LOST PERSPECTIVE 7
PAYBACK TIME
By Bellegeste
A/N: Another short, slow-burn chapter. It is all going somewhere, I promise. Think of it as a roller-coaster where you have to crank your way slowly up the steep bit before you go over the top...
Chapter 7: PROTECTIVE MEASURES
Professor Dumbledore's expression was grim. Ruminating on Snape's explanation, he smoothed an aged, veined hand over his long, silvery moustache and whiskers, a repetitive, slow, thoughtful stroking motion, which belied the active workings of his agile mind.
"And you say the boy knows none of this? Are you sure? Don't you think he has a right to know?" Dumbledore looked dubious.
"Harry? No - by the time Harry returned, I was… the worst was over. He only knows what he saw. The less he knows the better."
"But surely Miss Granger will have told him what happened? They are friends, Severus. And friends confide in each other. It's only natural. Are you seriously telling me that the child won't have said anything?"
"No, I don't think she will. I have spoken to her."
x x x
It had been an awkward exchange for both of them.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?"
"Come in, Miss Granger."
"Yes, Sir." She stepped through the door into his office and stood looking at him curiously, wondering why he had sent for her so early in the morning, noticing the dark, purple-brown smudges beneath his eyes which mirrored her own. Despite their fatigue last night, it seemed neither of them had got much sleep.
"How are you, Sir?"
"Fine," he answered brusquely, automatically. It was his standard reply to any health-related question. She said nothing, but he could sense her, unconvinced by his reply, checking him over, and something inside him relented, succumbing to her quiet concern. "What do you expect?" he snapped, but then adding more truthfully, "Tired. Sore."
She nodded in sympathy, ignoring the scowl.
Instantly regretting the momentary lapse into informality, Snape pulled himself strictly back to the point.
"Yesterday - " he paused, cleared his throat, uncertain how to couch the question. Just the word 'yesterday' unearthed a Doxy's nest of unpleasant images. "Yesterday I heard you tell Harry that you had used 'wand magic' on me. You seem to be making something of a habit of it, Miss Granger. I wish to know exactly which spells you performed. You are aware - you should be by now - that it is against school rules to use wands on a member of staff, unless under supervision in a controlled classroom situation? You can't pretend you were Confunded… What's the excuse this time - another escaped convict on the loose? Another transforming werewolf in the hospital?"
He hoped the severe tone would mask the urgency of his desire to find out… to fill the distressing vacuum in his memory. How long had he been unconscious? What had she done? He had to know to what extent he was indebted to this child, what he owed her. He hated being indebted to anyone. The idea of being defenceless and at the mercy of the girl's magic was mortifying.
"Well?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't know what to do. They were the first spells that came into my head. I'm sure there are more suitable ones…"
"Which spells, Miss Granger?"
"Respira! And Spiritum duce, Sir."
He caught his breath - that was heavy-duty Emergency magic – and sat down weakly, the inference whirling in his brain like a mace.
"Are you all right, Sir?"
"Yes, yes of course." The child saved my life.
"I had to do something, Sir. You'd stopped breathing. Here - " She thrust her wand towards him. "Do a 'Priori' and see for yourself…"
He made no move to take the wand and, after a moment, she lowered it and hesitantly returned it to her pocket.
"Have you mentioned any of this to Harry?" he asked sharply.
"No, Sir."
Everything had been so fraught at the hospital. Linctus Dollop had arrived on the scene, flubbery and obsequious with apology. Suddenly the room had been crawling with medics, nurses and Healers, as though, like sea turtles, they had hatched en masse, and were scuttling about their work, mopping the dried blood from Harry's squashed (but unbroken) nose, bringing Hermione a cup of sweetened tea. Snape had crushed them underfoot, scornfully shrugging off their well-meant but overdue services, and drew Dollop aside, pinning him in the corner of the room, an Oyster-catcher isolating his hatchling before devouring it in a single gulp.
And later, by the time Dumbledore sent them off on his little errand, trudging up to the Owlery, Harry and Hermione had been almost catatonic with exhaustion - too tired to chat.
"Then don't. Don't mention it at all." Seeing her flinch at the harsh imperative, Snape attempted to modify it. "What I mean, Miss Granger, is that this information would only upset Harry. I do not wish him to be told. You will not tell anyone. Is that clear?"
Consideration for Harry? Salvaging his own image more like!
"Yes, Sir. He was a bit funny about it anyway, Sir."
"Funny?"
"It was almost as if he'd rather not know."
Harry was odd that way - she'd noticed it before, especially with regard to Snape. He seemed to have the man on a kind of pedestal, but whether he was there as a figure-head or for target-practice she couldn't always tell. But it kept a distance between them. It was fine as long as things were going well – there was a kind of adversarial competitiveness about their relationship – but if ever they ceased to be sparring partners, if Snape slipped from that elevated position and needed help climbing back up, Harry shied away from getting too close. It puzzled and saddened Hermione - in rejecting Snape at those times, Harry seemed intent on throwing away his chances of strengthening the fragile bond with his father. Was it a subconscious thing, she wondered, an instinct for self-preservation? Or some ridiculous, macho man thing? All Hermione knew was that every time Snape had been in trouble - after he'd been tortured by Voldemort at the beginning of term for instance, or when he'd got into such a state about Harry disappearing at Hallowe'en, or again now, when he'd been attacked and his house had been wrecked - instead of being supportive, Harry had backed off and behaved like an utter plonker.
"He doesn't want to know? Fine. Keep it that way."
"Yes, Sir. Is that all, Sir?" She was edging towards the door now.
"Yes. You may go. Ah, no, actually. Miss Granger, about the potion…" Why was he hedging around the subject like some stammering first year? He was annoyed with himself. The last thing he wanted to do was invest the incident with any spurious significance, but neither could he ignore it or forgive himself. He had - he could hardly say the words even to himself - taken comfort in the girl's silent presence yesterday. He had shared a moment of weakness with this child.
"Oh, I checked up on that, Sir. I went to the library first thing. It will have been the Salamander Blood that made you dizzy. It really isn't recommended to ingest…"
"Yes, all right!" he interrupted. Forget it ever happened, can't you?
"I don't suppose Harry would be very interested in that either, Sir. I wasn't going to say anything." Their eyes met briefly, just long enough to seal the unspoken pact. She was being tactful, he realised, not casual but kind. This was calculated to protect his reputation, spare his feelings… Dragon's teeth! Could he be any further indebted to this girl than he already was?
"You showed considerable presence of mind, yesterday, Miss Granger."
She blushed, and the gratitude withered in embarrassment on his lips. "You may go now. That will be all."
Is that all the thanks I get? Ungrateful sod! It's not as though I'm asking for a reward or anything! Next time I'll leave him to die!
End of Chapter
Next chapter: VENGEANCE IS MINE. Sympathy from an unexpected quarter.