth and losing himself in thought.
Harry was being uncharacteristically reticent, and his monosyllabic answers concerned Hermione. She suspected he had agreed because at the moment, he didn't really care much about anything, except the loss of his godfather.
Holding her plate in one hand, Hermione stood and reached for his as she said, "I'll meet you in the guest room in half an hour."
Harry shrugged noncommittally, and pushing back the guilt of forcing her friend into something he was not comfortable with, Hermione turned to leave.
They parted, and she walked slowly down the hall to gather the materials she would need for her demonstration. She was betting on something that was by no means a sure thing. If failure occurred, and it was as likely to as not, Harry would be horrified and never agree.
Hermione opened the door to Snape's rooms even more slowly and entered.
With a small smile, she greeted him, as he looked up from a pile of scrolls. Walking over to the nearest lab station, Hermione casually checked on the Portestas Potion, which was gently simmering.
She picked up a small sack from the table and, placing a Charm on the bag, began filling it with the materials she would need.
"I assume you have spoken with Potter then," Snape's harsh voice broke through the silence.
Shrinking a caged mouse, Hermione replied calmly, "Yes. I thought it would be best to introduce him to our work alone."
He nodded sharply, not looking at her. His short answers and rigid formality concerned Hermione, so much so that she felt compelled to ask, "May I come visit you later?"
His features softened, and he nodded again, this time more slowly. "As long as you don't bring your," he paused and sneered, "friends with you."
Knowing the news would please him, Hermione announced nonchalantly, "Oh, Sirius left early this morning. You have only me and Harry to contend with."
Moving near her, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "That, I believe is one too many," and he slowly kissed her.
Gently easing away, she murmured, "I will see you tonight."
Her lips still tingled from their kiss, as she cast a Spell to lighten her load. With the bag in her hand, Hermione left, carrying a good portion of the lab up to the room directly adjacent to Harry's.
As Hermione opened the door, she surveyed the temporary lab. The room, like hers, was a simple, but comfortable bedroom. Passing through the door, she levitated herself and her bag, concentrating on rearranging things as she wished.
With a flick of her wand, the room began to whirl around her, as if she stood within the eye of a small hurricane. The bed shrunk down to a small size and swished to the corner, while the dresser lengthened and moved forward. Under her feet, the rug slid and rolled up in the corner, while bottles and vials and cauldrons popped out of the small bag, growing to full size and organizing themselves onto the make-shift lab station.
A few minutes later, Harry silently entered the room, looking a bit surprised at its new arrangement.
"Here," Hermione directed, handing him a small lidded jar. "Spread some of this cream on the mouse, while I measure the dosage."
Harry took the jar hesitantly and opened the cap, reeling back as its putrid stench was released. With a hint of wry amusement in her voice Hermione called out, "Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Try to keep your nose away. The odor is somewhat unpleasant."
Hermione knew that tricking Harry into working with the Strengthening Salve would hardly encourage him to help, but the wicked pleasure she got from watching his face contort as he tried to smother the poor creature without breathing was worth the risk. Harry hastened his work and soon was off to the bathroom to clean up, leaving Hermione with a now very gloppy mouse.
As she fed the mouse the potion through a long slender dropper, Hermione felt a twinge of anxiety, realizing how much depended on the success of this test.
She glanced quickly over at her friend, who had now returned, and noticed that he was shifting his weight nervously from side to side.
"Hermione..." Harry began, his words drifting off with anxiety.
"It will be all right," she reassured. Deciding it best not to guarantee anything she added, "Besides, if something does go wrong, it's only a field mouse."
Harry visibly swallowed and moved to lean against the wall, still watching, but distancing himself from what he knew was about to take place. Taking a deep breath, Hermione concentrated and commanded, "Avada Kedavra," and a streak of green flashed from her wand.
The mouse wavered, a glazed look overtaking it. Hermione watched as it stumbled, shaking from limb to limb. It was a tumultuous experience, but as the light faded, the mouse still lived.
Hermione felt a rush of excitement flood through her at her success. Nevertheless, she also felt dazed and sick, as the Curse drained away most of her energy. Leaning against the lab station, she supported herself. Lifting her head, Hermione noticed that Harry looked more than a little shaken as well.
"Are you all right?" Harry moved towards her with concern.
"Yes. I'm just tired," she replied weakly, forcing herself to straighten.
Staring at the little mouse who was now busily sniffing something in the corner of the cage, Harry whispered in disbelief, "It really worked."
"Yes, it did." Taking a deep breath to regain her balance, she asked hopefully, "So, will you help?"
Harry nodded, "If nothing else, I might be able to find out if Snape really does fancy you like Sirius thinks."
If the Curse had not drained the color from her face, Harry's words most certainly did.
"Harry, please don't," Hermione plead in her most serious tone.
"Don't look so appalled. I was only teasing you, Mione. Don't worry," he said lightly.
Hermione did worry.
~~~***~~~
Later that evening, Hermione bid Harry a goodnight and returned to her room, only to head for the fireplace and Snape's rooms. Calling through the flames, Hermione asked if she could come over and waited for longer than she thought necessary before a short, "Yes" echoed back.
Though odd, Hermione did not suspect that anything was amiss as she stepped through the hearth.
Upon entering his rooms, she became aware of the utter stillness of the room, and a feeling of dread crept into her. She found Snape sitting silently in front of her, staring through her, not focused on anything.
She tried to speak, to ask what was wrong, but soon realized that her words, her movements, her presence were not provoking any sort of response.
With no warning, his head turned slightly to look up at her. This smallest of movements was jarring, and she flinched with fear as he spoke.
"I've just had a call from the headmaster," he paused, "There have been further attacks."