Monsters
IV.
Hours later, the sky was darkening rapidly as gray mile-thick stormclouds rolled in from the east. In the west, the sunset was thin and yellowed, deepening to orange at the horizon. Hermione walked back across the lawn to Hogwarts Castle, completely spent from an afternoon's despair.
No one had come to look for her, and she supposed she had Hagrid to thank for that. He had notified the other teachers that he needed her after class (never mind that she had skived it off) to help him deal with Grawp--after all, the giant rather likes her--and best of all, he hadn't asked why she needed time alone. She spent the day by the lake, watching the cloud shadows creep across and dull its surface, tearing up her letters and scattering them in the wind.
Now she took no notice of anything, ignoring the gargoyles and portraits and ghosts as she entered the castle, wandering through the halls without even thinking where she intended to go. Back to the dormitories? She didn't really feel up to talking with anyone, least of all Ron, Harry, or Ginny. To see her professors about homework? She didn't feel up to that, either.
She came to the Great Hall; it was empty. It seemed everyone had finished eating and had gone back to their rooms for the night. She walked slowly toward the Gryffindor table, listening to her footsteps echo. The last rays of the sun filtered in through the windows and reflected off the newly-repaired chandelier. She pulled out a chair (which scraped against the floor loudly) and sank into it, slumped over the table, and put her head down, tucked into her elbow.
This was the worst feeling. She thought vainly of the time-turner she used to have--whatever trouble it may cause, it would be worth it if she could just...do something. But as she finished the thought, she realised she had no idea what that something might be. It was hopeless.
"I thought I might find you here."
Hermione didn't bother looking up. She'd been wrong--this was the worst feeling. From the sound of the footsteps, he was coming over to her. It seemed he wanted to talk again, she guessed.
"Why's that?" she replied sourly.
"Why's that, sir," he corrected. She heard the scrape of a chair across from her, and she sat up. "If you'll notice," he said, sitting down and gesturing toward the entrance where Peeves was making faces at them, "I had a few clues." Peeves blew a raspberry at him, but vanished when he saw the wand drawn.
She harrumphed.
"I must say, you're rather bold for someone reportedly so miserable," he said.
That comment stung.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "It was not my intention to be...bold."
He nodded.
Neither one spoke for a few minutes. He looked around: up at the ceiling, down at the floor, over at the Slytherin table. She stared at her hands, picking at a cuticle.
"I've never sat at the Gryffindor table," he said at last. "Never wanted to, either."
'Bully for you, then,' she thought, but said nothing.
"You may have been wondering why I told you to come see me," he continued, changing the subject. She hadn't, but had the sense not to correct him--now that he mentioned it, it was rather strange. "As you know, I'm not in the habit of...socializing with the students, or meddling in their personal affairs."
She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.
"Did you not find it the slightest bit odd that I would show any interest in your conflicts with Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter?" he asked.
"I did," she said. "But I wasn't about to question--"
"Of course not." He lowered his voice to a barely-audible whisper. "Personally, I have no interest in what goes on between you and your friends. Nevertheless, as a member of the Order. . ."
She frowned, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. He was a cold, unfeeling man--that much, she was sure. What did the Order have to do with anything?
"It is in the best interests of all involved that you, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter remain in a strong bond of friendship. I have assessed the situation, and will be taking all measures necessary to correct it."
Her expression was completely blank. Snape sighed inwardly, frustrated with it all.
"So," he said, as gently as he could manage.
"So..." she echoed.
"So, let me help you."
Her head was spinning. She rubbed at the sore red corners of her eyes. "Help me how?"
"It was bad news, was it not?" he asked, his voice hesitant. He got no reply. "The owl. . ." he clarified.
She bit her tongue and looked away.
"Some wounds never heal. . ." he whispered.
If she hadn't been on the verge of tears, she might have noticed that he spoke from experience. She tugged at the sleeves of her robes and straightened up in a show of maintaining her dignity.
"I will be fine," she said flatly.
"But not soon enough," he added. "Should. . .a situation arise, you would not be in any condition to. . ."
It was becoming far too difficult to choose the right words.
"Are you saying," she sighed, shaking her head, "that you want to make all of this go away?"
"I am. Though I am afraid that revenge on Mr. Krum is not an option, enjoyable as it may be."
She laughed a cruel, bitter little laugh. "What to do, then?"
He didn't respond right away, so she made a display of considering her options.
"Well, so long as I remember what he did, I'll be hurt and angry, so I suppose we could just take all of my memories of Viktor and put them in a pensieve. . .They could rot in a dusty corner for all eternity, for all I'd want them back."
Snape shook his head. "I considered it, but it would not work."
"Really? And why not?"
"One remains aware of memories placed in a pensieve, Miss Granger. You would know what they were, even though you would not have them. . .and your anger would remain."
She nodded, fumbling around in her pocket for her handkerchief. She blew her nose, then frowned. "I suppose getting rid of the memories is out, then," she grumbled.
"Not exactly," he replied. "There are other ways."
She perked up, looking for the first time quite interested.
"You may recall that last term I had the misfortune of giving Potter occlumency lessons."
"But occlumency only teaches one to guard against external attacks on the mind."
"And if one had no knowledge of the art?"
Sudden comprehension spread over her face.
"I would have to see your memories in order to--" he paused to consider his wording "--properly seal them." He waited for her reaction.
"Sealing memories. . .that's a brainwashing technique."
"It is extremely difficult to reverse, as well. Of course, if you do not wish to be 'brainwashed' by me, you could choose to write down every detail on a memory scroll. . ."
"I trust you," she said, steeling herself. She got up from the table and walked around it to stand in front of her professor. "Shall we?"
He looked around; seeing no one, only flickering candles, he smiled slightly and rose from his seat. "Now is as good a time as any," he said, readying his wand.
She closed her eyes.
"Legilimens!"