"I was wondering, Professor", she mused, putting a stack of books on the chair he had conjured for her, "whether a less … theoretical approach provides an advantage when it comes to Occlumency."
Snape drank up his tea, then made cup and carafe vanish with the flick of his wand. Another one, and a fire lit up in the large crimson, cracking merrily as if it had been burning for hours. "Please elaborate."
"My brains might be an obstacle", she lured him, uncertain of her chance to succeed, "So I was thinking... a less academically oriented person put up stronger defenses, from the start."
"I still don't follow", he replied, though with a distinct idea of what she had in mind. Without eye contact between them.
"Assuming a student of yours put in considerable effort", she went on, "One might expect a certain improvement in their performance. And their wellbeing."
She had said it in a flat voice, but Snape knew her well enough to guess where her loyalties lay. He cleaned his desk, Conjured another chair in front of the fireplace and took an incredibly amount of time to lower himself in it. If she felt more comfortable standing, he would accept that for now.
"One would expect", she repeated, a firmer tone this time, "That normal students of yours weren't weakened by your influence."
"Quite correct, Miss Granger." The fire's warmth added to an amount of relaxation he was not accustomed to. Tea and reading for an hour put him in a mood much softer than usual, he noted, but decided to allow himself the leisure.
When she did not elaborate, he finally said, "Students of mine can expect me to challenge them", he laid out, "But, I hope, not beyond an average wizard's capability. As for students with special – properties", he spoke very, very slow now, "Rules concerning the average one hardly apply. Does that seem a logical conclusion to you, Miss Granger?"
"Yes. Sir."
"As much as I respect your wish to keep your distance", he went on, "If you wish to learn Occlumency, enough proximity for eye contact is a minimum requirement." He resisted to offer her another chair next to him. She probably had planned to bring the books, and consciously put them where they lay.
She walked up to the crimson, closer to the fire than to him.
First things first. "You are allowed to put up any defense you're capable of at any time during our lessons", he informed her, drawing his wand. "You've had a taste of me penetrating your mind. Do you feel up to more of such experiences?"
"Yes."
"I will teach you how to clear your mind, and relax", he said. "That will give you more time to built up your boundaries. If you're stable and calm, I will challenge your boundaries. If you can hold it together under stressful circumstances, you've got the hang of it and can continue practicing on your own."
"Stressful circumstances, Sir?"
"At some later point in our course, I will attempt to penetrate your mind without a warning. Perhaps we don't make it to this part, if your mind can't stop rattling and you don't get in touch with your emotions."
"How's that bad?" He must have offended her, after all.
"This is not a question of good, bad, evil, ugly or any other superficial categories", he pointed out, surprisingly patient. "It's about letting go from your daily rationalizations. Focusing on one's inner processes, how one perceives their environment, and the reactions and urges woven into this perception. A matter of discipline, as odd as it may seem right now."
"Quite the contrary to Divination."
"One way to put it, yes."
"I should be thriving, then."
"Please do not underestimate your mind", he warned, and made a mental note that this applied to him as well. "Not your rationality, not cognitive capacities. Your mind."
"I won't, Professor."
"Fine", he accepted. "If you're still willing to engage into these uncharted waters, you'll need to learn basics of seamanship first.
Occlumency can be considered a counter force against Legilimency. Why isn't it call counter-jinx, Miss Granger?"
"Counter-jinxes frame a wizards action as only re-action to another person's deeds", she answered. "They draw attention to provocation, rather than on the attitude of the one provoked."
"In essence, not entirely wrong. But why counter force?"
A flick of her wand, and the books placed themselves neatly beneath the chair she hat put them on. "I do not know, Sir." The fire cast a warm, even glow on her unyielding expression.
"The term", he began, "describes both performance of the wizard, and its impact on one in due process..."
"It has come to my attention", Snape began their third lesson in a voice stating he did not wish to discuss how or when this happened, "That Mr Potter has trained you to conjure a Patronus."
Horror-struck, Hermione decided to immediately check the member's list for any snitches, the moment she returned to her dormitory. "I am able to conjure a Patronus, Sir", she gave away as littler information as possible.
To her surprise, he did not inquire on the DA meetings. "A fully corporeal Patronus?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Then I may ask, Miss Granger, how you managed to do so."
She took her usual seat at the fireplace, books dropped and forgotten from that point onwards.
"Uhm – well … I was told to recall a happy memory, and transform it. The incantation is Expecto Patronum."
"Basically, correct", he confirmed. Rising from behind his desk, he took his time to return a few vials to their dusty cupboards, then placed himself two arm's length from her. "But what's an essential feature of the transformed memory?"
"Sir?"
"If I told you to produce a Patronus on the recall of a lunch after Transfigurations", he said, "Would you succeed?"
"No. Probably not."
"And why not, Miss Granger?"
She had taken a deep breath for an elaborate answer, then in the middle of opening her mouth, discovered she couldn't answer.
"Here's where we encounter rationality", he commented quietly, and deeply satisfied, "As an obstacle."
"The emotion has to be remembered, Sir?"
"It's the other way round. The memory has to be an emotion, first and foremost."
"How so? Don't I have to identify a memory as important, recall it in temporal context before I can access it?"
"The active, clear mind works this was, yes. But people who are less lucid, disoriented even, feel just as intense as we do, Miss Granger. Have you met Neville Longbottom's parents at St. Mungo's over Christmas?"
Was he being polite, or did he really not know? "Yes. Indeed we have."
"The spell damage they suffered can not be undone", he stated unnervingly neutral, "Can you tell me something about their current condition?"
"Shouldn't you ask Neville about them?", she replied coolly.
"This query serves academical purposes, mostly." When she did not reply, he turned from facing the crimson to a confronting position. "Miss Granger, in order for this to work, you'll have to trust me for now."
The core issue of her entire endeavor with him. Was he reading her mind without her noticing?
"Tell me about their current condition", he repeated, "What did you observe?"
"We only met Mrs Longbottom", she whispered, unable to suppress her sadness, "She couldn't speak, or wouldn't. Hadn't done her hair. Doesn't eat much, judging from her slimmed-down shape."
"Anything concerning her behavior?"
"She recognized Neville, but did not react to his grandmom."
"Augusta Longbottom is Nevilles paternal grandmother", Snape informed her, again in a voice she did not dare to ask how he knew. "How did Mrs Longbottom interact with her son?"
"I did not quite see them. She carried some rubbish, from sweets I guess, or that's what Mrs Longbottom – Nevilles grandma – said. She told him to throw it away. Neville was touched by his mom's present, and kept it.
"Did she tell you it was a present for her son?"
"I – no."
"Then how would you know she meant it as a present, if she did not speak?"
"Well, she – he said 'thank you' to her -"
"Those are rational aspects, Miss Granger", he pointed out. "I guess we can agree on her not being lucid?"
"Yes."
"So if she can't remember giving birth to her son", he went on, "Choosing a name for him, and recall his upbringing, how would she recognize him?"
"She feels their connection", Hermione concluded. "Her memory's emotional rather than rational."
He did not comment, a reaction she had learned to read as him having nothing to criticize. "What does that have to do with my Patronus?"
"For a Patronus, the wizard transforms emotion", Snap pointed out. "As a reaction to a threat, which requires recognition, processing and a deliberate choice to counter with an adequate spell. Yet the core is not a rational one."
"How can I distinguish one from the other?"
"I'll show you."
He withdrew his wand, but instead of lifting it to his temples to withdraw an exemplary memory for the Pensieve, he pointed it at her. "Think of something happy."
If the chair had had no backrest, she would have fallen straight backwards from it.
"I repeat, Miss Granger", he sighed, "In order for this to work, you'll have to let me in at some point."
Snape, most disliked teacher, their long-term nemesis, was about to cross the very last line of an upright human being.
"Do you feel an urge to defend yourself?", he asked calmly.
In answering the question she discovered her answer. "No."
"I'll let you push me out of your mind at any time." Unlike the people you are truly arming up against, he added silently.
"Fine. … Any happy memory?"
"Anything you feel comfortable with showing me."
"A- all right."
Their eyes met in the half-lit dungeon. He tiptoed in her hazel-brown eyes, with his dark circles growing ever larger. His features got blurred and vanished.
They were sitting in Charms class, wands out, with Flitwick encouraging them standard on his standard pile of books so that he could look over the desk.
"One of the wizards elementary skills", the small Professor explained, "is Levitation, or the ability to make objects -", an upward gesture to illustrate his words. "Fly. You have your feathers in front of you?"
Only Hermione raised hers in confirmation. Other students seemed much less than eager to participate, as it was their last period for the day and previously McGonagall had turned out just as a demanding and stern teacher as everyone had assumed her to be. "Don't forget the nice wrist movement we've been practicing. The swish and – flick." Another demonstration, met by motionless expressions.
Ron obviously struggled to make his feather rise merely an inch.
"... besides, you're saying it wrong", the eleven year old, vain Hermione corrected him, "It's Levi-O-sa, not Levio-Sar."
"You do it, if you're so clever!", Ron egged her on. "Come on, go on!"
She waved her wand in the exact same manner Flitwick had shown them. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The feather rose from her desk, encouraged by flicks of her wand, up until beneath the ceiling.
"Miss Granger", Snape's voice echoed through the room, before he stepped up from behind her, "I feel flattered that you show me a memory confirming my lowest expectations. Does shaming Weasley truly make you deeply happy after all those years?"
"It's the first time I truly recognized him at Hogwarts", Hermione defended herself, "It's the beginning of our friendship."
"He doesn't seem too keen to spend time with you." Snape had walked up to their desk, unseen by Ron, who otherwise would stare right at his chest. "I'd rather say, he's loathing you right now." The potions master took quite a long look at young Ron's face. Hermione wondered if he was enjoying himself. Out of nothing, he kicked the desk hard. "Anyway, way too solid."
"How's that bad?", Hermione snapped, angry about his dismissal.
"Too rational", he said flatly. "Try again."
The scene changed. Familiar stone walls took shape after a while, only the exuberant Christmas decorations had been displayed for a special occasion. Distant chattering gave an impression of a crowded castle, with students and teachers merrily celebrating.
"The Yule Ball?"
"Yes."
"And how's that such a special – aha."
Fifteen year old Hermione in her most beautiful dress hovered down the stairs to the Great Hall, Viktor Krum glowing with pride at her side. They both lined up in front of the huge doors, which would open any moment to reveal a dance floor, eagerly waiting for the Champions to perform the first dance of the evening. A silver pixie, probably lost from its home mistletoe, rushed across the corridor, and straight through Snape.
"Much better", he acknowledged. He watched the pixie soar above the queue, being joined by several others from an equally over-decorated chandelier, then rush toward the backyard as a silver lining. "Am I allowed to follow this one?", he asked.
"What do you expect to see? I am standing right there." She pointed to her dressed-up self.
"Hm, rules of time and space do not strictly apply in memories", he explained. "Least in emotions. So I'd probably see everything that's remotely … touching you in that backyard."
Her heart hammered against her chest. Had he penetrated her mind further already?
"Afraid I might see something you regret?"
"No", she shot back, falling for his challenge. "Let's go."
They had been standing on top of the stairs, but stood in the old gothic archway as entrance to the grounds within a few steps. In fourth year, the Beauxbatons students had been allowed to park several carriages in the yard to give them a little privacy between lessons. No one had bothered to remove them for the night's event. One of them looked particularly blurred right now. It had no wheels.
He crossed the yard until standing inches close to its door. Hermione suddenly regretted leading Snape here.
"I would never have guessed, Miss Granger." He allowed himself the thinnest of a smile.
"It isn't what it looks like", she heard herself saying.
He reached for the doorknob, but his hand went straight through it. "I see you get the hang of your task."
"I won't have you pry here any further", she stated firmly. "I'll try another memory."
All lines dissolved around them.
For a time – it could have been seconds as well as days – a thick, warm, orange glow filled the space between them. Then distant cracking noises reached their ears. First solid object looked like a couch, but drawing closer, they discovered it to be an rocking chair, but an over-sized one.
"Miney", echoed a woman's voice through the thickness, "Would you like to read some fairy tales again?"
Giantic, wrinkled hands manifested right above their heads, holding a worn-out book, cover barely legible. "I'd love to, granny!"
Tiny hands snatched the book, a rush of brown hair jumped onto the rocking chair, almost knocking it over. Young Hermione had placed herself comfortably in the cushions, bobbing softly back and forward. Still no other solid objects had appeared, but the glow grew warmer.
"A few months from now, you will be able to read all of your school books", the voice made itself heard again. Then, barely audible, "and you won't need your grandma to read to you any more."
"Noooo!", yelled young Hermione from the chair, "I will always need you to read to me."
The wrinkled hands were tied to arms now, part of a grey haired lady in fine clothes that fit her age of about seventy. "Then I will always be glad to have you with me."
The statue dissolved, but appeared back in the chair, Hermione now curled in her lap. "And still he went further, and all was so quiet that he could hear his own breathing; and at last he came to the tower, and went up the winding stair, and opened the door of the little room where Rosamond lay. And when he saw her looking so lovely in her sleep..."
The glow grew even lighter, and they both breathed in its warm, gentle scent of burning old woods.
"Perfect", whispered Snape.
He stepped up to her, looking her deep in the eye. His features suddenly appeared much less sinister, almost relaxed. Despite not moving closer to her physically, his eyes seemed to get closer, until she could distinguish the dark iris from his pupil.
Their surroundings began to get a clear shape again. The crackling faded, as did the warmth. She discovered his eyes were placed beneath stern brows again, a fine line between them, and his face pale as ever.
She had moved to the edge of her chair without noticing, but withdrew now. Snape leaned back as well, wand loosely in his lap.
"This, Miss Granger", he flicked his wand, and a comfortable fire rose in the crimson between them, "Is the difference between a memory and recalling an emotion." He said it in such a flat tone, she halfway expected him to add, "Ten points to Gryffindor." She felt hurt beyond expression.
"Now can you tell me the difference between them? What separates one from the other?", he inquired, stuffing the wand into his robes.
She still felt unable to answer. A large clot had appeared in her throat, and it was growing. Fast.
"For an Occlumens", he went on, blind to her state, "The essential ability is to master one's emo-"
"Silencio."
Wand pointed at his overlarge nose, Hermione wiped her cheeks, sobbing now.
"Has anyone ever bothered to teach you some tact?", she threw at him.
Snape had not reached into his pockets. Unable to speak, he kept glaring at her, obviously outraged, but perfectly in control.
"Finite."
"I see you have taken my task very seriously", he said very slowly. They both stared at each other, faces lit by the fire between them, but it took several minutes before Hermione put her wand away.
"So how-", she suppressed a sob, "How was that relevant for me learning Occlumency? Professor?"
"For an Occlumens it poses an essential challenge", he laid out, still carefully choosing his words, "To wrap up any emotion whatsoever, and hide it from the wizard penetrating one's mind."
She did not comment on that. Apparently, in her first lesson at the subject, she had performed as an abysmal failure.
"It is the core competency one must acquire", he laid out, breaking eye contact now, "Which is why we will work on precisely that ability next Monday. Same time."
"Ok, Professor." Subdued, but calmer now, she picked up her books and headed for the door.
"And, Miss Granger", he called after her, not turning around, "If you ever dare bewitching me again, I shall not be so indulgent."