LOST PERSPECTIVE 5
READ MY MIND
By Bellegeste
Author's notes:
Avery: thanks for clarifying. Think you're right, esp. re. Malfoy. If I ever went back and did a re-write of LP1, I would probably flesh-out Draco's reactions more fully. At that time I was using him more as a tool, and concentrating on Harry (and it was my first ever fic!)
Duj: we find out in this chapter!
Here we have the Hermione:Remus interaction. We are in 1998 now. The point of this chapter is to fill in a lot of the gaps about what happened in the intervening two years (because, in this story, the focus is what happened THEN and what they do about it NOW, not what went on in the middle…). I am also setting up the Snape:Draco and Snape:Hermione dialogues.
Hermione has an easy-going, friendly relationship with Remus. In a later chapter I contrast this with how she relates and talks to Snape…
So, Hermione hurries from Flourish and Blotts to meet Remus for tea…
Chapter 4 :HERMIONE : REMUS
December 1998
Diagon Alley
Hermione paused under the green, white and red striped awning outside Fortescue's, to collect herself. She brushed a sprinkling of snow from her shoulders, and stamped her boots a couple of times to clear them. It always snowed in the Alley at Christmas time: for twelve white days it was predictably picturesque, and then on the 7th January it reverted to normal, taking its cue from the conditions in the rest of London which sometimes, but only occasionally, included snow. On Christmas day itself, Florean celebrated by creating a climate bubble covering the pavement outside the shop: customers could sit in sunny, al fresco comfort, enjoying their ice-cream, watching the snow around them and listening to the Carol singers. He didn't do it all the time though; weather magic took a great deal of concentration.
The meeting with Snape had thrown her. Half an hour ago she had been strolling down the Alley, confident and calm, with the world at her finger-tips, ready to play her tune… and now? Well, now she just felt like she'd swallowed a fistful of feathers, and they were tickling and twirling inside her. Things had not gone according to plan.
She checked her reflection again in the shop window, fluffing her hair a little, settling the hood of her cloak just far enough back so that she could see in all directions, while still retaining an intriguing air of hidden mystery… The idea made her smile at herself - she had no pretensions about playing the femme fatale. It wasn't that she wanted to look especially attractive for Remus' sake, but she wanted to impress him all the same. She didn't want to remind him of a schoolgirl.
As soon as she opened the door she saw him. He was sitting inconspicuously at a round table at the rear of the café, a tea mug cupped between his hands. Despite the jaunty tinkle of the shop bell, he didn't look up.
"Remus!" she cried, hurrying over, all notions of making a sophisticated entrance forgotten in her joy at seeing him again. "Remus! There you are!"
"Hermione! …er, Miss Granger…" Crumpled and self-conscious, the werewolf rose to greet her, diffidently proffering a hand, unsure of the protocol for meeting former students who had suddenly metamorphosed into rather terrifying young women. "My goodness, you're looking awfully, um, 'grown up'; no, really, you look marvellous, Miss Granger, by gosh you do. Travelling must suit you. I can still call you that, can't I? I mean, you haven't come back with some fancy title or anything, have you? You are still…" Here he snatched a surreptitious glance at the fingers of her left hand, "…Miss Granger, aren't you? It's so long since I've seen you - I'm frightfully out of touch with these things…"
Hermione, clasping his hand affectionately between both of her own, tugged him towards her.
"Just give me a hug, and shut up, Remus. Don't be a goose," she said.
X X X
"I'm afraid I already ordered," Remus apologised, indicating the tea-pot. "I thought perhaps you weren't coming… Something might have happened; after all, things do crop up… I would have quite understood…" He was even more self-effacing than she remembered. "I'll order some more; that pot'll be stewed…"
"Oh, don't bother," Hermione smiled happily. "After the muck I've been drinking for the past few months, I'm sure it'll taste divine. In fact, anything with real milk in it will taste heavenly. The stuff that passes for tea out there - it's unbelievable. For a start, it's always black - no, I tell a lie, I did once have some with rancid Kudu curd in it… That was so disgusting! The tea's either so weak it might as well be hot water, or so strong your throat seizes up when you try to swallow it - in some places they boil it up in the morning and leave it brewing all day. Remus, can you imagine?" He shuddered obligingly. "And it's either laced with cardamom, or it's hideously sweet - but they tend not to use proper sugar: honey's the thing out there, but it's not filtered or anything, so you get all these little waxy lumps from the honeycomb sort of floating about melting… Or else - Oh, you don't want to know - "
"Go on, tell me!" he urged, laughing.
"Well, there are these 'honeydew' ants… they collect nectar and store it up so that their abdomens get all distended with honey… No, I'm not joking - the people put a spoonful of dead ants (grief, I hope they're dead!) in the glass, and you have to, kind of, squidge them up with a stick…
"Honestly, Remus, proper tea, in a cup, out of a pot, with milk and no sugar - that's sheer luxury!"
"You've shattered my illusions," he teased. "You're telling me that Hogwarts' star student, the most talented witch the school has seen since Li - er, since, er, for a very long time; the girl whose NEWT scores are probably as good as Dumbledore's - you're telling me she can't magic up a simple spoonful of sugar? Or subtract it? Have I got this right? You were with Wizard-Aid in Africa, weren't you? They are allowed to do magic out there?"
"Yes, of course. Or, rather, no. It's a very grey area, Remus. That's part of the problem; it's all so confused. The borderline between magic and belief and superstition is terribly blurred - you wouldn't believe it - you have to be incredibly careful what you do. 'C'est difficile!' - that's all they say when you come across any kind of ambiguity. Sometimes you can hardly tell real magic from the 'mumbo-jumbo'. Hey, that reminds me…"
Hermione reached down and fished in one of her carrier bags. She pulled out a small, coarsely tied package.
"I almost forgot. I brought you a present." She pushed it across the table. "It's nothing special; just a souvenir…"
"You shouldn't have…" Lupin began to pick undone the knotted strands of hemp that secured the papery banana-leaf wrapping. "Oh, but Hermione! This is special! That's a…" he exclaimed, lost for words, eyeing the object with a mixture of pleasure and uncertainty.
"…a genuine, authentic gris-gris!" She finished the sentence for him. "Made for you by the chief Marabout in Mali. It'll protect you against the 'evil eye', and make you irresistible to women." She flirted her eyebrows… "Or have you already got one?"
Embarrassed beyond belief by her teasing, and loving every minute of it, Remus examined the amulet. It looked, for all the world, like something Crookshanks might have coughed up, but on a string.
"Of course I've heard of gris-gris before, and I've looked at pictures, but I've never seen a real one," he said wonderingly. "Thank you, Hermione. This is great. What's it made of?"
"Aha! That's the Marabout's magic secret. But I do know it involves the claw of a pregnant lioness that has been steeped for a week in the urine of a Niger river imp, all wrapped in the skin of a ritually slaughtered black cat. Careful! You're not allowed to undo it - heaven knows what dire disaster would befall you - but the claw is inscribed with powerful words from the Book of Merlin.
"You can wear it round your neck, if you like. Or just keep it in your pocket. Or in an old shoebox under your bed, if you want…
"Do you see what I mean though, Remus? Where does magic end and tribal folklore begin? It's like that with everything. And there are so many serious issues to address too - ethical, social, environmental… Oh, don't get me started on politics… Let's talk about something else. How are you? How's Hogwarts?"
"OK, but I do want to hear all about it sometime - Africa, I mean." Lupin put on the amulet and sat back in his chair, relaxing in her presence now, the old friendship surfacing, compensating for his shyness. "I just can't get over how fabulous you look, Hermione. You've done something to your hair…"
"Not me. Sunshine. It's hot out there."
He was embarrassed again, having paid her the kind of compliment that would have had had him in agonies if he had been planning it as a 'line'.
"Have you seen Harry yet?" he asked.
The sun went behind a cloud.
"No," she answered sadly, "I don't even know where he is. Or Ron. I've only been home a couple of days. I was going to send him an owl sometime, now that I'm back in Diagon Alley. I haven't got one of my own, you know - it's still just me and Crookshanks - and my parents don't, obviously. Harry and I haven't really kept in touch, since I went. Everything was a bit weird, after last year…"
"You still haven't managed to patch things up then?" Lupin asked gently. Even after all this time, he didn't know exactly what had happened to split up the trio. None of the staff did, apparently. It had been a topic of conjecture in the staffroom for weeks. Sometimes he thought Dumbledore had a shrewd idea, but the headmaster seldom voiced an opinion on his students' relationships. The three of them - Harry, Ron and Hermione - had obviously had some major bust up: rumour had it that Luna Lovegood was involved somehow. It did sound as though she had been a catalyst in the trouble - after all, she had got Harry mixed up with all that spiritual business, convincing the boy that he could make contact with Sirius. Perhaps there was more to that than the teachers realised.
And Harry had been particularly touchy about Snape taking that extended leave. It must have been a blow - the two of them were just starting to get themselves sorted out, or so Lupin had thought. But the man had clearly had some sort of a breakdown - he hadn't been ready to resume teaching. Hardly surprising, after the run-ins he'd had with You-Know-Who. Enough to turn anyone rabid. No one had expected him to stay away for so long though - nearly 18 months! That's one hell of a sabbatical. He was damned lucky that Dumbledore had kept his job open. Goodness knows how the kids had scraped through Potions lessons with that succession of supply teachers, and with himself, Sprout and Poppy helping out when necessary. Why, even Dumbledore had taken a few classes! Was it pure coincidence that Snape had felt fit enough to return to Hogwarts at the beginning of this school year, only now that Harry had left? Was it simply that the man could not combine his dual role as Professor and parent?
"It seemed such a shame - the three of you had always been so close. Right from the first year." Perhaps Hermione could talk about it, now that it was all over.
"Yes, well… Look on the bright side, Remus - it gave me more time for studying. How do you think I got those results?" She hedged round the subject. "I tried to make it up with Harry a few times when we were at school, you know, but he wouldn't have it. He blamed me for…"
"For what?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter. It's all in the past. Ancient history." Hermione smiled so engagingly that Remus almost believed her. "Do you know what they're up to these days, Harry and Ron?"
"Actually, I do. They've both been out in Romania helping Charlie with his dragons. Molly got herself into a fearful state about it - she was convinced that they were going to get themselves gored or frizzled, but Arthur says they've had a right old time. Done them both good, I should imagine. Neither of them was ready to settle down to a proper job straight after NEWTs. Harry did get a place on the Auror training scheme - you knew that, didn't you- but he's deferred it for a year. I don't know whether he'll take it up or not. He doesn't seem to know what he wants to do with his life. And Ron… well, who would employ Ron, eh?"
"I always thought Ron should do something working with children," mused Hermione. "You should have seen him when we had to look after that Dranda Bear cub. He was a natural."
"Yes, but people can surprise you. Look at you! Whoever would have thought that you would have turned down a Scholarship to Cadwallader-Clagg! You shocked us all there, Hermione."
"Did I? Well, I wanted to do something in the real world for a change."
That was a plausible enough story. It had served her well so far, and it was, partly, true. "Academics will keep - I can always go back if things don't work out with the job. But so far, it's been incredible - I've learned so much; it's been such an eye-opener.
"I mean, who'd have thought that I'd ever end up going to Timbuktu? Or 'Tombouctou' - that's what the Tuaregs call it. You know, you grow up hearing the name, and it's just like short-hand for 'the middle of nowhere', or some fantasy city like Atlantis; and then you actually go there, and it's a real place after all. And do you know what? It was a complete let down: it's just this nothingy, nondescript town on the edge of the desert: just a load of sprawling, flat-roofed buildings and a lot of sand - everywhere sand. Timbuktu's got to be the sandiest place in the world. I had this sandwich there, and it was just mouthfuls of beige grit. Ugh, I can still taste it."
She shook her head with a little shudder; made a face.
"Hey, Remus! Talking of food, does Florean do cakes or anything? I'd die for something sticky and creamy and totally self-indulgent!"
"Don't tell me - you've been eating nothing but grubs and beetles for the past five months!"
"Just the once - and that was only to be polite." Hermione paled, remembering the wriggling, black legs and that awful, desiccated crunching…
"No, the diet was pretty bland: mainly rice, cassava roots, tamarind fruits - that sort of stuff. Palm oil with everything. It'll just be so nice to have meals that aren't all made of manioc or sorghum!"
Despite the heat of the room, Hermione suddenly gave a little shiver.
"What's up?" Remus sensed a change in her.
"Oh, nothing. Got one of those 'someone's walking over my grave' feelings. You know, those little chills down your spine? In Guinea they say it's 'the irã caressing your neck' - the irã are like evil spirits. It's supposed to be a presentiment of doom. Do you get the feeling we're being watched?"
Lupin observed her kindly, then patted her on the hand.
"Hermione, you definitely need cake…"
X X X
"Had you heard that Harry was out in your neck of the woods for a while? I don't suppose you bumped into him, did you? Small world, eh? When was it now? Let me see - round about the beginning of August, I'd say - not long after the end of term. Harry spent most of the summer with Snape, you know, and they went out to some snake sanctuary or other… I'm sure Severus said it was in Burkina Faso - that's not a million miles from where you were, is it?"
Lupin wiped a stray blob of jam from his chin with the back of his hand, unaware of the affect his words were having on Hermione.
"Really? Wouldn't that have been a coincidence?" She laughed, a little too brightly, and drained her tea cup, her mouth unaccountably dry. "No, we didn't meet up. Africa's a big place. Huge. The distances I've Apparated… I wouldn't have believed it possible. So, er, you've seen Professor Snape, have you Remus? Is he teaching again then?"
She slipped the question in casually, interested in spite of herself, in spite of those resolutions…
Her last terms at Hogwarts had passed in an agony of not knowing… Snape had effectively cut himself off from the school - no one knew why - and had been, ostensibly, engaged in advanced Potions research, travelling extensively to obtain new and rare ingredients, and spending weeks in his private laboratory experimenting with formulae. That was as much as Hermione had been able to glean from all her sources. Dumbledore was infuriatingly noncommittal on the subject of Snape, and Harry, after that initial row, had refused to have anything to do with her. She had thought it would blow over after a few weeks, but it didn't: too many hurtful things had been said; Harry couldn't un-say them, and Hermione still felt she was the injured party. It was upsetting how many of the other students had followed Harry's lead in ostracising her, even without knowing the reason. Surely Harry hadn't given them the reason? Hermione's NEWTs years had been lonely ones. Uninterrupted study had become a defiant substitute for a social life - her refuge and her salvation.
"Snape? He, um, came back in September - for the new school year. Just in time to panic another set of First Years with his 'infusions of Wormwood'! As good a time as any, I suppose. He seems pretty much back on form too - not as, er, tense, if you know what I mean; keeps himself to himself, of course, but then he always did… Though, come to think of it, Malfoy does help him out in the lab from time to time. When he's got nothing better to do."
"Malfoy? You don't mean Draco? You're joking! Hasn't he got a job to go to?" Hermione asked, astonished.
"Private income. Why demean himself with working?" said Remus, not without a shade of rancour.
"Crumbs - I always knew Draco was a teacher's pet, but I thought it was a Slytherin thing. Why on earth would he want to help with Potions?"
Hermione's mind skipped back to the NEWTs Potions classes. Had she really been so self-absorbed, so steeped in her own studies, that she had failed to notice in Malfoy a budding, genuine interest in the subject? No, surely not. He had spent more time taking the piss out of Madam Pomfrey's 'health and safety' regulations, or perfecting his low-legged imitation of Professor Sprout's waddling gait, or sabotaging Harry's cauldron, than practising potions. Oh, he'd been competent - but that was because he was clever, not keen. The scenario of Draco with Snape seemed most unlikely.
Lupin's uncomfortable expression reminded her of Hagrid when he had just let slip something he shouldn't.
"Remus?"
He had picked up the menu and was perusing it avidly, as though a Magic Melting Tutti-Fruiti Triple Coupe Surprise had suddenly become irresistible.
"Remus?" she repeated sternly. He peered back at her with a sheepish grin - quite an achievement for a werewolf.
"I honestly don't know, Hermione. I assume it's something to do with that Azkaban business," he answered.
"When Draco shopped Snape for poisoning the Dursleys? Allegedly. What's that got to do with potions? Is it a penance? A lifelong Detention, or what?" Hermione still didn't quite buy it.
"No, the other Azkaban thing - " Lupin bit his lip, furious with himself for not simply agreeing with the girl's suggested explanation and leaving it at that. "Oh, what the heck! It's water under the bridge now. It can't hurt if I tell you - though, at the time, Professor Dumbledore didn't want the students to hear about it, in case anyone gave Draco a hard time…"
Hermione feigned shock.
"Remus! As if we would!"
"I don't know all the details myself - you try getting information out of Snape- but I do know that Malfoy got himself mixed up in a Death Eater plot to rescue Lucius from Azkaban. And Snape got him out, just in the nick of time…"
"Who? Lucius?" Whose side was Snape on now?
"No, Draco! Snape dragged him back to school. It was just before he disappeared off on his blessed 'Potions Pilgrimage'. No one knows what went on between them, but Snape was in no hurry to return to Hogwarts, was he? It's alright for some! What I wouldn't do for an eighteen month holiday! Anyway, he's back now - and just as moody and difficult as ever. I will say one thing for the bloke though - it's a relief to have him brewing my Wolfsbane again. No disrespect to Harry - I know he did his best - but no one can make that Potion quite like Severus. That man's got a magic touch…"
"And he and Harry…?" Hermione prompted, curiosity getting the better of her, wishing she could get the phrase 'magic touch' out of her mind.
"Who knows? As I said, they were together all summer and survived… They must have come to some understanding. I know they see each other from time to time, but they certainly don't live in each other's pockets. I'd even stick my neck out and go as far as to say they're actually quite fond of one another, but they just rub each other up the wrong way. I think it's a case of 'agreeing to differ'…"
That sounded about right. The volatile combination of Snape and Harry was stable only in small doses.
"I may have missed them in Africa, but I bumped into him just now in Flourish and Blotts - Snape, that is." Hermione found herself volunteering the information. For some reason, she needed to tell Remus; she wanted to talk about Snape, to keep him in the conversation.
"In the Dark Art's section, I bet! The bugger's still after my job!" said Remus.
They were still laughing, sharing the joke, when a shadow fell across the table.
"Talk of the devil!" exclaimed Lupin.
X X X
The tall, formidable figure of Severus Snape had been standing outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour for a good ten minutes. The colourful awning provided little in the way of real shelter, and he hunched his shoulders against the inconsiderate breeze, which threw flurries of snow at his back and chilled him right through the folds of his winter cloak. Dithering on a threshold was alien to his very nature, but, on this occasion, he had to admit that he was in two minds whether or not to enter.
Through the window he could see right into the cheerful heart of the bustling café, and he had a clear, uninterrupted view of the round table at the rear of the shop. He observed the happy couple at the table - from an outsider's viewpoint they certainly looked like a couple - with an air of jaundiced disapproval. Hermione and Lupin were sitting facing each other, absorbed in one another, relaxed and smiling, chatting as they sipped their tea, laughing together… a joyful, friendly reunion. From where Snape was standing, it looked more than friendly - it was too snug, too intimate.
Now the werewolf was pawing Hermione's hand - Snape bristled - now he was waving Florean over, selecting some sickly monstrosity from the cake trolley, guzzling it like some ravening Grendel, smearing his bestial face with jam… Now they were deep in conversation, their heads almost touching…
Snape shivered, the cosy scene within leaving him colder than the snow outside. He felt a familiar pang of resentment against Lupin - the wolf was a tainted, inefficient, soft-centred, intellectual feather-weight; what was it about his gauche bonhomie that made him so popular with the students? It was galling enough that Lupin had struck up that effortless, easy rapport with Harry… but now…
Swatting jealously back to its rightful place in the bowels of contempt, Snape had braced himself and pushed open the door. The hot, sweet, tea and coffee and sundae-scented air hit him like a blast from a kiln.
X X X
"Professor!"
"Hello there, Snape! This is a turn up! Take a pew."
His arrival had taken them by surprise, to say the least. Lupin began to shuffle his chair round to make space for another seat, but Snape brusquely forestalled him.
"I have no desire to join your little tête à tête. I have merely come to convey a message to Miss Granger. Harry will be returning for several days over Christmas. He is due to arrive tomorrow morning. I think it likely, Miss Granger, that he will wish to see you. You may Floo directly to the Cottage."
With a cursory nod, Snape muttered a formal farewell: "Miss Granger. Lupin." and swept out of the café.
Nonplussed, Hermione and Lupin stared at each other.
"Was that an invitation?" Hermione asked.
End of Chapter.
Another A/N: Under normal circumstances I feel that Snape would probably have stayed either to face the music, or to make Hermione's life hell for the next two years (or both?). However, after reducing him to a maudlin mess in POST MORTEM, I thought I could get away with him behaving slightly OoC and leaving Hogwarts (otherwise this story would have got hellishly long).
Next chapter: SNAPE : DRACO. How did Snape save Draco?
