Title: Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

Chapter Eight: What Is the Right Emotion?

Genre: Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Occasional poetry!

Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

Chapter Eight: What Is the Right Emotion?

Once upon a time, if catching Hermione or any of her classmates outside their dorms in the deep of night, Snape would have vanished house-points into oblivion, conjured more detentions than bats on a fruit tree, then sent his demoralised victims slinking back to their beds.

That was then. This was now.

Snape stood still, saying nothing. Hermione regarded him for a long moment before tilting her head back toward the still, remote stars.

'You are one acquainted with the night,' she said quietly.

He gave a soft, surprised laugh. Moving closer, he seated himself on the window-seat opposite her. In the dim light he looked younger, though very tired.

'I heard you practicing your invocation this afternoon, Miss Granger.'

Hermione started. 'Oh! Er--I hope I didn't disturb you.'

'Your invocation had power. By contrast, Malfoy's effort was a vile insult. If it helps to know this, however, he stole most of his poem from a Muggle writer. I recognised the original work. It just so happens I own a copy of that collection. Malfoy's punishment is yet to be determined.'

Hermione stared, her mouth open, then threw back her head and laughed. As if not quite sure what to do in the presence of a young woman so wantonly displaying joy, Snape contemplated his clasped hands, waiting until she quietened.

'Sorry. It's been a long time since something's made me laugh.'

'I quite understand. I feel the same way.'

'Professor Snape, what do you think really happened tonight?'

Snape took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at her with--could that possibly be a hint of mischief? 'I believe,' and his mouth twitched in a smile, 'that a common "Wingardium Leviosa" spell levitated a piece of paper.'

'That was the outward sign of magic. But what caused it to manifest?'

'What do you think?' Ah. The classic professor-question.

'I think that the invocations you and Harry created somehow--well, it was like a fusion of emotions. Both of you together did something.' Excited, forgetting herself, Hermione placed both hands on the cold stone and leaned toward Snape. 'You created . . . a chemical reaction!

'Are you saying neither of us alone could have conjured even that feeble bit of magic?'

'Yes, of course that's what I'm saying. Look at Veritaserum. The base ingredients alone do nothing--but mix them together in a certain way, bind them with the right spells, and suddenly . . .'

'Power,' said Snape, and the way he shaped that word made her catch her breath. 'But to strengthen it, sustain it, we need the right combination. The right interaction.'

'Or--the right fusion of emotions. Of words and feelings.'

'Exactly.'

'But you and Harry--'

'I hoped to goad him.' Snape pushed straggling black hair back from his face and sighed. 'I thought anger might be catalytic. It was a calculated move.'

'Maybe anger isn't the right emotion,' Hermione said without thinking.

Snape stared at her so intently that she drew back and tightened the blanket around her.

'If that's the case,' he said, 'What is the right emotion?'

Silence fell. Anyone observing the two still figures at the window might have thought they'd been carved into the stone itself.

'I think,' Snape said at length, 'that you should go back to your dorm, or whatever passes for your dorm these days, and I should go back to my rooms. After all--you do have a chemistry exam tomorrow.'

'Right.' Snape rose whilst Hermione, still wrapped in the blanket, struggled a bit. He held his hand out to her. Wonderingly, she took it, and he helped her to her feet.

'Miss Granger.'

'Yes?'

'If you and I should end up as contestants on Thursday, be warned: don't expect me to hold back simply because you're a student.'

Hermione smiled. 'I'd be disappointed if you did.'

She vanished down the corridor, leaving him alone in the night, staring after her.

=============

After a test, Hermione always remembered every single question, and usually drove Harry and Ron to distraction by reviewing each question in agonising detail, over and over, until she came up with the perfect answers. Then she'd curse herself for not coming up with those answers.

But the part Harry and Ron really hated was when she got her results. Almost always, her answers were . . . perfect.

After Wednesday's long-drawn-out chemistry test and lab exam, during which Snape, strangely enough, produced not one single sarcastic remark, Hermione's silence puzzled Ron. He and Harry had come up to her earlier in the day and apologised for their stupid behaviour in the common room, and she'd apologised back and hugged them, and they'd both turned a little pink but hugged her back. So it couldn't be that.

Even later, over a decent dinner of bangers and mash with fried onion, gravy, and peas, their efforts to draw Hermione out got them nothing much more than enigmatic smiles and assurances that she was 'fine, just thinking about the Slam.' Harry was prepared to go along with that, being a bit preoccupied himself with what had happened the previous evening. His mind circled in confusion. He wasn't sure if he hated the man who had pushed Harry toward admitting how bitterly he missed his power . . . or if he admired how Snape had so uncompromisingly exposed his own soul. Or both.

The last thing Harry expected was that this man would lean toward him when they were halfway through their pudding and ask to speak with him after dinner. 'If you could meet me in the po--that is, the chemistry classroom, I would appreciate it, Mr. Potter,' said Snape before rising from the table.

'What d'you think that's all about?' said Ron, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.

'Dunno. But if he thinks he can get away with some kind of attack on me, he's got a nasty surprise coming.'

'Don't jump to conclusions,' said Hermione quietly, 'Find out what he has to say.'

'Look, 'Mione, I know you mean well, but I'm getting tired of hearing you defend Snape all the time.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her pudding.

=============

Instead of making Harry stand in the 'I've been a bad boy' subordinate position before a massive desk, Snape asked him to sit on a bench, and then pulled up another and sat down, so they were eye to eye. Instead of attacking Harry with Legilimens, or making him clean cauldrons--no, test-tubes--or even shooting barbs of sarcasm for the sheer pleasure of it, Snape laced his fingers together and looked down at them for a long moment.

This unexpected behaviour discomfited Harry. He cleared his throat.

'You . . . wanted to speak with me?'

Snape looked up. 'Yes, Mr. Potter. Er--Harry, if I may.'

Harry?

'I'd like to ask you a question. I hope you'll agree to answer it, but if you don't, I'll understand.'

Merlin's teeth . . . what was going on?

'Go ahead,' said Harry cautiously, his eyes not leaving Snape's.

'Yes. Well--'

Was Snape nervous? Was that even possible?

'What do you think happened after our--duel last night?'

Harry stared. 'You mean--when you levitated a piece of paper a few feet?'

Snape shook his head. 'I think we levitated it.'

'How? You were the one with the wand. You said the spell.'

'Harry, what were you feeling just before that happened?'

'Do you want me to be honest?'

'Please.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I hated everything you said. About my arrogance, how you implied I had to have a career as an ex-Death Eater before I could ever truly understand power. I thought you wanted to bring me down. I wanted to hit you back.'

One small part of Harry that was still a first-year Gryffindor cringed, waiting for Snape to rise up and strike him with a week's detention.

But Snape said calmly, 'So--at the moment before we felt power in the room, you and I were standing there hating each other. I think, and so does Miss Granger, that our invocation and our emotions acted as a channel for power--just as our wands and spells used to.'

'You've talked to Hermione about this?'

Snape's thin mouth softened. Harry wasn't sure he was aware of it. 'Yes. She thinks we created--well, the exact phrase she used was a chemical reaction.'

'Oh.'

Both were silent for a minute, digesting the conversation so far.

'So,' said Harry, 'With all those strong feelings, why were you--er, we--only able to raise one piece of paper a few feet?'

Snape sighed. 'I'm not sure. Maybe we tapped into the only remaining bit of magic left in our world.'

'I don't like that theory very much.'

'Neither do I. But Miss Granger suggested that perhaps hate or anger is the wrong catalyst.'

'You mean she thinks other types of feelings might . . .'

'Produce more effective results? Who knows?'

Another silence.

'Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?' said Harry.

'No thank you. But you've been most helpful.' Harry stood and turned to leave. Snape's voice stopped him.

'Standing up against an ex-Death Eater, even a toothless one, and giving back measure for measure was an extraordinarily bloody-minded thing to do.'

Harry, looking levelly at the older man, decided he was being challenged.

'Even more bloody-minded than blasting Voldemort?'

'Oh, much more,' said Snape blandly.

Harry smiled and walked to the classroom doors. Then, hesitating, he turned back to the man who'd goaded, pushed, and tormented him for almost half his life.

'I don't know if this helps much, but when I needed the power to kill Voldemort, some of that came from--the power my mother gave me when she died to save my life. That power was inside me all the time. All I had to do was--tap into it.'

'Unless you're planning to blast me with maternal affection at our next duel, then I'm not quite sure what to do with that thought. But it is interesting.'

'Whatever,' mumbled Harry, not sure whether to be amused or embarrassed, and escaped before Snape could think of anything else to ask him.

=============

On Thursday night every seat in the DADA classroom was filled, and more than a dozen students, finding standing room only, leaned against stacked mattresses. The low conversation had an almost strident edge, shot through with staccato laughter. Without Draco, conspicuous by his absence, even the Slytherin group had trouble maintaining their usual attitudes of being far too wonderful for such grubby goings-on.

'Look,' said Neville to Seamus and Dean. He pulled his wand partway from the sleeve of his robe. 'I thought I'd bring it--just in case.'

'Brill,' said Seamus. 'Brought mine too.'

'Yeah, me too,' said Dean. 'You never know, right?'

Padma looked around the room with a smile. 'Whatever happens, this is amazing. Everyone seems alive for the first time since we started to lose our magic.'

'The poetry's naff,' said Parvati, 'But I really want to see Hermione and The Greasy Git duelling. Can't buy that kind of entertainment value.'

'Whose side are you on, then?' said Terry Boot, who didn't look at all unhappy scrunched up against her.

Parvati and Lavender looked at each other. 'Don't care, really,' said Lavender, grinning.

'Heard the latest about Draco?' said Padma.

'You mean, he nicked his poem? Yeah,' said Lavender, sounding bored. 'Got it out of some Muggle book.'

'Whoa,' said Ron. 'How'd Draco get hold of a Muggle book?'

'Bet his dad had it smuggled in,' said Neville.

'Didn't know Draco could read,' Dean sniggered.

'Is he going to be expelled?' said Seamus eagerly.

'Doubt it,' said Harry. 'His old man's too powerful. He'll probably just be held back.'

'Draco as a sixth-year. Sweet,' said Ron, grinning hugely.

Harry frowned. 'He'll give Ginny aggro for sure.'

Ron shook his head, still grinning. 'Ginny'll put him in his place in two seconds flat.'

Dumbledore rose and faced the audience, holding up both hands for silence. Everyone quickly complied.

'Tonight, it's my privilege to welcome you all to the DADA Invocation Slam final rounds. I believe--' he smiled gently '--you all know the rules very well by now. From twenty-eight original contestants, we are now down to eight semi-finalists, including the two who tied on Tuesday evening. Once again, if our two judges cannot agree, I shall cast the deciding vote.

'But--' his smile broadened, '--to judge the finalists, I will stand aside. Doctor Jones and Mr. McCourt tell me that in Muggle poetry slams, the winners are often determined by votes from the audience. So all of you will help determine our winners when that time comes.'

Excitement buzzed softly for a moment. Then Maxine Jones, wearing a flowing lemon-yellow pantsuit, rose from the judges' table and strode to the front of the room.

'I've been asked to set the tone for this evening,' she said in her rich voice. 'As I see it, your goal is to tap into the most ancient magic of all--the power to shape the world around you. Now to find that power, you must open yourself to all dimensions of human existence. All possibilities. All feelings. But you must desire above everything to open yourself. Or else,' she smiled almost mischievously, 'pretty words will be the only thing you'll produce tonight.'

Harry couldn't help glancing at Hermione and Snape, each sitting where they'd been on Tuesday night. Hermione, hands clasped on the table, sat straight and tense, her wild hair neatly pulled back and held in place with a clip. In front of her, Snape raised his chin and looked Jones full in the face.

It seemed to Harry that the dark, powerful woman smiled at them both before she raised her voice and filled the room with poetry:

'The hidden soul is raised from its cave,
The old marks of your demon's claws
are healed by new words,
Your dark of heart is filled with heart's new love.

By these words, enlightened,
By joy, unchained,
By magic, reclaimed,
By one kiss, set free.

Author's Notes:

--Using the HP Lexicon, I counted about twenty-eight to thirty students in the Rowling canon who arrived in Hogwarts the same year as Harry. Just in case anyone's picking nits!

--'The hidden soul . . .' is Part Two of Maxine Jones' 'Spell to Open a Closed Heart,' adapted from Jeni Couzyn's 'Spell to Soften the Hard Heart of a Woman.' Also see notes for Chapter Three.