Something To Talk About By Sara Lady Dalian
A/N: This is an immediate continuation of "Man to… Man?" and I suggest you read that story before you read "Something To Talk About." MtM was written from Severus' POV, but this story is from Hermione's POV.
This is the last chapter – though there will be an epilogue. As I am writing this it is eight o'clock on Christmas Eve. My little eighteen-month old boy will not go to sleep – he doesn't understand about Santa – and we have to wait to put in the tape of George C. Scott's "A Christmas Carol" until he's down. I hope to have this posted for all of you tomorrow – though right now I just can't promise anything. Happy Reading and I hope you all enjoy the holidays.
Chapter 8
He was moving about the tables, clearing away the rest of the botched potions. His hair had fallen around his face and his robe hung off his bent frame. It wasn't until she knocked on the open door that he looked up at her. There was something of resignation about his face as he beckoned her forward. She closed the classroom door and followed him through his office door.
By the time she closed the office door behind her, he was taking a small bowl down from his shelves. She had read about pensives of course, but she had never seen one. Harry had told her about the few times in which he had fallen into one or another, though, so she knew what it was the professor held in his hands.
It was small, but solid looking. There weren't any decorative frills – just a feeling of function and efficiency. She watched as he wrapped a strand of thought around his wand and gently added it to the silvery liquid that swam in the bowl. He didn't look at her until all the thought was mixed in thoroughly.
His eyes were tight and resigned. The small fire burned but couldn't lighten his eyes. His usual pallor was marked. His mouth firm in it's resolve.
"Professor," she didn't get to finish her question.
"Ms. Granger. What you want is in this pensive. You know how to use one, do you not?" He waited for her nod. "Then I suggest you seek your answers there." He turned his back on her and walked over to the fire. To her surprise, he squatted down and stoked the flames, as if he had found a sudden chill.
His very manner shook Hermione. This was not the tyrant she knew, or even the man who had sat up with her this morning only to tell her to mind her own business before stomping off. This man was bent and almost humbled. It was almost as if he thought his actions had somehow betrayed him. It was something to think about.
She reached out a hand to the pensive but stopped just short of actually entering. It seemed almost invasive. She had only meant to ask him what had happened – she hadn't meant for him to pour his memory out for her perusal. Voices rang in her head, voices that told her that everyone is biased, that she had to be careful with him. But she honestly wanted to know what he had seen – how things had seemed to him. A pensive was a receptacle for memory. As such, those memories were tinted with perception. His perception.
Her finger tips dipped into the silvery liquid and she was suddenly immersed.
The world that she slipped into was devoid of color. She found herself back in Professor Snape's office, watching him place a small, folded bit of parchment on the mantle. There was a strained look about him, a tension in his shoulders that she found herself wanting to smooth away. Just before he left, she saw him look back at her sleeping figure. That tension at once seemed to both melt away and heighten. Odd.
However, when had this man been anything but odd?
As they walked out the door she was suddenly outside the gargoyle leading to the Headmaster's office. "Twizzler." There was a horrific sneer upon his face. Something told her that he didn't like those, whatever they were. When the headmaster's office opened she saw, just as she feared, Harry and Ron were standing next to Professor Dumbledore's desk looking as if they were digesting something quite unpalatable.
As the headmaster started talking she walked towards Ron. His fists were balled up, his jaw clenched and his shoulders hunched forward. Everything about him screamed anger and violence – and it was directed towards the dark man who was answering the headmaster's question.
It wasn't until Ron had edged nose to nose with Professor Snape and the headmaster had raised his voice at Ron that her attention focused on what was being said between the two men and the two boys. She could feel the uneasiness in the air, as if was suspended, fog like around everything. Was that part of the apprehension Professor Snape associated with this memory?
Then she heard Ron accuse Professor Snape of seducing her – and what Ron then called her. Even knowing how hotheaded he was – how many times in his life he had opened up his mouth and inserted half of his lower limbs – did not reduce the sadness and anger that filled her. She didn't want to find out what would happen if she tried to use magic inside the pensive so she backed away from Ron before the urge to hex him overcame her.
Everything in the pensive was now tinged in red – a lurid, damp, dark red, quite unlike the passionate Gryffindor red. When she noticed this, she got up and looked into Professor Snape's eyes. They had narrowed and rage seemed to fair pour out of them. His sharp tongue filleted Ron as neatly as the Master would fillet Manticore muscle. As she was paying such close attention to his eyes she noticed a lurking bit of something – something almost like righteousness – certainly something that she had never expected to see in his eyes. And there he was – indignant and fuming on her behalf. No one had ever stood for her with this air of fury and determination, as if she, the irritating Gryffindor know-it-all was worth his time and energy, worth his… caring. Her breath caught in her throat just looking at him.
As the boys left, the color fled from the room, leaving behind only a bone grey pallet. His voice was tired and wary as he stayed behind – at the headmaster's request. Listening to Dumbledore tell Professor Snape that he thought she had "adequate shelter" in the dungeons, she wondered what the old man was up to. Something about his awareness – and motives – made her question how much he knew or Saw. The answer wasn't one that she really wanted just then.
As the world faded into a mist, she caught one last glimpse of herself sleeping on the couch where she had later woken up. She barely had time to notice that her hair, where it spread over the arm rest, was tinged with a soft muted brown before the image faded. Again, the simple question, "Why?" filled her mind.
When she was free of the pensive, she looked up and towards the fire where she had last seen Professor Snape. He was still there, hunched into the fires warmth. As softly as she could, she put her wand away and walked towards him. The room was small so it was only a few steps. It wasn't until she pressed the back of her hand to his cheek that he seemed to remember that she was there. His head snapped towards her, pressing more firmly into her hand. She tried to smile kindly, softly, at him.
"Thank you. For so much." She stroked his cheek bone once before backing a step away from him. He looked like a caged animal – wanting to run, but not knowing to where. She stood there and let him look at her until his eyes calmed to something more closely resembling their normal intensity. "Thank you," she whispered again before turning to leave.
Just as she was about to open the door she heard him say, softly, "If you are ever in need of a door to slam, Miss Granger…"
She didn't look back, not trusting the tightness inside her. But she did nod a little and smile to herself before walking out his door.
AN: I am so sorry about this being late. I had hoped to get it out at Christmas but for some reason I had the hardest time getting this chapter written. I didn't have my outline with me over the holiday so this chapter barely went as it was supposed to – but I like it just as well, if not more than, what I had originally decided upon. I hope you all have enjoyed this and I look forward to hearing from everyone. Every Which Way But Loose (once again from Severus' POV) will start soon – well soon for me. It is a short piece – in line with "MTM", but it does contain lemons. Happy Reading!