"Where are we, Miss Granger?"
"Still third floor", she explained, "I ran from the Room of Requirement. Two members of the Squad tried to stop me, but I managed to escape."
"How long until you rush into Nott?"
Had they not been standing with their backs against a wall, frightened but yet unharmed Hermione would have ran through them, wand at the ready. "A few minutes, tops."
"We need to slow down", Snape urged her, "Now do as I say. When did you feel intensely bored for the last time?"
Light, quick steps mixed with the paced run.
"How's that supposed to -"
"When?"
"In Transfigurations, I guess -"
"Dive into that feeling", he instructed, "Allow it to fill your mind."
First cracks echoed through the corridor from spells having missed their target.
"Give up, Granger", Nott's voice hovered aroung the corner, "a mudblood doesn't stand -
"I find it hard -"
"Shhhh", he cut across her. "Don't talk. Just feel it. Feel to be as bored as if time was turning backwards."
Dust covered their faces when another curse hit a stone arch above them.
"You don't like being called a mudblood?", Nott teased her- again.
"I can't", Hermione whimmered, crying again.
"Yes, you can", Snape said, taking her hand.
"- But that's what you are! And you will learn your rightful place-"
"There's nothing I can do", she sobbed.
"But you fought back", Snape reminded her, "You really gave him a hard time beating you."
"- as soon as the Dark Lord – Protego!"
"See", Snape caught up on Nott's yelling, "You're not helpless."
"He'll tie me up and leave me there - !"
"No, he won't", and in a swift move, he pulled her into his arms.
"Let's see -"
"I'm here, Hermione. It's a memory."
" - how dirty -"
"I am here", Snape whispered, steadying her.
" - how dirty yooooouuuuurr blooooooo..."
"You're in control of this!"
" - reaaaaaaaal- llyyyyy..."
"It's just a memory", he repeated.
" - hoooooow diiiii -"
"Okay", she muffled into his robes. "I got it." She made no move to evade his hug. "I got the hang of it."
Dust hung above and around them in a motionless cloud, thick enough to render the corridor opaque, but light on their shoulders.
"If you feel up to it", Snape told her in a strangely throaty voice, "You may tune the script of this memory back a little bit further."
"That's the trick, isn't it?", she inquired, lifting her face from his shoulder, "To think of it as a movie? Something I can play back- and forward however I like?"
"One trick of many, yes."
The dust crawled back beneath the ceiling, and vanished into a seamless, unharmed old arch of stone.
"You should have warned me", she said. "Or give me an exercise first."
"Yes, I should. I was not expecting you to wind up in the midst of events."
"I'd like to restore this place to normal. And then leave it for now."
"Okay." Pushing her might exhaust her strength, he decided, and she was back in control now. If she engaged in applying her new skill to this memory further, she could loose it again, and the least she needed was another experience of being overwhelmed or helpless. Yet he had one other task for her to complete.
After withdrawing from his hug, she wiped her face, and watched carefully, as the corridor set itself back together to its former state. Frightened Hermione, in slow and rewinding motions, crossed the corridor and stepped down the stairs, curses and counter-jinxes flying back into her wand. After they stood in silence for a while, his features drifted back into focus, eyes growing smaller and smaller...
They were back in his office again.
"I must warn you, Hermione", he began, "That you'll hardly find it any easier to cope with your anger tomorrow, or the rest of the week. Memories like these take their toll."
"Okay."
"I suggest you take some good nights sleep and think it through whether you want to engage into that memory again, and whether you want to do so with me."
"Supposing I do", she replied, "No more knee-jerk-scenes, please."
"I am sorry I put you through this unprepared", he admitted, much to her surprise. Apart from that, she felt strangely empty, but not as raw or messed-up as before.
"What would I be signing up for?", she inquired, "Considering that I started this as Occlumency lessons."
He did not chuckle or smile, but allowed himself a small rising in the corner of his mouth. "I'd have to know what to expect", he said. "Of what happened to you down there. Just a short version."
"Well, you saw me that night in the hospital wing", she reminded him, "He'll cut my face, tie my legs, and Silence me about it." Heart racing again, it was her turn to reach out for his hands now. They were still warm, and he did not reject her.
"Can you take one more interpretation of mine?"
She hesitated, but nodded after a few seconds. "One."
"I thought so when you told me about revision making you angry", he pointed out to her, "The motionlessness at a desk, the silence you keep at rehearsal. This experience you've had -", she took a deep breath and he knew he had strained her to the edge of her capabilities tonight, "Your body has its own memory of it. And when you're in a similar position, these emotions, loosely tied to your memory, kick in and cause your current feelings to go on a rampage."
"Any ideas?"
"Come back and talk to me", he suggested. Neither tone nor expression conveyed any expectations to her, let alone pressure. "Even if you feel you cannot take another encounter – which is fine with me – you need to break the silence he forced you into."
"I'll think about it."
They were, after all, still sitting rather close to each other.
He had been holding her in his arms, she just realized, only minutes ago. And had he not said that he could deal with bad memories, because he had loads of his own?
"You went through this", she whispered, and noted that he dared not to look her in the eye now.
"Yes. I did."
Not a lengthy answer, but he had not put his walls back up.
"Does it change you?"
"What?"
"Trauma."
"Every intense impression changes you", he said evasively.
"That's how you see it?"
"By the time you can see your darkest moments as intense ones – among others -, you'll find it possible to … move on."
Hermione dared not to push him further. The glowing, warm sensation in her chest had nothing to do with unresolved anger this time. She noticed he had started to caress her hands, stroking the palm, gaze lost in the fire between them. His fingertips moved on to her wrist.
"Look at me." If she wanted to know where they were heading to – if heading toward anything at all -, she wished to share their connection again. Share his thoughts, and more, his feelings. Any kind of feeling. Just to learn a bit more of who this man was- who had pushed her trough stages of a dying youth and lead her to emerge as a woman.
Their eyes met. Their surroundings vanished in the familiar blur. Within it, Hermione saw her own bushy hair between his fingers. His hands tightly on her waist. One body against another, zealously involved, in ecstasy -
His hands suddenly stiffened around hers. He pulled them back. And here they were, his walls, the impenetrable cloak he wore beneath the black and visible one.
"I guess it'd be better if you moved on", he whispered, unwilling to make eye contact again. She halfway expected him to ask what she had seen, but then, he probably was well aware of that.
"Thank you."
"Good night, Hermione." And recognizing a lost battle as she saw one, Hermione left for the dormitory, for the first sleep without nightmares in weeks.