LOST PERSPECTIVE 5
READ MY MIND
By Bellegeste
Reviews: Thanks Duj. Perfectly succinct summary of Hermione's motivation.
Avery: Yes, it has been a challenge to see if I can pair SS/HG believably -I usually steer clear of anything overtly romantic. Issues with Dumbledore and Malfoy, eh? You can't just say that and not tell me what they are! e- me or something.
Author's note: This chapter started off as a few paragraphs tacked onto the Harry:Hermione conversation, but then I decided that I perhaps had not made Snape's feelings clear enough.
Also, there was a loose end from 'Post Mortem' that I wanted to tidy up…
We are still in November '96. Snape reports back to Dumbledore as soon as he can. Why not use owls? He just doesn't trust 'em! (Wouldn't maker much of a chapter either.)
Chapter 3 : SNAPE : DUMBLEDORE
November 1996 : Hogwarts
"You're sure about this, Severus?"
Professor Dumbledore gave three final, even twists of the delicate, golden key, gently re-winding the mechanism of the ancient planetarium, and slowly the planets resumed their leisurely, purring orbits. Snape suppressed a sigh of impatience. He could, at a pinch, understand why the old headmaster was so fond of these ridiculous, early astronomical gadgets - they were beautifully crafted works of art, and this particular one had originally belonged, so it was said, to the 16th Century Astromancer, Astilbus of Rǔm, predating the Muggle Galileo by over a hundred years - but they were so inconvenient. They were hopelessly inaccurate, needed regular oiling and maintenance, daily winding and they ticked. It was enough to destroy your concentration completely. A magical version would have had the gleaming, gold and silver spheres executing their elliptical, oblique or synchronous orbits in perfect, deep-space silence.
"As sure as I can be. The boy did not go into specifics, but the implication was clear. The inference is incontrovertible. The Dark Lord is planning some kind of an assault on Azkaban, with the objective of releasing his supporters, notably Lucius Malfoy.
"It ties in with other evidence. You have, I presume, been monitoring reports in the Daily Prophet? The pranks, terrorist action – whatever you wish to call them - against Muggles have dwindled to almost zero in recent days. I also have my own reason to believe that the attention of the Dark Lord has found a new focus…"
"The Mark?" Dumbledore questioned, with sympathy.
"Considerably less painful in the last couple of days," admitted Snape. He was pacing the room, deftly navigating a route through the piles of books and strewn artefacts. As he passed Fawkes, the Phoenix cocked his scarlet head to one side and emitted a threatening squawk. With the bland smile of a doting parent, Dumbledore offered the bird a sprig of fresh coriander leaves.
"You are positive? There can be no mistaking Draco's intentions?" he asked.
"Headmaster, it was a direct approach. Naturally, I refused."
"And when did this conversation take place, Severus?"
"Last Thursday. I apologise - I would have voiced my suspicions sooner, but… In any event, from what the boy said, I believe the attack to be in the latter planning stages rather than imminent."
He stopped circling the room, seething in silent exasperation at the burgeoning heaps of oddments that festooned the one remaining chair not already groaning under a stack of books. The old wizard really kept his office uncomfortably warm and Snape was beginning to feel dizzy; he needed to sit down. He grabbed a sheaf of papers and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor.
"Oh, be my guest, Severus - do take a seat," smiled Dumbledore belatedly. "Miss Granger - " (Snape tensed at the mention of the name) "…informed me that there had been an accident with one of your more venomous specimens. A most unfortunate occurrence. But if you must insist on playing with these grisly creatures… You're looking tired. Are you sure you are fully recovered?"
"The antidote was adequate," said Snape quietly. He was hardly going to complain to Dumbledore that holding a quill was excruciating, and using his right arm at all was still a grim exercise in mind over matter. He wasn't going to give that Pomfrey woman the satisfaction of telling him 'I told you so'.
Humming to himself, the old wizard began to rifle through a tower of notes and letters on his desk, eventually extracting a sheet of ostentatiously weighty, crested parchment, scripted in a sheeny, bronze metallic ink. He passed the letter to Snape.
"What do you make of this? I fear it may indicate that their plans are more advanced than we had supposed."
The letter requested - demanded - permission for Draco Malfoy to attend the 'funeral' of a distant relative.
"Malfoy left this morning. I couldn't very well refuse," said Dumbledore, "but in the light of what you have just told me, Severus, I begin to have grave misgivings… the letter is most clearly a pretext."
Snape's expression was one of dismay.
"That stupid, stupid boy!" he exclaimed. "You're right, Albus, this changes things considerably. The Ministry must be informed immediately. They will need to implement emergency security measures: intensify the perimeter wards around the prison, double the guards and sentries - they know the procedure - and remain on full alert until further notice. We'll also need to mobilise the Order at once. Can I leave this in your hands, Headmaster? I must hurry…"
He stood up, fired with a sense of purpose and urgency he had not felt for weeks.
"Hurry? Severus, surely you do not intend to undertake this alone? For one thing, you're hardly in any condition … and, consider the risks…"
Dumbledore recognised the flash of devil-may-care, Death Eater impetuosity in the Potion Master's eyes. Snape stopped, his hand already on the door handle.
"Defend Azkaban single-handed? Now that would be rash. I am perfectly aware of that. You may think me cavalier, but I am not foolhardy. Someone has to extricate young Malfoy, before he becomes the next casualty of this madness. Now, if that is all, Headmaster…"
Once more Snape reached for the door, but his hand encountered only swirling intangibility.
"What the… !" he muttered, swivelling on his heel. Dumbledore's index finger was raised, tracing tiny circles in the air as he reduced the door to a temporarily impassable wooden whirlpool.
"One more thing before you go, Severus. You said when you arrived that you had two issues you wished to discuss with me. What was the second? Am I to understand that you are involved in some kind of 'situation'?"
Snape's features instantly frosted, glazing over, glacially impenetrable. A defensive formality slid into his voice.
"Not at all. I was intending to give you this."
A stiff envelope appeared momentarily in his hand, then skimmed through the air to land neatly on Dumbledore's desk. The leaning piles of notes and other correspondence parted and drew back, deferring to status. The eyes of the two wizards met…
"Severus, you know I cannot - I will not - accept this," said the older man, sorrowfully. "There must be another way. Consider the possibility of a sabbatical, an extended leave of absence - allow yourself time to pursue your research. We should talk about it - "
"That can wait." Snape did not want to be talked out of his decision - it had been traumatic enough already. "The current crisis with the Malfoys takes priority. Now, may I leave, Professor?"
His impatience to go was intensified by the knowledge that, if he remained with the Headmaster, he would be obliged to explain himself. And he didn't know if he could. How could he explain that although nothing had happened, yet he felt himself to be at risk… that for the first time in years he had been tempted to abandon his principles, to cross the pupil/teacher divide. That child - and she was, he reminded himself, a child – had been so available, it would have been so easy…
And yet there was something different about her. Available, maybe, but not in the pubescent, provocative way he associated with some of the little madams he taught, who flaunted their budding sexuality, wearing it overtly, like a new and glitzy outfit. She wasn't one of the 'tarty harpies' who sometimes tried it on in class - as a joke, he assumed - with their alluring pouts and tantalising, sashaying walks that left him in no doubt as to the nubile curves beneath the cloaks; the young, pert breasts thrusting like witches' hats beneath the tightly-fitting robes… Did they do it just to embarrass him? For a dare? He always affected indifference; pretended not to notice. But he had consciously perfected the dismissive sneer that stripped them of their seductive pretensions. They never tried it more than once…
So what was it about this girl that got to him? For Merlin's sake, more than once he had felt himself on the verge of confiding in her - what was that about? He had never confided in anyone in his life! (Except Harry, he corrected himself.) What was it about the Granger girl? This Gryffindor? A Gryffindor, of all people! She was an irritating brat, most of the time. Or she had been. Hadn't he even told her so once? What was it he'd called her? 'An insufferable know-it-all'? He stood by that. These precocious kids needed taking down a peg - for their own good, as much as anything. But that was several years ago now. Sometimes first impressions stay rooted in one's mind, blocking the growth of a finer perception. He couldn't honestly say that he'd noticed her growing up. Often it was the bright ones who received less than their fair share of attention, while he concentrated his efforts on the Longbottoms of this world. He'd pretty much left Granger to her own devices in Potions - these high-achievers progressed under their own momentum.
Then, this term, she had appeared as a presence in his life. It was all because of Harry, of course. Her relationship with Harry. In acknowledging the boy, he seemed to have been landed with his friends as a job lot. And, finally, he had noticed her; noticed something different about her… Something indefinable… not specifically physical… A sincerity in her, a depth…? Qualities not fully formed, as yet; immature, but powerful, full of potential. Instinctively, he was drawn to her. That and the fact that she had been kind, at a time when he had felt so totally abject and alone…
He had kept his distance up until now - again, instinctively, though, had he been pushed, he would have had to admit that 'honour' was only one reason for his reserve. It was a matter of self-respect, of not betraying the fact that he was fallible, he could be tempted. But he was haunted by a doubt… by a pair of pleading green eyes… by the suspicion that he might not always be able to resist, that he was not a truly good man.
Dumbledore could feel the waves of conflict radiating from the Potions master. He surveyed the younger wizard with mounting concern. For the past twenty-five years or so he had watched Snape grow from a troubled, confused teenager to a man of integrity, with keenly held convictions and a strictly defined concept of justice. The development had been anything but straightforward. For a while Dumbledore thought he had lost him. But he had returned to the fold and had proved his loyalty and commitment ever since. Time and again, he had risked his life for the Order, had persevered, had endured injury and torture - mental and physical – with uncomplaining fortitude. And at the same time he had proved himself to be an incomparable teacher. True, he had the reputation of being something of a tyrant, and his methods were unconventional, but his students' results were outstanding. Never, during his time on the Hogwarts' staff, had his morality been called into question. Now, however, it was clear to Dumbledore that there was a problem.
"Sit down, Severus."
"Another time, Professor."
"Severus, sit down!" Snape looked from the impassable Charybdis before him to the solemn face of the Headmaster, and reluctantly obeyed. An armchair emptied itself and he sank into its faded chintz with a sigh of submission.
"I really don't have time for this," he protested weakly.
"A few minutes delay is hardly likely to reverse the fortunes of Mr Malfoy - senior or junior," the old wizard pointed out. "But it may alter the course of your career. You cannot expect me, Severus, to see you throw away a lifetime's work without raising objections.
"Now, can I offer you anything? Tea, a Sherbet Bon-bon, Firewhisky? A grape?"
"Don't let me deprive the damn bird," muttered Snape.
"Quite so. You may have need of his lachrymal services one day…"
"Over my dead body!"
"Very possibly…"
It was an old joke between them, and it raised a faint smile. Fawkes' dislike of Snape was legendary.
"Why such a drastic step, Severus? If it's a matter of time… take another week; take a holiday…"
"It's not that…"
"Take as long as you need. I'll not quibble. You're the best Potions master this school has ever had - do you think I'd risk losing you for the sake of a few days one way or the other?"
Snape was aware of his value to the school. It was just depressing to have it confirmed: he would not be missed for his charm, wit and endearing personality. He knew Dumbledore was waiting for an answer, but he found himself staring at the planetarium - Mars, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn… watching the little spheres revolving around their pre-determined orbits, safely spinning within their separately allocated dimensions, never colliding, never over-lapping…There was no unexpected, giant, alien comet crashing through their solar system…
"Severus?"
"Headmaster. I appreciate that you require an explanation. It's just that… I fear… Over the last few weeks… I feel…" He scowled; let his gaze fall to the floor; brought his hand to his brow, supporting his forehead, rubbing his temples.
"Take your time, my boy…"
"In my past… there are 'incidents' which I now regret…which I should like to forget…but I cannot. I cannot…"
Dumbledore nodded, silently willing the younger wizard to deeper confidences.
"Events this term …" Snape began again, floundering almost immediately as he came up against the inner wards that repressed the urge to unburden himself. He experienced a flash of what Longbottom must feel, he realised, singled out for attention, put on the spot and required to analyse a sequence of reactions which were to him both illogical and incomprehensible.
"The news about Harry came as a shock to us all, Severus. In retrospect, I fear, we have been less than supportive… But you seemed to be adjusting admirably. It has been a stressful time; it is understandable that you should feel under pressure. But surely that does not warrant your resignation?"
"I have forfeited the respect of staff and students alike. My position here is untenable. I find myself unable to continue teaching." Could he put it any more plainly?
Dumbledore adopted a placatory tone.
"We all make mistakes. Anxiety is not a sackable offence. I think the school might be persuaded to overlook an isolated 'indiscretion'…" Snape's lips tightened. "You are referring, I assume, Severus, to the, er, 'episode' with Ravenclaw Year 5? Regrettable, but not unforgivable."
Snape's eyes finally lifted to meet Dumbledore's. His considered, guarded response was the closest he could bring himself to a confession.
"I no longer feel that I can vouch for my behaviour. It would be irresponsible of me to remain in employment here. That is all I can say. I have to leave."
He stood up decisively, matching the action to the words, walking towards the door. Dumbledore did not doubt his sincerity, but he guessed that Snape had fobbed him off with only a partial explanation.
"Severus, before you go, is there anything else you want to tell me?" he asked gently. It was not the first time he had offered this opening to a student. Possibly even, in years gone by,to Severus himself.
"There is nothing to tell."
Dumbledore did not give up. He knew Snape too well.
"Is there anything I can… Severus, would you like me to speak to…er, anyone, on your behalf?" Even he found the subject a tricky one to broach. Snape clung to his denial, staunchly resistant to the old man's overtures. He was too proud, too independent, too ashamed to accept help.
"No. Don't say anything. There is nothing to say. Nothing to tell." He repeated the phrase, reassuring himself.
"Are you sure of that? Have you discussed this with, er…the person concerned?"
Dumbledore's persistent questions were scraping at Snape's resolve like a dentist scouring an infected tooth. Any minute now the probe would hit the nerve.
"No. I have not. I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I have no intention of discussing this with you or… or with anyone else."
What could he possibly say to her? That she was no longer safe under his supervision? That, if the opportunity arose, he might take advantage of her good-nature? Would he sink so low? He didn't know. It was a deplorable thought, contemptible. But his reaction to the stresses of the last few weeks had surprised even himself. His self-control was shot. Sooner or later something inside him was going to snap - and he didn't want Granger to be around when it did.
"This is wasting time, Headmaster. Will you please release the door?"
"An abrupt departure, my boy, may not be the wisest course of action. You may be leaving a situation unresolved…"
"There is no situation!"
Dumbledore sighed and reluctantly relinquished the spell. Snape's protestations had done little to allay his suspicions. One day a tearfully adamant sixth form student comes to him requesting a transfer to Beauxbatons… and the following day, the Potions Master hands in his resignation… Now, if that didn't add up to a 'situation' he didn't know what did!
End of Chapter. Next chapter: HERMIONE : REMUS. Forward to 1998. What had Hermione been up to in Africa? What had happened in the intervening two years?
