Mephistopheles
By: TheGreyLady (immaculatecalypso@hotmail.com)
Chapter 3~ Questions
After moving the professor to her parents' room, Harry and Ron departed, leaving Hermione with the professor. She'd slept for a few hours before awakening as from a nightmare, although, essentially it had been one. After brewing a pot of coffee, she'd settled on the couch to watch the morning news as she perused the paper.
A distinct thump resounded from the stair, and she knew that she would be faced with the glorious wrath of her former professor. It was odd how she would consider that a comfort.
Severus Snape made his second debut into the living world looking more haggard than she had ever seen him. She wasn't used to seeing him as anything but immaculate. His hair was awry and his clothing was anything but presentable. He looked at her for a moment, seemingly confused as to his surroundings.
"Coffee?" He asked; she'd never heard sweeter words.
"In the kitchen, second door on your right." She said as nonchalantly as possible, trying to mask the joy she felt. This was no longer a mindless zombie. This was her former professor… emotion was to be avoided. It was the only way to make him comfortable.
She heard him stumble his way through the kitchen. Mirthfully, she thought, I probably should have told him where the mugs are, but dismissed the idea when he re-entered the room with a steaming cup of nature's goodness. He sat at the table, as far away as the room would allow, and silently watched the news with her.
"May fifteenth?" He questioned.
"Only two weeks, professor."
"Two weeks since when?"
"Since…" Two weeks since what? Since everything about him had been removed from his body in some sort of demented lobotomy? That thought spurned a remembrance of a song she recalled an uncle singing. Something to the effect of, "I'd Rather Have A Bottle In Front of Me Than A Frontal Lobotomy*;" she couldn't agree more. She suppressed the laughter from the memory. "You're disoriented, Professor," she said, rising from her roost on the couch. "Have another cup and we can talk. Are you hungry?"
He nodded; she gauged his response to be that of a child waking from a nightmare: for the most part, it was the truth.
"Would you like some eggs, Professor Snape?" She asked, hoping some food would further snap him from his bewilderment. "Perhaps some pancakes? Waffles?"
"Eggs are fine," he replied.
"Bacon, ham, or sausage?"
"Bacon."
"Toast, bagel, English Muffin?" She questioned yet again.
"Toast," he responded shortly.
"Marmalade or no?"
"Marmalade!" He snapped, "Merlin, girl, just get me breakfast!"
She mumbled, deliberately loud enough for him to hear, as she went to the kitchen, "Gods, just trying to make you comfortable and you go and throw it in my face. Better hope I don't poison it, you ungrateful..." However, the god-for-honest truth was that she was glad he was being so snarky. At least she knew he had his personality back. The fact that his free will was back was a given; after all, he'd spoken last night and gotten out of bed this morning without her say-so.
She busied herself with the task of making breakfast. She'd made it for her parents enough, the pair of them didn't get off with even toast if she wasn't home to make it for them. There wasn't any pudding but she didn't think he would mind too much.
Upon finishing the preparation of the meal, she carried the plates to the table Snape was sitting at. Placing one in front of him, she set her own opposite his and began to eat. Snape seemed to be enamored with the television.
"I don't understand…" he uttered. The words were that of which she never thought she would hear from the man.
"I wish I didn't have to explain it to you," she said after taking a bite from her food. She wasn't sure if he was talking about the television or the situation. The latter seemed most probable.
"Try," he dared, not even bothering to touch his own.
"You know, Professor," she said. "You just don't remember. You're confused."
"I'm hardly the confused one here!" He scoffed. That was the Snape she knew.
"Then tell me how you wound up in my house!" She snapped back with equal ire. With that, Snape fell silent. He peered down at his food, then took the fork and began to eat. Silently, she thanked the deities. An angry, bitter, resentful, mean Snape she could deal with.
Taking a sip of coffee, she asked, "What's the last thing you remember?"
The man paused before saying, "I don't wish to discuss this with you."
"Unfortunately," she sighed, "that doesn't matter." He shot an evil glance up before she continued, "The fact is, I'm the only person who can help you and vice-versa."
"Why would I need your help?" He questioned.
"Because you need to find Dumbledore and I'm the only person who can help you do that." She replied.
"Why do you need my help?" He asked as though he were eager to turn the tables.
She took a second to weigh her response before settling on honesty, "Because I need to find him, too."
"Why?" The question reminded her of the dozens of times she'd asked herself the same over the past few days.
She tried to force the tears back and her jaw from chattering but to no avail, "I just need to ask him some questions."
Snape, in what could have been the most tactful move of his lifetime, let the subject drop. He fixed his eyes to the television again and resumed eating. Hermione stood up and walked to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on her face. She knew why she unexpectedly and desperately needed to see Dumbledore.
She needed to know exactly what she saw in the Department of Mysteries… and how such an atrocity could come to pass.
After resting her head against the mirror for several minutes, she returned to the living room. Snape sat in silence, eating his food. She quietly removed her meal from the table, no longer hungry. God, why had she thought having Snape whole would solve her problems? It had only served to pose more questions. Questions she was afraid to find the answer to.
As she set upon the task of cleaning her dishes, a voice rang from behind her, "You wanted to kill me."
"Name one student who hasn't," she mumbled.
"I vaguely remember," he drawled, ignoring her comment, "you saying something about a mercy killing."
"I didn't want you to be as you were," she responded as honestly as possible. "As you can see, I took the best option available to me."
"Would you have killed me?" He asked, leaning against the doorjamb, an elegant eyebrow lifted slightly.
"I probably would have killed myself first, to be honest."
"Why?"
She sighed with disgust, "Killing you would have just made it worse. You were making me think too much."
"That, Miss Granger, is something I would have killed to hear you say as a student," he said. She took it as a good sign that he remembered her name.
"You aren't my teacher anymore," she replied, turning to look at him. "You were hardly even a person, Professor. Your presence… disturbed me."
"Why?" He asked again. She laughed internally… this is the man who thought she asked a lot of questions.
"Because… I couldn't look at you and see the man I knew."
"And what man was that?"
"I don't know," she sighed with frustration. "You weren't anything. It was killing me."
"Killing you?" He laughed with his typical sneer, "What? The pity? Anger? Resentment? Hatred?"
"No. I'm not sure. Maybe empathy… maybe compassion. Perhaps it was something different altogether. I don't care to think about it."
"Why not?" She realized upon this question that Snape wasn't asking her these questions because he wanted to know the answers. He was asking her because he knew it was getting to her, the bastard.
"You know what, Professor?" She snapped, "You aren't my instructor anymore nor are you my therapist. Frankly, I haven't the will or the desire to answer these bloody questions and by a stroke of luck, I don't have to. So, sod off."
He smirked and walked away, his mission accomplished. She looked at the clock. The man had been awake no more than an hour and he was already driving her crazy. Though, she had to admit, it was better than the insanity his prior condition had been pushing her to. On the bright side, this Snape would drive her to homicide before he drove her to suicide.
She dropped the plates into the sink and stormed into the living room, where Snape sat nonchalantly at the table. "I'm the only person who can help you," she said as though she were firmly telling a child that he could only have one cookie.
He chuckled darkly, "I've heard that before."
"From Voldemort?" It was hardly a question.
"Don't say his name!" Snape spat.
"He's dead, Professor," she said with no little exasperation.
"No, he isn't."
"Yes, he is," Hermione said, suddenly feeling like she was arguing that the world was round.
"He isn't dead."
"He is, Professor. Harry killed him." She added, "You were there."
"Hatred lives in all people, Miss Granger. It's simply a matter of having respect for its name."
His words struck her for a moment. She couldn't refute his words and, shaking her head, said, "I don't understand."
"When you say his name you are saying the name of true evil, calling the Devil himself. It is an informality even the Death Eaters couldn't claim."
"Are you saying that Vol… he had no…" Redeeming qualities? Love? Happiness?
"None," he said, predicting the words she could not say, "None whatsoever."
"You're saying," she found her voice again, "he was the devil? The actual devil."
"Not the actual devil, girl," he scoffed. "But undoubtedly a person who took great pride in identifying himself as such."
His words shook her. Had she truly been fighting the metaphoric Devil and not even realized it? Did Snape really ally himself with someone he identified as Satan? Why did she save him? And here she had been thinking that restoring Snape would put a halt on the questions. She excused herself from the room to take a shower. As soon as the bathroom door was locked, she collapsed against it and sobbed silently.
She'd opened the door for the wolf. Now she was crying because it bit her.
Author's notes- Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews. Not much action in this chapter. Stay tuned for the next installment.
*This song, "I'd Rather Have A Bottle In Front Of Me," is sung by Randy Hanzlick though, I'll admit, I came upon the lyrics on a Tom Waits fan site. Apparently, he's a fan of the line (LOL! Tom Waits? A drinker?!)