Five – Winter Now I Waken
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I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept; it's winter now I waken.
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Hermione traced the path of a stray raindrop along the glass. Beyond the window of her room, the morning rain fell lazily over the treetops of Cadogan Place and a couple of tardy officers from the Danish Embassy arrived hurriedly to work, but she was far too lost inside her own mind for any of this to register.
She had fled from Hogwarts, showing no sign of that famous bravery Gryffindors prided themselves in. She was aware of how childish it was, to escape from her problems instead of confronting them, but she couldn't bring herself to care. After all, hadn't he done the same?
Besides, she was, at least technically, perfectly entitled to leave. She was months ahead in all of her classes and she hadn't seen her parents since Christmas -which for her had been five months before- and she missed them. Still, she was very much aware of how all this was pure rationalising.
In all her years in Hogwarts, she had never used her status as McGonagall's pet for anything selfish, but there is always a first time for everything. Not that anyone had really opposed her wish to leave. Madam Pomfrey was convinced her fainting was proof of a bad case of post-traumatic stress caused by what she had called "this poor girl's terrible ordeal" and had enthusiastically supported her decision to take a short vacation.
The first thing she had done in London was Apparating to Diagon Alley. It had taken her a trip to Flourish and Blotts, two dusty books on Memory Charms and less than three hours to discover the one Snape –and she had no doubt in her mind it had been him- had used. She glanced over at the open book lying beside her on the window seat.
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Buried Memory Spell or Memoria Sepulta.
(also 'Memory Stealing Curse' usu derog) From 'memoria' Lat. memory + 'sepultare' Lat. to bury, cover.
Conceals specific portions of the subject's memory without these being deleted or altered. Origin uncertain (first rec. 1037 AD). Conceptually similar to the Fidelius Charm, but with the particularity that the individual ignores being subjected to it and consent is not required. Can only be lifted by the original caster, thus allowing access to the buried memories. Dubious legal status due to certain elements arguably constituting Dark Arts. M.O.M. classification: Extreme difficulty, use strongly discouraged.
Trust Neville to accidentally lift a spell like that. And trust Snape to find such an obscure, forgotten spell in the first place. Almost unknown, ridiculously complex and bordering on dark. Very much like him.
Hermione had done a lot of thinking in the last two days spent at home and reached some startling revelations. She now understood that in that time out of time she hadn't just fallen for the seventeen-year-old Severus, she had at the same time fallen for his older self. Partly because she saw the similarities between the two and partly because she had dared to acknowledge feelings she suspected had been there for quite some time.
A silly little part of her was disappointed that he hadn't rushed to London in her wake to beg forgiveness and ride her off to the sunset, but of course, Severus Snape wouldn't be caught dead doing neither of those things and besides, Hermione knew him well enough to realise that he would never confront her outside his own territory.
"Darling?" a voice said from the doorway, bringing her out of her reverie.
"Oh, hi, Mum! I didn't hear you come in."
Clare Granger could seem to the casual observer very much like an older version of Hermione, and only upon closer inspection did the differences between the two become apparent. Indeed they had many things in common, the most obvious being perhaps their tendency to overexert themselves and their bushy brown hair - only in Clare's case, time had taught her how to keep both in check, just as she was sure it would do with her daughter.
"Are you all right?"
Hermione nodded. Knowing her mother wasn't going to be so easily fooled, she didn't bother infusing her answer with too much realism.
"Are you going to tell me who he is or will I have to guess?"
Ah, the wonders of an overly perceptive mother.
"Mum, it's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just… complicated."
"Complicated."
Hermione nodded again. A long pause followed, in which Clare moved to sit on the window seat next to her daughter, then started to soothingly stroke her hair, as if she was still a child, and waited for her to be ready to speak.
"He… he doesn't want to make room for me in his life, apparently," Hermione said finally and kept fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
"Did he tell you that?"
Somehow, Hermione didn't think her mother would be able to digest something like 'no, but he wiped out my memories of the relationship we had when I was thrown back in time and oh, did I mention he's my Professor now?'. So instead, she answered, "Let's just say he made it sufficiently clear without words."
"Sometimes people push others away not because they don't love them, but because they're too afraid to let them in," she said and tucked a stray curl behind Hermione's ear. "Allowing someone to see how much you really love and need them is the most difficult form of courage."
"As much as I'd like to believe that, Mum, I reckon in this case he truly doesn't need me."
"Maybe, maybe not. But either way, you should discuss this with him."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but her mother held up a hand to stop her.
"At least try, okay? It will be much better than living with what ifs," said Clare with an air of finality, so all her daughter could do was sigh dejectedly and nod.
"Listen, your father won't be back from that thing in Manchester until tomorrow, so… what about a girls night out? We haven't done that in ages. We could overdress terribly and go to that place you like so much, what's its name… Tofu?"
Hermione chuckled. "Nobu."
"Right, that's the one. So, what do you say?"
"Sounds great," she managed a weak smile to make up for her less than enthusiastic tone.
"Wonderful. That'll take your mind off mystery man," she said as she checked her watch. "Oh, I have to run, there's a terrified patient waiting for me to torture him." She kissed her daughter on the forehead and stood to leave.
Once her mother had closed the door behind her, Hermione cast a furtive glance at the quills and parchment on her desk and sighed. 'Soon,' she thought as she went back to staring out of the window. Soon.
Two days. She had been gone for two days and he was already on the verge of insanity.
He hadn't even tried to fool himself into thinking that perhaps Hermione hadn't figured things out by now. A very concrete portion of her memory disappears and only reappears when hit by a quite probably deficient Memory Charm. How long would it take Hogwarts top student to put the pieces together?
At least, he knew that she hadn't informed Dumbledore, because if she had, Snape would certainly know by now. He had performed arguably Dark Magic on a student, and as lenient as the Headmaster could be on occasion, he wasn't likely to simply overlook something of this gravity.
He had a shrewd suspicion Hermione's reason to leave the castle in such a hurry had been none other than anger. And she must have been very angry, if it had been enough to abandon her studies and escape to London to seek comfort in her parents' house. He winced when he remembered the amount of covert questioning it had taken to get answers out of McGonagall without giving himself away. He only hoped Hermione's anger had subsided by the time when he would have to face her.
A persistent tapping at his window yanked him out of his thoughts. Grunting, he stood up and opened the window to retrieve the letter from the owl's outstretched leg.
Professor Snape,
Since I will be returning to Hogwarts on Sunday, I would appreciate it if you would notify me of a suitable time to discuss certain matters of our common interest.
HG
He had to admit that, given her House's penchant for subtlety, he had expected a Howler screaming 'I'm onto you!' instead of such a… civil letter. Although of course, the message was in essence the same.
In any case, she was dropping the Quaffle in his court. Which meant her anger had indeed subsided somehow and she had discarded going to Dumbledore or, at least, going to Dumbledore before hearing him out.
Well, she may have a relative advantage, but he certainly knew how to make her uncomfortable enough to forget it, a lifetime of necessity had taught him to.
Fortunately for him, he had even greater experience in dealing with guilt.
Hermione gave the tawny school owl a handful of pumpkin seeds and nervously twirled the letter in her hand. It was the usual creamy Hogwarts stationary but the seal, instead of the familiar crest, showed two entwined snakes forming his initials. How very Slytherin of him. Sighing, she finally gathered the nerve to open it.
Miss Granger,
I have been informed of your arrival at the castle on Sunday evening. Please report to my office after dinner.
SS
On his own terms, of course. But still, it was better than nothing. Now all she had to do was find that courage she had apparently lost somewhere along the way.
TBC…
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Quote from Christina Rossetti's 'A Daughter of Eve'. I'm not sure whether you can actually see the entrance to the Danish Embassy from where Hermione's window is supposed to be. Please think of it as a literary licence - pretty much like getting a table at Nobu for that same evening. ;D See? I was nice this time and gave you a perfectly cliffhanger-free chapter!
