Chapter Five: Hollow
She had expected to feel different.
Realistically, how was it possible to have two distinct people with their
own thoughts and experiences combined together into one mind, and there
be no change? She shifted uncomfortably on the transfigured bed formerly
known as the sofa. She had expected there to be a transitional period;
possibly some kind of duality to her thoughts and memories. Instead the
seamlessness of their alteration was almost perfect. If she had to explain
it to anyone else, she would say it was like remembering a quiet afternoon
on her parent's patio reading a book. She could distinctly remember the
book's contents and her thoughts and opinions on the material, but at the
same time she had vibrant memories of her surroundings as well; the warm
sun on her skin, the sweet scent of the honeysuckle edging her mother's
garden, the cool breeze toying with her hair. Two completely different sets
of input and information, effortlessly integrated to form a single memory.
Just as the separate memories of her existence as Hermione and Miranda
had assimilated flawlessly into a solitary history.
The lack of dichotomy completely surprised her.
Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster had explained Homopsuchos to her. But
even though she had felt the connection between the two halves of her soul
while in limbo, none of that prepared her for the reality of integration.
Had Hermione and Miranda always had the same thought patterns? Or had their
merger somehow altered her perceptions? She felt the same, she thought she
thought the same, but how could she be sure? And most frighteningly, who
was she now? Who did she want to be? She found it equally comfortable to
refer to herself as either name, a fact that in itself made her uneasy. She
was in the possession of two separate, individually wonderful, identities.
Each with goals, history, and people that they loved and loved them. But
only one body...
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both..."
She whispered to herself in the darkness.
It was an unavoidable conclusion. She could not be two places at one time
indefinitely; not even with magic. One of her lives would have to be cast
off. But how do you choose to abandon an entire existence? This was the
thought that kept her up in spite of the fact that she was so tired she'd
literally dozed off in the middle of the Headmaster and Severus' conversation
earlier. Before she could even note the irony of it, a sudden realisation
stopped her cold:
Severus.
She had just thought of Professor Snape as Severus. This was the first
discernable difference she'd come across between who she was before and
who she had become. Hermione would have fallen out of bed to find herself
thinking of the man sleeping fitfully in the other room as Severus whereas
Miranda wouldn't have considered calling him anything else, whether it was
in her head or to his face. Whoever she was now found it comfortable to
think of him in such a manner, but felt that she'd have no trouble calling
him 'Professor' out loud. Though the thought of him being affected by her
scent earlier had given her quite a turn, she thought wryly. The new her
decided she was unwilling to examine whether she considered it a good turn
or a bad turn for quite a while yet.
She sighed quietly. It was really quite tiresome not to have a name to call oneself. In either of her prior incarnations, when mentally referring to herself she had always gone by her last name. But being no longer simply Granger or Elsing what was she to choose? A moment's quiet introspection brought to mind the single common denominator to her identity: As Hermione her middle name was Catherine, where Miranda was Cathleen. Both names could easily be shortened to Cat - not exactly a normal name, but she couldn't stand the thought of being something as ordinary as 'Cathy.' Cat was a good name, it was a name that encompassed who she was before and who she would now choose to be. Even if she didn't know who that was yet.
"Cat," She said quietly to herself, "I'm Cat." It was somehow very empowering to be able to take this name for herself. As unlikely as it was that she would ever get to share this name with the rest of the world, it just made her feel better to have the certainty of knowing who she was inside. If only all the decisions she had to make were this simple, she thought with a sigh.
On a whim, she rose quietly from the transfigured couch and, ignoring the twinge of pain from skirting the edge of the bond's current limits, glided soundlessly to the bathroom Severus had shown her before retiring. Easing the door shut, she stepped back and looked critically into the full length mirror on the back of the door. Hermione stared back at her.
Unexpectedly, she had to choke back tears. WHY wasn't there some physical sign of her change to make this easier? It just wasn't fair! She couldn't desert Harry and Ron, couldn't turn her back on the magic or ignore the fact that there was a war coming. But at the same time, how could she be expected to abandon all the hard work she'd put into getting admitted to Uni a year early? She was top of her class in Physics and had already decided to pursue a career in that field. Why, the University Faculty had even given her permission to begin the specialist study for her MA after only a year of her degree!
And now she would have to throw it all away.
Her apartment in Notting Hill, her Saturday afternoon Teas with Mrs. Saunders, everything that made up that life was now behind her. There was no choice really and she knew it. Voldemort was here and real, regardless of what the Ministry said. And she knew first hand just how active his Death Eaters were. Having seen the face of true evil, she couldn't go back to the simple ignorance of a muggle college student. How could she live with herself if she knew that darkness was out there and did nothing to combat it? And the only way she would have the opportunity to do so was as Hermione Granger. Miranda Elsing was truly dead.
She didn't realise she'd sunk to the ground weeping until she felt his arms close around her.
~*~*~*~*~
It was her sorrow that woke him.
Severus Snape was no stranger to sadness, but his brief bond to Miss Granger had already taught him a valuable lesson: Everyone's pain has its own unique flavor. Where his own tasted of ashes and regret, the young woman he was linked to was the biting cold of an icy winter stream. Sharp and clear and, in its own way, determined to reshape every inch of ground it poured over.
He felt it wash over him in his restless sleep and before he was even fully awake he was on his feet and following that heartache to its source. It was only as he was wrenching the bathroom door open that it occurred to him courtesy demanded knocking first. Once he saw her teary form huddled on the floor he was glad he hadn't bothered. She obviously needed this and he wasn't about to deny it to her.
Before he could reconsider he was on his knees gathering her close. The miserable shaking creature in his arms clung to him instinctively, sobbing into his neck. Normally he had no patience for weeping women. Have grown up in a Slytherin household and being one himself, it was well-known that tears were simply another weapon in the female arsenal. Crying was an act he normally looked upon with the same suspicion he would a Malfoy bearing gifts - An obvious tactical move designed to bring about the realisation of a specific goal, with no real emotional significance. That, however, was an impossible opinion to maintain when he was being buffeted by the waves of wretchedness she was unconsciously projecting.
"It's not fair!" She wailed as she began to pound angrily on his chest. "I don't want to let Miranda's life die!"
He caught her wrists and forced her back a couple inches. Transferring both wrists to one hand, he tilted her chin up with the other so she would have to meet his eyes. "Miss Granger, a wise man once said that death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. Even if you choose not to physically continue the path of Miranda's life, she still exists in you, and through you, lives." For a long minute they stared solemnly into each other's eyes as her tears dried on her cheeks.
Slowly he released his grip on her and looked down with a sigh, placing his hands on his knees. The silence weighed heavily on them both before he finally began to speak. "I am not known for offering my students apologies…" Before she could catch herself, she snorted sarcastically at his understatement. Clapping a hand across her mouth in horror, she was abashed when he met her gaze squarely and didn't even stop to glare at her. "But if ever there was one that deserved an apology from me, it is undoubtedly you."
I doubt I'm the only one, she couldn't help but think uncharitably.
"No," he answered with a self-depreciative chuckle as her thought reached him. "Doubtlessly you're not the only one."
My world keeps getting stranger and stranger, she thought as she shared a grin with the formidable Potions Master. She took a moment to absorb the absolutely surreal scene she found herself in the middle of: half-naked on the floor of the most dreaded professor at Hogwarts' bathroom with said professor kneeling before her in a rumpled (and unexpectedly adorable) set of men's pyjamas. It occurred to her that in the almost eight years she'd known this man - the extra year courtesy of her time turner use - she had never seen him smile before tonight. She was surprised at how disappointing she found the sight of that smile faltering and melting into an expression of seriousness once again.
"My apology is quite useless." Their brief levity forgotten, the grave timbre of his voice and thoughts resonated over her. "There is nothing I could say that would restore what my actions have inadvertently cost you, and the part I played in your Homopsuchos' demise is unforgivable." She opened her mouth to refute, but he silenced her with a raised hand. "I do not seek your forgiveness. As Miranda said, good intentions aside I am her murderer. Any extenuating circumstances are irrelevant. But there is something I can do for you..." Taking her hands, he rose and pulled her to her feet. Releasing her left hand, with a twist of his wrist an ebony wand slid down into his grip.
"You sleep with your wand?" She queried in amusement before she could stop herself.
"You don't?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow as if even the possibility was inconceivable. Of course, she realised; growing up in the Slytherin dorms probably made sleeping unprotected extremely unwise. It made her thankful to be in Gryffindor where her rest was unplagued by worries of her roommates attacking her under cover of night.
Raising his wand to her in a formal salute, the air surrounding them charged with power as a spell began to flow from his lips, "Peccavi in gremio legis..."
*I have sinned in defense of the law…* She was so surprised to hear a spell that was more than three words long, it took her a moment to realise the translation of his words was what was echoing in her mind.
"Honoris causa cedo maiori corrigenda." *For the sake of honour I yield to a greater person things to be corrected.* Dropping formally to one knee, he bent his head over the hand he still clasped and ceremonially pointed his wand to the ground at her feet. As she concentrated on the translation, she realised it was less a spell than a magical vow. "Incipit nomine Fidei Defensor." *Beginning here, name me Defender of your Faith* His head rose enough to kiss the knuckles of her hand. The field of magic surrounding them coalesced in the air like warm molasses. Bowing his head once more, he pressed his forehead to her hand. "Voto viva voce factum est!" *Vowed with living voice, it is done!*
The energy swelled with his final words and imploded with an almost audible crack. The gossamer threads of it settled over her skin like a web before sinking softly into her. She shivered as the warm tingle of power filled her veins and raced in her blood. Light headed and dizzy, she would have fallen if he hadn't been expecting that reaction and rose quickly to catch her. "Did you just make yourself my Guardian?" She asked as the world continued to spin around her.
"More like your Protector," he answered as he shifted his grip to keep her from sliding to the floor.
"There's a difference?" She queried weakly as she fought to raise her head to look at him.
His mouth quirked in amusement at her struggle. Uncharacteristically taking pity on her, his hand rose to cup the back of her head and steady her. "Quite," he solemnly replied.
"Oh," she said faintly, the woozy feeling somehow worse now that he was holding her still. "You'll have to explain it to me..." she mumbled as the dizziness finally overwhelmed her. The curly head sagged against his chest as she fainted.
"I'm sure you'll take delight in wringing the explanation from me tomorrow," he chuckled ruefully to himself as he bent to lift her. The unconscious girl snuggled into his arms, causing him to shake his head in exasperation. "Too bad you're not awake, at least then I could take some house points for nuzzling a teacher," he muttered as he eased them both sideways out the door. As if in response she cuddled closer. Shaking his head again, he laughed, "Gryffindors. Even unconscious you're insolent." But for once, his tone held no malice.
~*~*~*~*~
Just after noon, Saturday morning...
The thud of a heartbeat against her ear was the first thing that registered before she opened her eyes. In the face of this incongruity, she lay there silently and took stock of her environment. The springy mattress and smooth sheets were testament to the fact that she was obviously in a bed. Beneath her cheek, soft cottony fabric reverberated with a pulse and strong arms were draped loosely around her waist. Wracking her fuzzy memory, she tried to recall any events that might have led her to waking up in bed with an unknown man.
She stiffened as last night's proceedings came back to her abruptly. The man beneath her tightened his grip, murmuring sleepily in response and immediately she knew who he was. "Severus," she whispered as her eyes blinked open.
Leveling herself off his chest, she propped her head up with her hand and surveyed her sleeping bedmate. If she didn't know from the link that the man in front of her was Severus Snape, she would never have recognized him. Outside of his austere teaching robes and without the perpetual scowl that accompanied them, he looked like a completely different person. Unthinkingly, she reached up with her free hand a brushed a lock of hair from his face. Trailing her fingertips down his face, she rested her palm on the buttons of his nightshirt.
Try as she may, she couldn't remember how she ended up in bed with her professor. The last thing she could recall was passing out on him in the bathroom mid-conversation. Idly noting the contrast between her pale skin and the dark green of his sleep shirt, it occurred to her to wonder about her lack of panic at waking up in such a bizarre situation. After much consideration, she realised the reason behind her calm acceptance was obvious.
She trusted him.
Professor Severus Snape, the only son of one of the most premiere old-blood wizarding families, Death Eater, spy, and a universally disliked bastard was paradoxically one of the few people on the planet who held her complete and utter trust. His old-fashioned sense of honour coupled with the Vow he'd made to her before she passed out guaranteed she was safe in his presence. And from what she'd learned of the man through Miranda's forays into his subconscious, even if the Vow hadn't made him her Defender, she still would have been reassured that he must have a really good reason for putting her in bed with himself.
"I can't wait to hear what it is," she chuckled lightly to herself. Her quiet laughter roused the man beside her. With a sinuous stretch, he unfolded his arms from around her and extended them above his head. Beneath her hand, she could feel the slide of his muscles against the shirt. Rubbing his hands across his face before flopping them back on the pillow behind him, he opened his eyes and smiled blearily at her.
"Morning, Hermione," he said sleepily as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes once more. She giggled at his tired incomprehension as he jerked up to a sitting position, throwing her hand off his chest. "HERMIONE GRANGER?!"
Cat, she surprised herself by mentally correcting him. She hadn't intended to share that name with anyone...
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Cat?" The eyebrow arched higher, "You're calling yourself Cat?" The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was fighting back a smile.
"What's wrong with Cat?" She snapped, bristling defensively.
"Nothing," he smirked as he lost the fight against a sarcastic smile. "It's frighteningly apropos..." An image of her botched polyjuice transfiguration flashed from his mind to hers in all its feline glory.
She couldn't help but blush in embarrassment, "That's not where I got it from."
"I should hope not," he jeered at her. The tone was biting, but she could feel his amusement through the link and that softened the affect. She found herself grinning at him unrepentantly and he surprised her by smiling back. His expression became severe, as if suddenly remembering she was a student. "I'm surprised, Miss Granger - Climbing into bed with a professor is a more Slytherin move than I would have thought you capable of. If this was an attempt to get me to raise your Potion's scores, it's ridiculously misplaced," he snarled at her. "What exactly are you doing here?" He was discomfited by the amusement leaking through the bond. It was disheartening to have this slip of a girl be entertained by him growling at her.
Meanwhile, the young woman beside him was musing on how much easier his sarcasm was to take when you could feel the worry and concern behind it - And how comical it was that her newfound immunity to his barbs was making him uncomfortable. "I was hoping you could tell me," she replied with a sly smile. "The last thing I remember is passing out in your arms."
His mouth dropped open to reply, but his speech was stalled by the thoughtful look that stole over his face. A sudden wave of mortification rolled through their connection as his foggy memory cleared and his jaw snapped closed.
"How DID I get into your bed, Professor?" She asked in a mock-innocent voice.
Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he closed his eyes and mumbled an inaudible answer.
"What was that?" She wheedled with saccharine sweetness, even though him answer had transmitted clearly through the link. "I couldn't understand you."
"Damn it, woman! Must I say it out loud? I know you 'heard' me!" He snarled at her. His irritation buffeted her through the bond. Chastised, she looked away and was about to let him off the hook when she was interrupted by his growling reply. "Fine. I put you here."
"Damn Gryffindors," he grumbled unhappily at her mental surge of triumph as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. "As if Albus wasn't bad enough…" The heavy feeling of her stare on his face prompted him to open his eyes. Meeting her gaze he barked at her challengingly, "Well? Shall I begin packing and looking for other employment?"
"What?!" She yelped in surprise.
Rolling his eyes at her naivete, he replied evenly, "Miss Granger if you were in my house, I could trust you to use this morning as a bargaining chip like any proper Slytherin. Since you're a Gryffindor, I'm sure your righteous sensibilities would be horrified by any attempt to bribe you into silence. Thus I can only assume that the Headmaster will shortly be regaled by your harrowing tale of awaking trapped in the resident vampire's fiendish embrace." The even tone petered out and was replaced by heavy bitterness, "I doubt the School's board would look kindly on any Professor that had an impressionable female student in his quarters after hours. Let alone one with a history as...colorful...as mine."
His distress and pain at the prospect of being forced to abandon the sanctuary that Hogwarts had represented to him for almost twenty years was nearly enough to drown her. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I shouldn't have goaded you like that." Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she intentionally opened the gates of her mental defenses to allow him to feel the truth of her explanation. "I have no intention of reporting you, Professor. I doubt very seriously that anything you've done needs reporting. Even if I couldn't read your mind and you weren't my Protector, by virtue of who you are and what I know you've done for the Order I would still have given you the benefit of the doubt. Combine all those things and I trust you implicitly."
Her open candor cut through his animosity like a hot knife through butter. Her simple declaration would have dented his armour on his most cynical day, but combined with her telepathic projection of the trust she felt in him it was enough to render the normally caustic man speechless. He considered and rejected several responses before settling on a heartfelt, "Thank you."
She nodded her head in acceptance. It's no more than you deserve, she sent to him mentally. "Why did you bring me to your bed?" She asked out loud, not giving him a chance to reply to her silent commendation.
Feeling drained by his unaccustomed fluctuation of emotions, he ignored her soundless communique and replied simply. "When I put you down in the parlor and tried to walk into my bedroom you cried out. This time even I felt uneasy at the distance. Apparently the allowable space for the bond has shrank as Poppy projected it would." At this he looked almost sheepish, "Technically I suppose I should have just moved the transfigured sofa closer to the door, but it just seemed easier to pick you up and take you with me."
"Okay," she said definitively. "I understand." The Potion Master seemed flustered by her easy reception to his explanation.
"Okay? I tell you I abandoned propriety because I was too lazy to cast a levitation spell, and your only response is 'Okay'?" Shaking his head, he sneered at her, "Such unthinking acceptance is ill-fitting on anyone outside of House Hufflepuff. Don't you know that some snakes eat badgers, little girl?" The words were harsh, but their underlying tone was teasing.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward, "You'll find it hard to wrap your jaws around this lioness, Slytherin." Placing her hand against his chest to steady herself, she leaned up to whisper in his ear, "And I'm no little girl..." Easing back slowly, she could see that his eyes had darkened to a dangerously gleaming black. A warm flush of realisation spread over her as she recognised that dark glitter as desire.
He felt as if his body had frozen down to the molecular level when she touched him. The soft puff of her breath against the rim of his ear affected him like a physical caress. When she pulled back to search his eyes, limiting his projections and refraining from dragging her back to him required conscious effort. Reaching up slowly, he wrapped his hand around hers and lifted it away from himself with deliberate gentleness. Pasting on a strained smirk, he nudged her back. "So Kitten has claws, does she?" Squeezing in a painfully tight warning before releasing her hand, he leaned forward to leer at her, "Best put them away, little Cat. You're not big enough to play this game yet." His face was so close to hers that they were sharing the same air. The glint in his dark eyes was hypnotic and she found herself leaning forward to meet him subconsciously.
The sharp rap of a house elf's knock at the bedroom door broke the spell and pulled them apart with a jerk. Severus rolled abruptly off the bed to meet the tiny creature and Cat's breath escaped her body in a shaky rush. Shivering, she wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach. What the hell was that?! Had she really been about to KISS one of her professors? And not just any professor, but Severus Snape! The personal nemesis of anyone who had the misfortune of walking into his class draped in scarlet and gold. A man who, until yesterday, she had been quite certain despised her.
"Miss Granger!" His sharp voice knifed into her reverie and the quick jerk of her head in his direction was pavlovian. "At your convenience..." He bowed sneeringly and waved towards the table he'd conjured in front of his bedroom fireplace. Gone was his earlier teasing sarcasm and she found herself unexpectedly aching at its loss. In its velvet place were the biting tones and cutting derision she'd been subjected to every Potions lesson since she was eleven. Snape-the-Bastard was back and from the glare he was shooting her for not removing herself from his bed immediately, he appeared to be staying.
Scrambling from beneath the sheets, she paused awkwardly as the cold air hitting her legs reminded her of her current state of undress. Turning with an exasperated sigh, Snape plucked a knife from the table, transfigured it into a dressing robe, and tossed it to her. Shrugging gratefully into the garment, a detached part of her noted the quality of his transmogrification. Transforming items of different relative sizes and composition was not effortless by any means, but he had done it ease. This settled a longtime debate she'd had with herself: he wasn't contemptuous of "foolish wand waving" because he was incapable, his aversion stemmed instead from his degree of competency.
The Professor sat as she slid into her seat and breakfast was a terse, quiet affair. Afterwards as they sat finishing up their tea, she gathered her courage and with a deep breath met his eyes for the first time in a half-hour, "What is the Bridge of Ether? And how is a Guardian different from a Defender?"
He pursed his lips sourly, "At least give me the opportunity to finish my tea before you begin bombarding me with questions, Miss Granger." But his relief at her desire to put this morning's incident behind them rolled over her in a soothing wave.
Unwilling to disturb their fragile peace, she masked her smile behind a sip from her own teacup.
~*~*~*~*~
"When all this time I've been so hollow inside,
I know you're still there..."
- Haunted, Fallen Album, Evanescence
~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Notes:
1. "Two roads diverged..." - The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.
2. "Death does not concern us..." - Paraphrased from the translation of Diogenes Laertius (Lives of Eminent Philosophers) by Epicurus.
3. If you want links to either of the above, you'll have to ask. FF.net never posts the URL's when I try to include them. Wow, don't I sound all pretentious with my source quoting? I can hear it now: "10 points from Ravenclaw for your overzealous use of obscure classical literature!" Hermione'd be so proud…*snickers*
4. My Latin sucks. I have no doubt Sev's protection oath is grammatically incorrect. If anyone knows the right conjugations, let me know - I'll be happy to correct it!
She had expected to feel different.
Realistically, how was it possible to have two distinct people with their
own thoughts and experiences combined together into one mind, and there
be no change? She shifted uncomfortably on the transfigured bed formerly
known as the sofa. She had expected there to be a transitional period;
possibly some kind of duality to her thoughts and memories. Instead the
seamlessness of their alteration was almost perfect. If she had to explain
it to anyone else, she would say it was like remembering a quiet afternoon
on her parent's patio reading a book. She could distinctly remember the
book's contents and her thoughts and opinions on the material, but at the
same time she had vibrant memories of her surroundings as well; the warm
sun on her skin, the sweet scent of the honeysuckle edging her mother's
garden, the cool breeze toying with her hair. Two completely different sets
of input and information, effortlessly integrated to form a single memory.
Just as the separate memories of her existence as Hermione and Miranda
had assimilated flawlessly into a solitary history.
The lack of dichotomy completely surprised her.
Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster had explained Homopsuchos to her. But
even though she had felt the connection between the two halves of her soul
while in limbo, none of that prepared her for the reality of integration.
Had Hermione and Miranda always had the same thought patterns? Or had their
merger somehow altered her perceptions? She felt the same, she thought she
thought the same, but how could she be sure? And most frighteningly, who
was she now? Who did she want to be? She found it equally comfortable to
refer to herself as either name, a fact that in itself made her uneasy. She
was in the possession of two separate, individually wonderful, identities.
Each with goals, history, and people that they loved and loved them. But
only one body...
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both..."
She whispered to herself in the darkness.
It was an unavoidable conclusion. She could not be two places at one time
indefinitely; not even with magic. One of her lives would have to be cast
off. But how do you choose to abandon an entire existence? This was the
thought that kept her up in spite of the fact that she was so tired she'd
literally dozed off in the middle of the Headmaster and Severus' conversation
earlier. Before she could even note the irony of it, a sudden realisation
stopped her cold:
Severus.
She had just thought of Professor Snape as Severus. This was the first
discernable difference she'd come across between who she was before and
who she had become. Hermione would have fallen out of bed to find herself
thinking of the man sleeping fitfully in the other room as Severus whereas
Miranda wouldn't have considered calling him anything else, whether it was
in her head or to his face. Whoever she was now found it comfortable to
think of him in such a manner, but felt that she'd have no trouble calling
him 'Professor' out loud. Though the thought of him being affected by her
scent earlier had given her quite a turn, she thought wryly. The new her
decided she was unwilling to examine whether she considered it a good turn
or a bad turn for quite a while yet.
She sighed quietly. It was really quite tiresome not to have a name to call oneself. In either of her prior incarnations, when mentally referring to herself she had always gone by her last name. But being no longer simply Granger or Elsing what was she to choose? A moment's quiet introspection brought to mind the single common denominator to her identity: As Hermione her middle name was Catherine, where Miranda was Cathleen. Both names could easily be shortened to Cat - not exactly a normal name, but she couldn't stand the thought of being something as ordinary as 'Cathy.' Cat was a good name, it was a name that encompassed who she was before and who she would now choose to be. Even if she didn't know who that was yet.
"Cat," She said quietly to herself, "I'm Cat." It was somehow very empowering to be able to take this name for herself. As unlikely as it was that she would ever get to share this name with the rest of the world, it just made her feel better to have the certainty of knowing who she was inside. If only all the decisions she had to make were this simple, she thought with a sigh.
On a whim, she rose quietly from the transfigured couch and, ignoring the twinge of pain from skirting the edge of the bond's current limits, glided soundlessly to the bathroom Severus had shown her before retiring. Easing the door shut, she stepped back and looked critically into the full length mirror on the back of the door. Hermione stared back at her.
Unexpectedly, she had to choke back tears. WHY wasn't there some physical sign of her change to make this easier? It just wasn't fair! She couldn't desert Harry and Ron, couldn't turn her back on the magic or ignore the fact that there was a war coming. But at the same time, how could she be expected to abandon all the hard work she'd put into getting admitted to Uni a year early? She was top of her class in Physics and had already decided to pursue a career in that field. Why, the University Faculty had even given her permission to begin the specialist study for her MA after only a year of her degree!
And now she would have to throw it all away.
Her apartment in Notting Hill, her Saturday afternoon Teas with Mrs. Saunders, everything that made up that life was now behind her. There was no choice really and she knew it. Voldemort was here and real, regardless of what the Ministry said. And she knew first hand just how active his Death Eaters were. Having seen the face of true evil, she couldn't go back to the simple ignorance of a muggle college student. How could she live with herself if she knew that darkness was out there and did nothing to combat it? And the only way she would have the opportunity to do so was as Hermione Granger. Miranda Elsing was truly dead.
She didn't realise she'd sunk to the ground weeping until she felt his arms close around her.
~*~*~*~*~
It was her sorrow that woke him.
Severus Snape was no stranger to sadness, but his brief bond to Miss Granger had already taught him a valuable lesson: Everyone's pain has its own unique flavor. Where his own tasted of ashes and regret, the young woman he was linked to was the biting cold of an icy winter stream. Sharp and clear and, in its own way, determined to reshape every inch of ground it poured over.
He felt it wash over him in his restless sleep and before he was even fully awake he was on his feet and following that heartache to its source. It was only as he was wrenching the bathroom door open that it occurred to him courtesy demanded knocking first. Once he saw her teary form huddled on the floor he was glad he hadn't bothered. She obviously needed this and he wasn't about to deny it to her.
Before he could reconsider he was on his knees gathering her close. The miserable shaking creature in his arms clung to him instinctively, sobbing into his neck. Normally he had no patience for weeping women. Have grown up in a Slytherin household and being one himself, it was well-known that tears were simply another weapon in the female arsenal. Crying was an act he normally looked upon with the same suspicion he would a Malfoy bearing gifts - An obvious tactical move designed to bring about the realisation of a specific goal, with no real emotional significance. That, however, was an impossible opinion to maintain when he was being buffeted by the waves of wretchedness she was unconsciously projecting.
"It's not fair!" She wailed as she began to pound angrily on his chest. "I don't want to let Miranda's life die!"
He caught her wrists and forced her back a couple inches. Transferring both wrists to one hand, he tilted her chin up with the other so she would have to meet his eyes. "Miss Granger, a wise man once said that death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. Even if you choose not to physically continue the path of Miranda's life, she still exists in you, and through you, lives." For a long minute they stared solemnly into each other's eyes as her tears dried on her cheeks.
Slowly he released his grip on her and looked down with a sigh, placing his hands on his knees. The silence weighed heavily on them both before he finally began to speak. "I am not known for offering my students apologies…" Before she could catch herself, she snorted sarcastically at his understatement. Clapping a hand across her mouth in horror, she was abashed when he met her gaze squarely and didn't even stop to glare at her. "But if ever there was one that deserved an apology from me, it is undoubtedly you."
I doubt I'm the only one, she couldn't help but think uncharitably.
"No," he answered with a self-depreciative chuckle as her thought reached him. "Doubtlessly you're not the only one."
My world keeps getting stranger and stranger, she thought as she shared a grin with the formidable Potions Master. She took a moment to absorb the absolutely surreal scene she found herself in the middle of: half-naked on the floor of the most dreaded professor at Hogwarts' bathroom with said professor kneeling before her in a rumpled (and unexpectedly adorable) set of men's pyjamas. It occurred to her that in the almost eight years she'd known this man - the extra year courtesy of her time turner use - she had never seen him smile before tonight. She was surprised at how disappointing she found the sight of that smile faltering and melting into an expression of seriousness once again.
"My apology is quite useless." Their brief levity forgotten, the grave timbre of his voice and thoughts resonated over her. "There is nothing I could say that would restore what my actions have inadvertently cost you, and the part I played in your Homopsuchos' demise is unforgivable." She opened her mouth to refute, but he silenced her with a raised hand. "I do not seek your forgiveness. As Miranda said, good intentions aside I am her murderer. Any extenuating circumstances are irrelevant. But there is something I can do for you..." Taking her hands, he rose and pulled her to her feet. Releasing her left hand, with a twist of his wrist an ebony wand slid down into his grip.
"You sleep with your wand?" She queried in amusement before she could stop herself.
"You don't?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow as if even the possibility was inconceivable. Of course, she realised; growing up in the Slytherin dorms probably made sleeping unprotected extremely unwise. It made her thankful to be in Gryffindor where her rest was unplagued by worries of her roommates attacking her under cover of night.
Raising his wand to her in a formal salute, the air surrounding them charged with power as a spell began to flow from his lips, "Peccavi in gremio legis..."
*I have sinned in defense of the law…* She was so surprised to hear a spell that was more than three words long, it took her a moment to realise the translation of his words was what was echoing in her mind.
"Honoris causa cedo maiori corrigenda." *For the sake of honour I yield to a greater person things to be corrected.* Dropping formally to one knee, he bent his head over the hand he still clasped and ceremonially pointed his wand to the ground at her feet. As she concentrated on the translation, she realised it was less a spell than a magical vow. "Incipit nomine Fidei Defensor." *Beginning here, name me Defender of your Faith* His head rose enough to kiss the knuckles of her hand. The field of magic surrounding them coalesced in the air like warm molasses. Bowing his head once more, he pressed his forehead to her hand. "Voto viva voce factum est!" *Vowed with living voice, it is done!*
The energy swelled with his final words and imploded with an almost audible crack. The gossamer threads of it settled over her skin like a web before sinking softly into her. She shivered as the warm tingle of power filled her veins and raced in her blood. Light headed and dizzy, she would have fallen if he hadn't been expecting that reaction and rose quickly to catch her. "Did you just make yourself my Guardian?" She asked as the world continued to spin around her.
"More like your Protector," he answered as he shifted his grip to keep her from sliding to the floor.
"There's a difference?" She queried weakly as she fought to raise her head to look at him.
His mouth quirked in amusement at her struggle. Uncharacteristically taking pity on her, his hand rose to cup the back of her head and steady her. "Quite," he solemnly replied.
"Oh," she said faintly, the woozy feeling somehow worse now that he was holding her still. "You'll have to explain it to me..." she mumbled as the dizziness finally overwhelmed her. The curly head sagged against his chest as she fainted.
"I'm sure you'll take delight in wringing the explanation from me tomorrow," he chuckled ruefully to himself as he bent to lift her. The unconscious girl snuggled into his arms, causing him to shake his head in exasperation. "Too bad you're not awake, at least then I could take some house points for nuzzling a teacher," he muttered as he eased them both sideways out the door. As if in response she cuddled closer. Shaking his head again, he laughed, "Gryffindors. Even unconscious you're insolent." But for once, his tone held no malice.
~*~*~*~*~
Just after noon, Saturday morning...
The thud of a heartbeat against her ear was the first thing that registered before she opened her eyes. In the face of this incongruity, she lay there silently and took stock of her environment. The springy mattress and smooth sheets were testament to the fact that she was obviously in a bed. Beneath her cheek, soft cottony fabric reverberated with a pulse and strong arms were draped loosely around her waist. Wracking her fuzzy memory, she tried to recall any events that might have led her to waking up in bed with an unknown man.
She stiffened as last night's proceedings came back to her abruptly. The man beneath her tightened his grip, murmuring sleepily in response and immediately she knew who he was. "Severus," she whispered as her eyes blinked open.
Leveling herself off his chest, she propped her head up with her hand and surveyed her sleeping bedmate. If she didn't know from the link that the man in front of her was Severus Snape, she would never have recognized him. Outside of his austere teaching robes and without the perpetual scowl that accompanied them, he looked like a completely different person. Unthinkingly, she reached up with her free hand a brushed a lock of hair from his face. Trailing her fingertips down his face, she rested her palm on the buttons of his nightshirt.
Try as she may, she couldn't remember how she ended up in bed with her professor. The last thing she could recall was passing out on him in the bathroom mid-conversation. Idly noting the contrast between her pale skin and the dark green of his sleep shirt, it occurred to her to wonder about her lack of panic at waking up in such a bizarre situation. After much consideration, she realised the reason behind her calm acceptance was obvious.
She trusted him.
Professor Severus Snape, the only son of one of the most premiere old-blood wizarding families, Death Eater, spy, and a universally disliked bastard was paradoxically one of the few people on the planet who held her complete and utter trust. His old-fashioned sense of honour coupled with the Vow he'd made to her before she passed out guaranteed she was safe in his presence. And from what she'd learned of the man through Miranda's forays into his subconscious, even if the Vow hadn't made him her Defender, she still would have been reassured that he must have a really good reason for putting her in bed with himself.
"I can't wait to hear what it is," she chuckled lightly to herself. Her quiet laughter roused the man beside her. With a sinuous stretch, he unfolded his arms from around her and extended them above his head. Beneath her hand, she could feel the slide of his muscles against the shirt. Rubbing his hands across his face before flopping them back on the pillow behind him, he opened his eyes and smiled blearily at her.
"Morning, Hermione," he said sleepily as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes once more. She giggled at his tired incomprehension as he jerked up to a sitting position, throwing her hand off his chest. "HERMIONE GRANGER?!"
Cat, she surprised herself by mentally correcting him. She hadn't intended to share that name with anyone...
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Cat?" The eyebrow arched higher, "You're calling yourself Cat?" The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was fighting back a smile.
"What's wrong with Cat?" She snapped, bristling defensively.
"Nothing," he smirked as he lost the fight against a sarcastic smile. "It's frighteningly apropos..." An image of her botched polyjuice transfiguration flashed from his mind to hers in all its feline glory.
She couldn't help but blush in embarrassment, "That's not where I got it from."
"I should hope not," he jeered at her. The tone was biting, but she could feel his amusement through the link and that softened the affect. She found herself grinning at him unrepentantly and he surprised her by smiling back. His expression became severe, as if suddenly remembering she was a student. "I'm surprised, Miss Granger - Climbing into bed with a professor is a more Slytherin move than I would have thought you capable of. If this was an attempt to get me to raise your Potion's scores, it's ridiculously misplaced," he snarled at her. "What exactly are you doing here?" He was discomfited by the amusement leaking through the bond. It was disheartening to have this slip of a girl be entertained by him growling at her.
Meanwhile, the young woman beside him was musing on how much easier his sarcasm was to take when you could feel the worry and concern behind it - And how comical it was that her newfound immunity to his barbs was making him uncomfortable. "I was hoping you could tell me," she replied with a sly smile. "The last thing I remember is passing out in your arms."
His mouth dropped open to reply, but his speech was stalled by the thoughtful look that stole over his face. A sudden wave of mortification rolled through their connection as his foggy memory cleared and his jaw snapped closed.
"How DID I get into your bed, Professor?" She asked in a mock-innocent voice.
Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he closed his eyes and mumbled an inaudible answer.
"What was that?" She wheedled with saccharine sweetness, even though him answer had transmitted clearly through the link. "I couldn't understand you."
"Damn it, woman! Must I say it out loud? I know you 'heard' me!" He snarled at her. His irritation buffeted her through the bond. Chastised, she looked away and was about to let him off the hook when she was interrupted by his growling reply. "Fine. I put you here."
"Damn Gryffindors," he grumbled unhappily at her mental surge of triumph as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. "As if Albus wasn't bad enough…" The heavy feeling of her stare on his face prompted him to open his eyes. Meeting her gaze he barked at her challengingly, "Well? Shall I begin packing and looking for other employment?"
"What?!" She yelped in surprise.
Rolling his eyes at her naivete, he replied evenly, "Miss Granger if you were in my house, I could trust you to use this morning as a bargaining chip like any proper Slytherin. Since you're a Gryffindor, I'm sure your righteous sensibilities would be horrified by any attempt to bribe you into silence. Thus I can only assume that the Headmaster will shortly be regaled by your harrowing tale of awaking trapped in the resident vampire's fiendish embrace." The even tone petered out and was replaced by heavy bitterness, "I doubt the School's board would look kindly on any Professor that had an impressionable female student in his quarters after hours. Let alone one with a history as...colorful...as mine."
His distress and pain at the prospect of being forced to abandon the sanctuary that Hogwarts had represented to him for almost twenty years was nearly enough to drown her. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I shouldn't have goaded you like that." Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she intentionally opened the gates of her mental defenses to allow him to feel the truth of her explanation. "I have no intention of reporting you, Professor. I doubt very seriously that anything you've done needs reporting. Even if I couldn't read your mind and you weren't my Protector, by virtue of who you are and what I know you've done for the Order I would still have given you the benefit of the doubt. Combine all those things and I trust you implicitly."
Her open candor cut through his animosity like a hot knife through butter. Her simple declaration would have dented his armour on his most cynical day, but combined with her telepathic projection of the trust she felt in him it was enough to render the normally caustic man speechless. He considered and rejected several responses before settling on a heartfelt, "Thank you."
She nodded her head in acceptance. It's no more than you deserve, she sent to him mentally. "Why did you bring me to your bed?" She asked out loud, not giving him a chance to reply to her silent commendation.
Feeling drained by his unaccustomed fluctuation of emotions, he ignored her soundless communique and replied simply. "When I put you down in the parlor and tried to walk into my bedroom you cried out. This time even I felt uneasy at the distance. Apparently the allowable space for the bond has shrank as Poppy projected it would." At this he looked almost sheepish, "Technically I suppose I should have just moved the transfigured sofa closer to the door, but it just seemed easier to pick you up and take you with me."
"Okay," she said definitively. "I understand." The Potion Master seemed flustered by her easy reception to his explanation.
"Okay? I tell you I abandoned propriety because I was too lazy to cast a levitation spell, and your only response is 'Okay'?" Shaking his head, he sneered at her, "Such unthinking acceptance is ill-fitting on anyone outside of House Hufflepuff. Don't you know that some snakes eat badgers, little girl?" The words were harsh, but their underlying tone was teasing.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward, "You'll find it hard to wrap your jaws around this lioness, Slytherin." Placing her hand against his chest to steady herself, she leaned up to whisper in his ear, "And I'm no little girl..." Easing back slowly, she could see that his eyes had darkened to a dangerously gleaming black. A warm flush of realisation spread over her as she recognised that dark glitter as desire.
He felt as if his body had frozen down to the molecular level when she touched him. The soft puff of her breath against the rim of his ear affected him like a physical caress. When she pulled back to search his eyes, limiting his projections and refraining from dragging her back to him required conscious effort. Reaching up slowly, he wrapped his hand around hers and lifted it away from himself with deliberate gentleness. Pasting on a strained smirk, he nudged her back. "So Kitten has claws, does she?" Squeezing in a painfully tight warning before releasing her hand, he leaned forward to leer at her, "Best put them away, little Cat. You're not big enough to play this game yet." His face was so close to hers that they were sharing the same air. The glint in his dark eyes was hypnotic and she found herself leaning forward to meet him subconsciously.
The sharp rap of a house elf's knock at the bedroom door broke the spell and pulled them apart with a jerk. Severus rolled abruptly off the bed to meet the tiny creature and Cat's breath escaped her body in a shaky rush. Shivering, she wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach. What the hell was that?! Had she really been about to KISS one of her professors? And not just any professor, but Severus Snape! The personal nemesis of anyone who had the misfortune of walking into his class draped in scarlet and gold. A man who, until yesterday, she had been quite certain despised her.
"Miss Granger!" His sharp voice knifed into her reverie and the quick jerk of her head in his direction was pavlovian. "At your convenience..." He bowed sneeringly and waved towards the table he'd conjured in front of his bedroom fireplace. Gone was his earlier teasing sarcasm and she found herself unexpectedly aching at its loss. In its velvet place were the biting tones and cutting derision she'd been subjected to every Potions lesson since she was eleven. Snape-the-Bastard was back and from the glare he was shooting her for not removing herself from his bed immediately, he appeared to be staying.
Scrambling from beneath the sheets, she paused awkwardly as the cold air hitting her legs reminded her of her current state of undress. Turning with an exasperated sigh, Snape plucked a knife from the table, transfigured it into a dressing robe, and tossed it to her. Shrugging gratefully into the garment, a detached part of her noted the quality of his transmogrification. Transforming items of different relative sizes and composition was not effortless by any means, but he had done it ease. This settled a longtime debate she'd had with herself: he wasn't contemptuous of "foolish wand waving" because he was incapable, his aversion stemmed instead from his degree of competency.
The Professor sat as she slid into her seat and breakfast was a terse, quiet affair. Afterwards as they sat finishing up their tea, she gathered her courage and with a deep breath met his eyes for the first time in a half-hour, "What is the Bridge of Ether? And how is a Guardian different from a Defender?"
He pursed his lips sourly, "At least give me the opportunity to finish my tea before you begin bombarding me with questions, Miss Granger." But his relief at her desire to put this morning's incident behind them rolled over her in a soothing wave.
Unwilling to disturb their fragile peace, she masked her smile behind a sip from her own teacup.
~*~*~*~*~
"When all this time I've been so hollow inside,
I know you're still there..."
- Haunted, Fallen Album, Evanescence
~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Notes:
1. "Two roads diverged..." - The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.
2. "Death does not concern us..." - Paraphrased from the translation of Diogenes Laertius (Lives of Eminent Philosophers) by Epicurus.
3. If you want links to either of the above, you'll have to ask. FF.net never posts the URL's when I try to include them. Wow, don't I sound all pretentious with my source quoting? I can hear it now: "10 points from Ravenclaw for your overzealous use of obscure classical literature!" Hermione'd be so proud…*snickers*
4. My Latin sucks. I have no doubt Sev's protection oath is grammatically incorrect. If anyone knows the right conjugations, let me know - I'll be happy to correct it!