Never Make Promises
Chapter 6
By Elizabeth Sofia
Disclaimer: It is not my intention to steal any of JKR's profit or glory.
When Severus had been sixteen years old, he'd promised himself that he'd never forget--never--just how real his emotions, his yearnings and thoughts had been. How valid. That he would never let himself become one of those adults who regarded anyone under the age of twenty as a second class citizen.
All of this had run against the grain of the pervading Hogwarts' mindset-- shield the children, save the children.
Well, what if they weren't children?
During his last three years at Hogwarts, Severus had only wanted for someone to treat him like an adult. For someone to recognize the extent of his abilities and potential. For just one person to have enough faith in him to trust him with a reality that wasn't entirely black and white.
And someone had.
Unfortunately, that recognition had come at a price. One he was still scrimping and pinching to pay off.
Still, not being entirely forthright with Miss Granger had never been an option. True, he might choose to be manipulative and turn the entire ordeal into a power play--but never with the intention of taking the choice out of her hands. Everyone was entitled to their own tragic mistakes.
But his wouldn't have to be hers.
Not now, not ever.
So how do you tell a quick, malleable mind that the right answers weren't always the truest ones? That there were battles that could never be either lost of won--simply fought?
These were the thoughts that chased each other around in Severus' head as he listened to the uneven fall of Hermione's footsteps behind his own as they made their silent way to his dungeon classroom.
As for Hermione, the whole night seemed to be playing in front of her eyes as if through the wrong end of a telescope. In front of her, Professor Snape walked as if he was leading her to an execution. As they passed the totals of house points, she noticed that none had been taken from Gryffindor--even after the little "pitcher-to-the-potion-master's-head incident". What had happened to her normal life, and when--if ever--could she expect to get it back?
Hermione was so lost in thought that she bumped into Snape's back when he stopped to murmUr the password that opened the Potion's classroom door.
Snape slowly turned and fixed her with an unfeeling smirk that would have built sand back into stone, "Watch where you're going, Miss Granger."
Before she could stop herself, she snorted, "You sound like Ron."
Professor Snape's face shifted into an oddly amused grimace as he leaned close enough to her that she thought she could hear the angry blood rushing through his veins, "Miss Granger, you seem to be intent on insulting me tonight--but I would hate for you to say anything that you would truly regret. So, do let's watch how we let our tongue slip."
He then turned back towards the opened door and swept into the classroom, leaving a bewildered Hermione to follow in his wake and wonder if he'd actually been making a mockery of his own distaste for Ron.
Once inside the classroom, the door shut behind Hermione--seemingly of its own volition, but most certainly at Snape's command. He had disappeared into the little anteroom on the far side of the classroom. Acting on instinct, she quickly took her usual seat, second row on Snape's right, hands folded on the desk in front of her, as if attentively waiting for class to begin.
When he re-entered the room, he was holding a leather book that looked remarkably like the one Draco had produced up in the owlery, although Snape's was in considerably better condition. When he noticed where and how she was sitting, he let out a low chuckle that would have barely been considered a laugh in another, but seemed downright jovial coming from him.
"Miss Granger, this is not going to be that sort of lecture," he motioned to the modest wooden chair facing the front of his desk.
Severus felt his heart twinge slightly as Hermione blushed--quite prettily, actually--at his remark. They were such innocent and scholarly actions; her instinctive sitting at her usual place and subsequent embarrassment. So at odds with the world she was on the brink of inhabiting.
As she primly sat across the desk from him her eyes darted from the book in his hands, to the charts of potions ingredients on the wall behind him, to the ingredients themselves on the shelves to her left--anywhere but his face.
Not that he blamed her.
His wasn't a visage that was particularly easy on the eyes.
Nor did he expect she was particularly comfortable, considering the situation.
Suddenly, she looked him straight in the eye and spoke, surprising them both, "Sir? You didn't take any points from me for calling you a--" she realized there was no way she could repeat to him what she'd yelled at him earlier, "for yelling at you...or for the--the pitcher. Why?"
Once again Severus was deeply moved by her guileless demeanor. How he envied her that...
"Miss Granger, I don't doubt that house points currently hold a place of high importance in your life--however, I believe there are matters which more firmly command our attention at present."
She regarded him, unblinking, obviously unsatisfied with his answer but too timid--or wise--to ask again.
Still, the question clearly remained in her eyes, and her insistence frustrated him. "And furthermore, my decisions to award or deduct points are entirely my own. I do not owe you any justifications."
Because I said so.
If Hermione was put off by his lack of explanation, she didn't show it. They sat in silence, each recalling a time they'd previously regarded each other across a wooden tabletop. And how different the air had been that it was now.
Severus vainly searched her face, trying to find the slightest trace of the fiery, bookish student he'd seen that night. But that girl was gone. He knew Hermione Granger would never be that girl again.
Why? Why do they always get broken while I stand by and watch it happening?
"You never did answer my question, Miss Granger? Why did you lie?"
Dark eyes met darker ones as Hermione locked his gaze squarely and without shame. The carefully affected pride in her voice just barely faltered as she answered him, "Sir, I think that before I explain myself to you, you do owe me at least one honest answer--how did you know?"
Professor Snape looked at her for a pregnant moment, small eternities passing through the charged air between them. When he spoke it was with a calm, low sound that made her think she had never truly heard his voice until this night, "Is that your true question, Miss Granger?"
His sudden gentleness stripped her defenses even more than had his awesome power, and she was unable to maintain eye contact.
Her gaze dropped to her hands--hands she'd always hated. So small and square--better fitted for rutting in the dirt or kneading bread dough than the graceful academic pursuits to which she devoted herself so desperately. Her pinky finger was ink-stained and all of her nails were ragged--hardly the mark of a classy young woman. The sight drove her feelings of inadequacy and awkwardness even further home. Am I forever destined to be eleven years old in the presence of this man?
Tremulously, cautiously now, "Professor...Sir, what's happening to me?"
Disarming and terrifying. Hadn't his been what he prayed for--the power to keep another student from becoming nothing more than an empty, blackened shell? Why did he suddenly feel so helpless in the face of this? You aren't eleven anymore, Severus.
But he'd planned on how he'd deal with a Malfoy, a Parkinson, a Goyle-- never a Granger.
Err on the side of kindness, and she'll never be able to handle the now inevitable.
Err on the side of cruelty, and she'll never trust anyone again.
His voice soft, but black, "I'm not here to sort out your life for you, Miss Granger. However, I'm quite certain I can provide you with some valuable...insight...if, that is, you are willing to cooperate with me," a pause, "So, once again, I must ask you to answer my question before I can attempt to satisfy yours."
Part of her was willing to barter anything just for the possibility of getting an answer from him--from anyone--but a larger part of her realized that as long as she held out on giving him any information, there was no way she could be completely vulnerable. She had no idea how he knew what he already did about what had happened to her, but it was obvious he needed more. As long as she didn't tell him, she was a player rather than a pawn.
Head up, eyes bright, voice steady, "Why should I?"
You want reasons, Miss Granger? Fine, I'll give you reasons.
"Your pettiness is an uncultured as it is unappreciated. You are, of course, perfectly welcome to keep silent, in which case, I feel duty-bound to inform you, your life will fall to pieces. You let your own selfishness take over now, and Harry Potter will never wake up. You will lose your youth, your freedom, your soul to an evil greater than any you knew existed. You will be friendless, helpless, and alone--and you will understand none of it. So, by all means, keep engaging me in this childish battle of wills, Miss Granger. But I assure you, you will lose."
As he spoke, Severus stood up and made his way to the classroom door. He opened it and extended his hand, politely showing her the way out if she refused to make a timely confession.
He'd made no apologies about pointing out her ignorance, but he didn't seem to be lording it over her either. She already felt about two feet tall. What have you got to lose?
Severus' stony expression didn't give a centimeter, but his mind was reeling and calling upon every deity it could latch on to that she was as smart and hard as he thought.
No dramatics, only a small sigh and then, "Where...how do I begin?"
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest to better purpose.
Here, following a silken cord of inspiration, Severus remained silent and crossed to sit in her usual seat--the same one she'd occupied only minutes earlier. Seems like lifetimes.
Hermione had never been so grateful that she didn't have to look at someone while she spoke to them. She didn't move from where she sat in her chair, but as she began, she could feel Professor Snape's eyes on her back.
"Ever since I can remember, I've had this dream. Sometimes it's the whole thing, sometimes just parts. I'm on an endless path--the path cuts through all different places--forests, deserts, ice covered highways..."
As she spoke, Severus caught his breath. He knew that path. Knew each one of its intimate footfalls. Knew where it wound and how it felt when it got rocky. He'd walked that path in so many dreams he'd long ago lost count.
"...I woke up, and I was sure I was bleeding. I grabbed it...not so much because it hurt...but I needed to feel my own blood...needed to know it hadn't frozen on its way back to my heart..."
His skin tingled and his stomach lurched with fear for this pupil whose small back bent in front of him under the weight of her own story. Finish it, Miss Granger. He thought, wryly. Then the wound disappeared.
"...and then it was gone..."
Gods, oh gods.
"...and I put my hand on his scar...gods...I felt..."
Hermione let out a whimper that was such a mix of pain and longing that it sounded nearly orgasmic.
Severus blocked out the rest of the story--he knew it all too well. Every word she'd said had been a dagger in his own memory. So long ago...but pain so easily brought to the surface.
He then registered that the girl had been silent for some time, her body language betraying her exhaustion. Efficiently, but carefully, he stood and walked to his desk, his hand running lightly and reassuringly over her shoulder as he passed. Severus was unaccustomed to comforting students through even the slightest of casual touches, so he hoped he hadn't been remiss in his gentle physical reminder that she was not alone.
When her only response was to lift up her head and fix eyes so full of confusion and hope upon him, he quickly retrieved two small brandy snifters and splashed liberal amounts of chocolate liqueur into both. He then returned to his desk chair and placed one of the smooth, but decidedly potent drinks in front of her. Swirling the other with a languid, left- handed motion, he explained, "If you can share that with me, you can certainly share a drink with me."
He raised his glass in the parody of a toast, and she reciprocated. Neither one of them had any idea what is was they were drinking to, but it didn't seem like anything pleasant.
Snape cleared his throat, "If I might press you for yet another display of honesty--why didn't you tell anyone?"
This was, of course, the exact question Hermione, herself had been pondering ever since she awoke in the hospital ward. The only conclusion she'd reached sounded unendingly lame, but she figured it was better than nothing. "I didn't think I was supposed to."
Professor Snape nodded, and Hermione was acutely aware, as she hadn't been before, of the way he inhaled deeply while he pondered his next selection of words. Yes, this was something he always did--in the capacity of instructor just the same as in conversation. She began to feel dizzy and realized she'd been holding her breath as she studied him. She let it out in a long, shaky sigh and took a quick gulp from her snifter. The liqueur coated her throat and brought a not entirely unpleasant ache to her empty stomach.
Incorrectly identifying her sigh as a sign that she'd not given the full reason for her silence, Snape fixed her with insistent and unwavering eyes, "And?"
The quick buzz that the alcohol brought to her frayed nerves and virgin bloodstream made her more adamant as she spoke the words she'd promised herself she'd hide until she was fifteen years past the grave, "Because it was mine! Because if I didn't say anything I thought I could have one memory that no one could take from me. That no one could judge or explain away. That I could pretend that it came from inside of me..."
Severus could see the tears and rage collecting behind her hooded eyes, and was going to stop her, but she stood, splashing the syrupy, chocolate liquid from her glass onto her diminutive right hand as she brought the snifter down, hard, on the desk in front of her.
"And now it's gone! All of it--it's not fair--"
If there was one thing Severus Snape couldn't stand, it was hysteria. He stood, once more towering over the nearly frenzied Gryffindor, and bellowed, "Miss Granger, compose yourself and sit down!"
After hearing Snape speak in hushed, soothing tones, Hermione had nearly forgotten just how forceful he could be. Gulping and wiping her wet hand on the front of her robes, Hermione sat back down.
Snape gave a snort, but remained standing, "I am not your father, Miss Granger, and I trust I will not have to raise my voice to you again."
Hermione bristled at both his condescension and the mention of the parent she hadn't heard from in weeks, but remained quiet, eyes focused blazingly on the center of Snape's chest, defiantly refusing to look him in the eye. The nerve! To put me through this and then scold me...it's Knockturn Alley all over again...
Snape continued, "And, Merlin's sake, girl! Don't wipe your hand on your robes like a slovenly child."
He produced a handkerchief which she used to sulkily dab at the damp spots in her lap.
Severus hadn't wanted to yell at her, but he knew that they were far from done with the discussion they were ensconced in, and he couldn't risk her burning out too soon. He sat down and doggedly pressed on, "Miss Granger, one last question..."
"No! No more questions until I get an answer! What the hell is going on, and how do you know about any of it!"
Much to her surprise and pleasure, Snape gave an acquiescing nod. Eyes wearily closed and hands steepled in front of him, he began a tale that would change the universe.
"Miss Granger, there are things about me you could not possibly know--"
And here it all snapped together for her--everything that had happened after the Tri-wizzard tournament, the drawn look in his eyes in the Leaky Cauldron, his comments when he surprised her at Harry's bedside, the leather bound volume on the desk between them. Her eyes full for the reality of the man who spoke so monotonously of a horror beyond words, she breathed in the presence of her unlikely kindred and knew she was not alone.
"...And so, you see, Miss Granger, when I saw you in the hospital ward, I knew immediately what had happened."
Hermione knew that his story would have resounded within her bones had he not uttered a single word. But the realization still left her breathless with unasked questions. "The cruciatus? But I don't understand...how could I not have known...?"
Here, Snape laughed. A sound harsh enough to make her flinch. "And everyone seems so surprised that I'm desperate to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts...had I been teaching, there'd have been no way the fact would have escaped you."
A puzzle, this man was.
"But...Professor..why didn't you?"
"Tell you?" He paused to open his eyes and look at her. "I thought it might have been a fluke...I wanted to spare you."
He hadn't realized that shielding her had been his motivation until the words were out of his own mouth. A stab of hot shame shot through him. Never were good at keeping promises, even to yourself, eh, old boy?
She seemed to accept it as a valid excuse, and simply nodded, roughly acknowledging his answer. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Which only leaves one more question--what were you doing with Draco in the owlery tonight?"
Hermione was startled by his inquiry. After all that had been said and shared that evening, why did he still care about an infraction of the rules?
"I left the hospital ward, and on my way back to Gryffindor tower, Dracio invited me to come along on the seventh-year Slytherins'," she paused, trying to remember the word he had used, "...study session."
"And you, a Gryffindor, went with the Slytherins?"
Hermione laughed, hers sounding nearly as harsh as his had sounded earlier, "Yes, well, I'm sure you've noticed I don't have a lot of Gryffindor activities filling up my calendar these days..."
She'd meant it to be a joke, though, she would admit, a rather bitter one, but Snape exploded. "I see! Dabble in the Dark Arts for a weekend release? Is evil your drug of choice now, Miss Granger? Have you calmed your all- encompassing sense of ennui in a bath of blood?"
Hermione shrank back from his wrath. She was still defenseless against his tendency to slide unexpectedly from protective brother to jarring inquisitor. "I didn't mean for...I had no idea!"
And once again the beast that raged inside Severus Snape quieted. He sank back into the chair, took a pensive sip from his glass, and passed a long, slender hand over his weary eyes. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I had no right to lose my temper. Of course, you're lonely...I should have known. You've given up much...and none of it of your own accord...yet."
The tone he wove into his delivery of that last word stopped Hermione's heart. What was he asking of her?
Snape continued, "You must understand that your invitation to join the students of my house is--most disturbing. You see, no muggle-born has ever been involved in..."
In spite of the adrenaline that now inhabited Hermione's every cell, a long yawn escaped her parted lips.
"Miss Granger, you are dead tired. I can save my explanation of the mindset of Death Eaters and Slytherin internal politics for another time..."
Another time? What more was there to say? "Professor, I suppose we should speak to the Headmaster tomorrow?"
Severus looked at the girl in front of him--she still didn't understand, did she? "Miss Granger...I don't think we should tell Dumbledore at all."
"What?!"
He sighed, "I do not think he would approve of your being trained in the Dark Arts--"
"Trained in the--?"
"Yes...how else will you combat them?"
Of course, it made perfect sense, but...
Hermione looked at him, the question in her eyes so evident that she didn't have to voice it--can't I just lock myself in my room, not talk to Draco, and wait for this all to go away?
Severus mustered a small smile for her innocent benefit, "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Miss Granger. I know you didn't choose it, but you can't have the dark power and then just say 'no' and walk away. Either you decide to destroy it, or it destroys you."
"What if I ignore it?"
Severus Snape looked at her for a long time, trying to memorize the youthful lines of her face before he had to destroy all that was left of her childhood in one breath. "Do you want Harry to live?"
And he saw it sink into her skin, the reality of the situation. That through no fault of her own, she was the conduit for destruction and salvation. The pain and pride he felt for the nod she gave him was only overpowered by the overwhelming sadness that struck him as he saw her age five years in five seconds.
And then--the silence after the decision had been made, the pact signed and sealed, her childhood dreams burnt with one swift vow.
And she spoke, "I came to the end of the path last night. There were diamonds."
He watched her rise to go, a young girl with the walk of a queen. He knew all to well. His diamonds had long since turned black.
Hermione walked to the door, feeling the weight of the world with every step. She turned to bid goodnight to Snape, and was floored by the look on his face--as full of empathy as it was lacking pity.
Later on, she'd hate the world and everything in it, especially him--and she'd remember that look and forgive everything that had been said and done in the name of almighty duty.
Remembering himself, Severus rose and said, "Miss Granger, wait a minute, please."
He rummaged quickly on a shelf before laying his hands on the brown paper parcel he'd been searching for. He crossed to her and placed it in her open hands. "I know it's a little late, but I believe you turned eighteen this year."
Hermione looked up at him, disbelieving. My birthday? How could I have forgotten my own birthday?
No one else had remembered. Until now.
"Thank you sir. May I--may I open it?"
Severus nodded, acutely aware of how eager he was that she be pleased with it. He hadn't had many good birthdays, so they always seemed especially important to him.
Hermione's hands shook only slightly as she gently pulled back the paper.
Snape suddenly realized how awkward the situation was, and coldly stalked back to the small side-room, tossing a casual, "I remembered you saying you liked to read," over his shoulder.
Professor Snape did not look back at her, or even say goodnight, but Hermione couldn't help but smile in the direction he'd left, clutching the precious copy of Candide close to her chest.
Author's Notes: I'm hoping I kept them in character for this scene, as it's been one that's been giving me writer's nightmares for a while!
The young girl with the walk of a queen, is from Yeats' Cathleen Ni Houlihan, and incredible play about Irish myth and politics.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest to better purpose, is from Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, it means so much to me!