Gifts
Dumbledore kept silent the entire walk to the hospital wing. Hermione hung her head in shame, noticing she hadn't bothered about slippers and was padding about the cold halls in bare feet. Just inside the door, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Mcgonagall stood waiting for them.
"Hermione, please have a seat," Albus began, motioning to a chair in Poppy's office. The other two witches filed in and sat down behind her. The headmaster sat at the desk, folding his hands under his chin and taking a deep breath before continuing. "George came in to see me, last night. I trust you remember what happened?" he asked.
"Not all of it, really. But enough, I'm afraid," she answered.
"I was hoping you were getting better, not worse dear. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. Your... attack is as much my fault as it is yours. Please forgive me, Hermione," he said in a weary voice.
She was taken aback by his tone. Fully expecting to be reprimanded for her behaviour towards George, perhaps even for her 'conversation' with Severus, she didn't know how to respond to his apology. So, she snapped at him, "of course, forgiven. How could you know what being separated from Severus would do. I assume that you didn't know, of course." She left her words hanging as an accusation.
"Unfortunately I had my suspicions, and I kept them from you. I had hoped that it was just a lingering effect of the spell, but it seems there were some permanent... manifestations that you are going to have to learn about," he answered. Hermione glared at him hotly, rising to her feet in her shock. "Please, hear me out. I've asked Minerva here to help you cope with what I'm about to tell you. I believe that your, legilamency, may have been a latent gift, and it flared into full power as a result of your ordeal. Actually, you seem to be a Compatior, a rare talent indeed, and this has complicated matters somewhat. Poppy tells me that she has also suspected you, and has already taken me to task for keeping my research from you."
"Compatior? You mean telepathic by nature?" she asked him.
"Not exactly. It means you can read others emotions, and project your own as well," he answered.
Letting his words sink in, Hermione slumped back into her chair. Empathic? The very thought of it was at once ridiculous and utterly true, somehow. 'Permanent manifestations' began to sink in as well. Her physical appearance, the sense of quiet and tendency to be testy in defence of confusion, these would be permanent effects.
She was full of questions, and had no idea where to begin. She hadn't taken the time to consider that these changes might be lasting, that she would have to cope with anything other than playing nursemaid to Severus and living her quiet life in the seclusion the school afforded her. Her anger began to subside in the face of this revelation. She asked quietly, "is George angry with me?"
"Of course not, he's merely concerned about you Hermione," Minerva answered. She laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder reassuringly. "He has asked to see you, when you feel up to it, dear."
"Not just now, I think. Minerva, could we be alone for a moment?" she asked, gesturing to Albus. "I'll come see you later, about all this."
"Yes, certainly. Poppy?" Mcgonagall asked, motioning for the door. After they left, Hermione gathered herself for a moment. Her anger and guilt now gone, she was simply very tired. Her odd stiff posture belied the sensation of having fallen into the depths of the chair.
"What does this mean? For me, and for him. If he never wakes, can I never leave? What else haven't you told me?" her questions ran together in one fairly venomous speech. Suspicion began to creep into her brain, that Dumbledore had known much more than he was telling for much longer than she cared to believe. "You know he came to me, Severus, all that distance and his mind reached me as if I were in the same room," she added, hoping he might have a suitable explanation.
"I know he did, George heard him as well, though he thinks he imagined it. I'm not sure what this will mean, for either of you. I do know that the spell that was cast in the cell weeks ago has not finished. I don't think you should leave Hogwarts until we can be certain that it has," he paused for a moment, folding and unfolding his hands.
"I had my suspicions in St. Mungo's that you might be bound to him somehow, and I'm still not certain exactly to what extent you are so bound. It appears to be a bond beyond obligation alone. I do fear that you may never know your own mind on the matter, that you may never be able to tell the difference between his feelings and your own with any certainty," Albus explained. He rose and took her hand, "I have to go attend to something, I'll return shortly with Minerva. I urge you to discuss this with her, she knows as much as I do about the matter."
He left before she could say another word. Hermione was nearly beside herself in frustration. Her serene life had been shattered in a few short hours, and now she found herself in the dire position of mulling over this new information alone. She went out into the infirmary with a troubled mind. She needed to see him, talk to him, tell him she hadn't meant it, she wouldn't leave. That, in fact, she couldn't.
Returning once more to Severus' room, Hermione paused to pick up an oversized teacup from the table next to his bed. It was handmade, and as she turned it in her hands, began to think of how she knew it. She sank stiffly into her usual armchair, lost in thought, while Madame Pomfrey bustled about setting up breakfast.
Their friendship, and there had been friendship she realized, had
begun so subtly that she wasn't quite sure how it started. Somewhere
between the annoying bookworm she had been and the brave and
intelligent young woman she was now, she had earned not only Snape's
respect but also his trust. It began with their working together on
small projects for the Order, he overheard her defend him to her
friends, watched her begin to relax in his presence. She began to see
more than sneers on his face, understand the secrets in his eyes took
some terrible toll on him that she felt compelled to lessen, if she
could. She started to realize that his self-imposed solitude was still
lonely for him.
She snuck in on his seclusion, small gestures and unwavering optimism
finally breaking his sullen silences with tiny bursts of enjoyment.
They had tea together now and then, during breaks from working
together. She made a habit of discussing anything other than their
work during this time. He finally relented and began returning her
banter, hoping to steer the conversation into something other than her
normal overly cheery small talk. He found her rather charming after a
time, quick-witted and very loyal. She found his voice pleasant to
listen to and his intellect a constant source of fascination for her.
Logically minded wizards being rare, they found it a common thread on
which to base many a pleasant conversation. She fancied Muggle puzzle
books filled with all sorts of interesting diversions. When he showed
an interest in them, she began to give him one or two for special
occasions. Cheap newsprint books with glossy covers passed as gifts
between them for birthdays and holidays for her last two years at
school, each trying to outdo the other in finishing them faster.
Her final year of school she was forced to spend the Christmas holiday
at school. He was, therefore, not surprised to see a small package
lying on his bed on Christmas morning with "Severus Snape" written on
it in her tiny scrawl. He was surprised to find not puzzle books, but
a large mug inside. It was glazed a deep green colour, and had a snake
painted along the handle in sterling silver. The tail of the snake
trailed onto the face of the cup itself to form a large 'SS' monogram.
Turning the cup over, Snape found her signature set into the bottom,
the initials H.G. straddling a crude Hogwarts' crest. He knew she had
taken a ceramics class over summer holiday. He also remembered
commenting how frustratingly small the teacups at Hogwarts were. Once.
Months ago. This gift was so... thoughtful. Blasted girl, he was
touched.
Then he came back to himself and thought, 'touched is right, touched
in the head. She must have made dozens of ridiculous things in that
class and given them to everyone she ever knew.' She wouldn't have
singled him out anymore than she'd grow a third arm overnight. By the
time he entered the Great hall for dinner that afternoon, he was
feeling quite himself again. He was then quite unprepared for her
response to his curt, "Thank you for the mug, Miss Granger."
She blanched, then flushed slightly, and looked at him with a very
firm, 'what did you do THAT for,' look on her face. She glanced over
her shoulder to see Harry Potter staring at her most quizzically.
"You're welcome, Professor," was all she said as she nearly ran for
her seat, trailing the boy in her wake, obviously whispering questions
at her. Finally sitting at his plate he found a small bundle of puzzle
books addressed to him. 'If she meant the mug as a secret, she might
have mentioned it,' he had thought to himself. She refused to look at
him for the remainder of the meal, and fled from the hall when he
tried to rise from his seat. He never brought it up again.
She in actual fact had not made anything else in ceramics class but
oversized teacups, until she had gotten it exactly right. It had taken
her quite some time to get the paint for the snake just so, and had
agonized over how to get it to him without having to present it in
front of the entire Christmas feast. All her careful planning wasted,
she'd had to endure Harry's grilling for half the meal. When she
wouldn't answer any of his questions, he thought it might be more fun
to tease her. After she snapped at him for it, he decided it was a
very good time to discuss Quidditch with one of the fourth years,
leaving her to finish eating in silence. As she got up to leave, she
got the panicked feeling that Snape was about to try to speak to her
again, so ran for the door without a backward glance. She never
brought it up again, either.
"Seems to be important to him, that mug. Takes his morning tea in it everyday that I've seen. Pitches fits when the house elves try to wash it for him," Poppy said, a little sparkle in her eye. "Albus asked him once who had made it and he went perfectly sour over it. Nobody asked again. Well," she sighed, "I thought he might like it, in case he feels up to a cuppa."
Hermione looked a bit wistful suddenly, so as she replaced the mug on the table, the older witch took her cue to go check if Albus had returned. That was how Poppy missed seeing her long-time patient wake up.
Dumbledore kept silent the entire walk to the hospital wing. Hermione hung her head in shame, noticing she hadn't bothered about slippers and was padding about the cold halls in bare feet. Just inside the door, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Mcgonagall stood waiting for them.
"Hermione, please have a seat," Albus began, motioning to a chair in Poppy's office. The other two witches filed in and sat down behind her. The headmaster sat at the desk, folding his hands under his chin and taking a deep breath before continuing. "George came in to see me, last night. I trust you remember what happened?" he asked.
"Not all of it, really. But enough, I'm afraid," she answered.
"I was hoping you were getting better, not worse dear. I was wrong, and I'm sorry. Your... attack is as much my fault as it is yours. Please forgive me, Hermione," he said in a weary voice.
She was taken aback by his tone. Fully expecting to be reprimanded for her behaviour towards George, perhaps even for her 'conversation' with Severus, she didn't know how to respond to his apology. So, she snapped at him, "of course, forgiven. How could you know what being separated from Severus would do. I assume that you didn't know, of course." She left her words hanging as an accusation.
"Unfortunately I had my suspicions, and I kept them from you. I had hoped that it was just a lingering effect of the spell, but it seems there were some permanent... manifestations that you are going to have to learn about," he answered. Hermione glared at him hotly, rising to her feet in her shock. "Please, hear me out. I've asked Minerva here to help you cope with what I'm about to tell you. I believe that your, legilamency, may have been a latent gift, and it flared into full power as a result of your ordeal. Actually, you seem to be a Compatior, a rare talent indeed, and this has complicated matters somewhat. Poppy tells me that she has also suspected you, and has already taken me to task for keeping my research from you."
"Compatior? You mean telepathic by nature?" she asked him.
"Not exactly. It means you can read others emotions, and project your own as well," he answered.
Letting his words sink in, Hermione slumped back into her chair. Empathic? The very thought of it was at once ridiculous and utterly true, somehow. 'Permanent manifestations' began to sink in as well. Her physical appearance, the sense of quiet and tendency to be testy in defence of confusion, these would be permanent effects.
She was full of questions, and had no idea where to begin. She hadn't taken the time to consider that these changes might be lasting, that she would have to cope with anything other than playing nursemaid to Severus and living her quiet life in the seclusion the school afforded her. Her anger began to subside in the face of this revelation. She asked quietly, "is George angry with me?"
"Of course not, he's merely concerned about you Hermione," Minerva answered. She laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder reassuringly. "He has asked to see you, when you feel up to it, dear."
"Not just now, I think. Minerva, could we be alone for a moment?" she asked, gesturing to Albus. "I'll come see you later, about all this."
"Yes, certainly. Poppy?" Mcgonagall asked, motioning for the door. After they left, Hermione gathered herself for a moment. Her anger and guilt now gone, she was simply very tired. Her odd stiff posture belied the sensation of having fallen into the depths of the chair.
"What does this mean? For me, and for him. If he never wakes, can I never leave? What else haven't you told me?" her questions ran together in one fairly venomous speech. Suspicion began to creep into her brain, that Dumbledore had known much more than he was telling for much longer than she cared to believe. "You know he came to me, Severus, all that distance and his mind reached me as if I were in the same room," she added, hoping he might have a suitable explanation.
"I know he did, George heard him as well, though he thinks he imagined it. I'm not sure what this will mean, for either of you. I do know that the spell that was cast in the cell weeks ago has not finished. I don't think you should leave Hogwarts until we can be certain that it has," he paused for a moment, folding and unfolding his hands.
"I had my suspicions in St. Mungo's that you might be bound to him somehow, and I'm still not certain exactly to what extent you are so bound. It appears to be a bond beyond obligation alone. I do fear that you may never know your own mind on the matter, that you may never be able to tell the difference between his feelings and your own with any certainty," Albus explained. He rose and took her hand, "I have to go attend to something, I'll return shortly with Minerva. I urge you to discuss this with her, she knows as much as I do about the matter."
He left before she could say another word. Hermione was nearly beside herself in frustration. Her serene life had been shattered in a few short hours, and now she found herself in the dire position of mulling over this new information alone. She went out into the infirmary with a troubled mind. She needed to see him, talk to him, tell him she hadn't meant it, she wouldn't leave. That, in fact, she couldn't.
Returning once more to Severus' room, Hermione paused to pick up an oversized teacup from the table next to his bed. It was handmade, and as she turned it in her hands, began to think of how she knew it. She sank stiffly into her usual armchair, lost in thought, while Madame Pomfrey bustled about setting up breakfast.
Their friendship, and there had been friendship she realized, had
begun so subtly that she wasn't quite sure how it started. Somewhere
between the annoying bookworm she had been and the brave and
intelligent young woman she was now, she had earned not only Snape's
respect but also his trust. It began with their working together on
small projects for the Order, he overheard her defend him to her
friends, watched her begin to relax in his presence. She began to see
more than sneers on his face, understand the secrets in his eyes took
some terrible toll on him that she felt compelled to lessen, if she
could. She started to realize that his self-imposed solitude was still
lonely for him.
She snuck in on his seclusion, small gestures and unwavering optimism
finally breaking his sullen silences with tiny bursts of enjoyment.
They had tea together now and then, during breaks from working
together. She made a habit of discussing anything other than their
work during this time. He finally relented and began returning her
banter, hoping to steer the conversation into something other than her
normal overly cheery small talk. He found her rather charming after a
time, quick-witted and very loyal. She found his voice pleasant to
listen to and his intellect a constant source of fascination for her.
Logically minded wizards being rare, they found it a common thread on
which to base many a pleasant conversation. She fancied Muggle puzzle
books filled with all sorts of interesting diversions. When he showed
an interest in them, she began to give him one or two for special
occasions. Cheap newsprint books with glossy covers passed as gifts
between them for birthdays and holidays for her last two years at
school, each trying to outdo the other in finishing them faster.
Her final year of school she was forced to spend the Christmas holiday
at school. He was, therefore, not surprised to see a small package
lying on his bed on Christmas morning with "Severus Snape" written on
it in her tiny scrawl. He was surprised to find not puzzle books, but
a large mug inside. It was glazed a deep green colour, and had a snake
painted along the handle in sterling silver. The tail of the snake
trailed onto the face of the cup itself to form a large 'SS' monogram.
Turning the cup over, Snape found her signature set into the bottom,
the initials H.G. straddling a crude Hogwarts' crest. He knew she had
taken a ceramics class over summer holiday. He also remembered
commenting how frustratingly small the teacups at Hogwarts were. Once.
Months ago. This gift was so... thoughtful. Blasted girl, he was
touched.
Then he came back to himself and thought, 'touched is right, touched
in the head. She must have made dozens of ridiculous things in that
class and given them to everyone she ever knew.' She wouldn't have
singled him out anymore than she'd grow a third arm overnight. By the
time he entered the Great hall for dinner that afternoon, he was
feeling quite himself again. He was then quite unprepared for her
response to his curt, "Thank you for the mug, Miss Granger."
She blanched, then flushed slightly, and looked at him with a very
firm, 'what did you do THAT for,' look on her face. She glanced over
her shoulder to see Harry Potter staring at her most quizzically.
"You're welcome, Professor," was all she said as she nearly ran for
her seat, trailing the boy in her wake, obviously whispering questions
at her. Finally sitting at his plate he found a small bundle of puzzle
books addressed to him. 'If she meant the mug as a secret, she might
have mentioned it,' he had thought to himself. She refused to look at
him for the remainder of the meal, and fled from the hall when he
tried to rise from his seat. He never brought it up again.
She in actual fact had not made anything else in ceramics class but
oversized teacups, until she had gotten it exactly right. It had taken
her quite some time to get the paint for the snake just so, and had
agonized over how to get it to him without having to present it in
front of the entire Christmas feast. All her careful planning wasted,
she'd had to endure Harry's grilling for half the meal. When she
wouldn't answer any of his questions, he thought it might be more fun
to tease her. After she snapped at him for it, he decided it was a
very good time to discuss Quidditch with one of the fourth years,
leaving her to finish eating in silence. As she got up to leave, she
got the panicked feeling that Snape was about to try to speak to her
again, so ran for the door without a backward glance. She never
brought it up again, either.
"Seems to be important to him, that mug. Takes his morning tea in it everyday that I've seen. Pitches fits when the house elves try to wash it for him," Poppy said, a little sparkle in her eye. "Albus asked him once who had made it and he went perfectly sour over it. Nobody asked again. Well," she sighed, "I thought he might like it, in case he feels up to a cuppa."
Hermione looked a bit wistful suddenly, so as she replaced the mug on the table, the older witch took her cue to go check if Albus had returned. That was how Poppy missed seeing her long-time patient wake up.