Monsters
VI.
The spell was broken, the nightmare replaced by the Great Hall.
The two of them stood there staring at the floor, Snape rubbing his arm where it bore the Dark Mark, Hermione biting her lip hard.
He didn't want to look at her. He'd just seen her darkest memory, and if he wasn't mistaken, she'd seen his--and the two had been hopelessly intertwined. There was no way in seven hells he could face her now.
"Huh..."
Hermione shivered. Her breath was shaky; she couldn't control it well enough to speak. So that was what it was like to live in darkness.
"Huh," she choked again. It was hard, but she managed to look at him: hair a frightful mess, arms and neck drooping, wand hanging at his side. And in spite of all her pain, and the terror of their combined memories, she felt for him.
He could feel her eyes burning into him but he didn't dare look up. He heard her footsteps, with their echo in the cavernous hall resounding so loudly it was painful. He could see the hem of her robes, inches from his own feet. This was more than he could stand, but he couldn't bring himself to chase her away.
And then he realized it: she knew. For the first time in his life, someone else knew what it had been like for him--and she understood. He turned to her.
Their eyes met.
He knew his lips were quivering--his body had gone numb and icy. Her hand had taken hold of his and she raised them up, closing the distance between them, not breaking eye contact.
"How did you. . ." he mouthed, but no sound came out.
She wondered if he was afraid of her. It was a strange feeling, this sudden power over him. With a look she could make his blood drain away. With a touch she could make his heart pound and his breath ragged and weak. They were dangerously close. And what would happen if--
He loosed himself from her grip and pushed his hair back behind his ear. Though he was scowling, the pain in his eyes was evident. Hermione felt a crushing weight on her chest as she realized what he was thinking.
"The spell didn't work," she whispered.
He shook his head no.
She looked down at the wand in her hand. "I'm sorry."
He still said nothing, instead setting his jaw and looking away. Flickers of candles reflected in his eyes and reminded her of Viktor--of how she felt for Viktor. She held out her wand.
"Disarm me."
His head snapped around and he was glaring at her. She gasped in fright as he snatched the wand away, setting it on the Gryffindor table.
This was not fair--what had she done to make him angry? She showed him understanding, affection; felt his pain. She hadn't meant to turn the spell around, if that's what she'd done. And she wanted him to know that. She backpedaled a few steps, almost falling over a chair behind her.
He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. His wand raised, he prepared for the incantation.
"Professor Snape, I. . ." she began. "I know what you went through and please just let me help you. . ."
"Some things are better forgotten," he muttered. "Legilimens!"
"Viktor. . ."
Visions of a dark-haired young man spun through her mind: traces of kisses, a dampness lingering from moments where skin touched skin, warmth from the memory of exchanged smiles. Two shy students sat in the library; one read her book and the other watched through the shelves. Everyone stared at the beautiful girl accompanying the famous quidditch star to the Yule Ball. A crowd gaped as it was revealed that the champions in the Triwizard tournament must rescue those they cared for most. There were quiet goodbyes and promises; Owls brought letters from far away.
A bushy-haired girl boarded a muggle plane while her parents waved an encouraging goodbye. She stepped off in Bulgaria; she met a man whose face was blurred and distant. They. . .kissed, and he had a friend who made her jealous. . .at a bonfire held after--was it three days? They held each other in a small room in an old house and he said something, and they drank firewhiskey. . .and the next day they went to a school, D-something--Durmstrang--where there was an end-of-summer feast; something happened there. They were kissing again and he had his hand on her back, and she whispered something in his ear like a promise. He said he loved her, after all; maybe at one time that was important but she had forgotten why. Some girl was talking to her, barely able to speak English. She said, "Viktor loves you now"--she must have meant the dark-haired boy.
Everything was so foggy. People were talking, but their faces were missing. Words faded out into oblivion. A boy and a girl were on a dark street and the girl was screaming. The boy ran to her and kissed her hard and then he was gone. A hand was tossing a ball. Someone was waving. "I'll see you again, won't I?" "Of course you will." A letter. . .the Dark Lord. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had eyes that glowed and he was there, somehow. . .The dark-haired man (was he the same one?) and the red-haired woman--Lily?--were standing defiant and another person (who?) was there. The dark-haired boy called out to her and she wanted to run to him. But the Dark Lord. . .
Something was wrong. She was losing her mind--her memories were snuffed out like candles, and she was powerless to stop it--and she couldn't even remember why this was happening--
She screamed and fell to her knees. Harry was yelling at her and Ron was screaming curses. They were in Potions and she was gloating--they were running away; Snape was talking to her. There was tea. She looked out across the lake and saw a face in the distance: a face and a bonfire and hands and lips and a girl and a boy and a large nose and a mark and a letter--
"Help me!" she cried.
She felt cold, and a faint longing for something that she couldn't remember. With a final tremor she collapsed onto the floor. It was over.