Chapter Fourteen: Iris
Severus was screaming in his head. Ice shattered around him as he let go of his Occlumency behind the wards of his home, locked away in the garden shed. He didn't know if he was screaming out loud or not, but he could hear the sounds of screaming as all his repressed memories of the past flooded him. His body burned with pain and heat as he finally let his mind go.
His hands gripped his arms tightly—he knew there would be bruises, but better bruises than the long gouges he used to give himself—as he rocked with the pain.
Everything he had. Everything was gone now.
He clenched his teeth so as to not make a sound—he had always managed to keep himself from screaming during Crucios, he could do so now—and nearly bit his tongue again as he convulsed with pain. Sweat and melted ice dripped down his forehead and soaked through his shirt as he stoically bore all that he had been feeling for the past few months—the rage, hatred, brief flickers of joy, and everything in between.
Eventually, all his feelings leached out, and he was left with nothing.
The next morning, he woke up shivering in his shed, with his clothes soaked through, head heavy, and chest aching with a gaping soul-sick wound, but he managed to stand and get his bearings.
He cast numerous Scourgifys in the shed where Wormtail had lived and at himself, embracing the scraping sting of the cleansing charm. Head much clearer than it had felt for days, he took in his situation and drew himself together again. The first order of action was to set fire to the outdoor loo that Wormtail had used (fire was probably the only thing that could cleanse the taint of Wormtail from that place). Then he began to plan.
After a breakfast of what was left in his kitchen from Easter (black tea and stale biscuits), he received his Daily Prophet delivery at his neighbour's house and found no news of his involvement in Dumbledore's death. The paper stated that it was unknown who had attacked Dumbledore and that the Headmaster had fallen to his death. He had known Death Eaters had managed to gain some control of the paper, but not this much.
After finishing with the paper, which was full of Pureblood propaganda as per usual, he continued to put his house to rights. It sat empty for most of the school year; a thick layer of dust covered every surface. Cleaning almost took his mind off the searing pain in his soul.
After finishing his kitchen and sitting room he moved on to his childhood bedroom. While changing the bedding, his foot caught on the edge of a raised floorboard just under his bed. Frowning, he crouched down carefully and lifted the contents under the floorboard out of their hiding hole.
Underneath the floorboard was a rusty old toolbox with flaking grey paint, no lock, and warded against opening. He carefully brushed the heavy dust off the box and undid the wards.
Inside were a few innocuous objects that caused him to inhale sharply. There was a hand-made birthday card from his thirteenth birthday with a picture of him and Lily, a particularly smooth purple rock roughly in the shape of a heart, his mother's wand, a woman's mirror compact, a simple ring, a small notebook, and a lock of red hair.
It was suddenly difficult to breathe. He felt briefly sick with longing for his childhood. As awful as his childhood had been, at least he had Lily and his mother. He might have had more power now, but he no longer had friends, nor a complete soul.
Before killing Dumbledore, Severus had never killed, at least not directly (he had certainly caused the deaths of the Potters). Voldemort had valued his intelligence over his uses as an executioner. It was ironic then that as he became more committed than ever to destroy the Dark Lord, Severus was finally a true Death Eater, having crossed the final threshold of murder.
He had yearned to be a true Death Eater when he was younger. At one point he thought—or deluded himself into thinking—that he wanted the world to be purged of Muggles, high off the camaraderie and acceptance that he had found with the other aspiring Death Eaters in school and the righteous anger he felt at his father and other such men in his neighbourhood. He had liked the feeling of power that came with being a Death Eater, and the feeling that he was better than others after years of bullying from the Marauders, living under his father's thumb, and Lily's rejection. He relished feeling that he was taking his rightful place in society back from uncouth Muggle-lovers like Potter and Black, who had no idea what Muggles were like and wanted the wizarding world to become the same shit place as the Muggle world was.
But then the illusion of control and power had shattered, leaving him spent and worse off than he had been before. Not only was he beholden to a man worse than his father (which he had not believed possible as a child), he had tainted himself with the things he had done with the Death Eaters. The thin veneer of respectability could not hide what was rotting underneath, and, in the end, he was no better than Potter or his father ever was.
He closed the lid of the box with a clang and returned it to its spot under his floorboards. There was no time to be dwelling on memories.
There was much to do; staffing choices had to be made, rotations of patrols needed to be drawn up, and plans were needed to mitigate the effect of having Death Eaters in the castle.
New lesson plans for Defence Against the Dark Arts would have to be made, with as much useless Dark magic included in the curriculum as possible so that his successor could not do too much damage; thankfully, the Carrows were not expected to set their own curriculum. The castle needed to be supplied and prepared. He knew the Dark Lord had a soft spot for the school, so supplies would not be difficult, but he needed to be careful with his requests so as to not raise suspicions.
He laid down in his bed, taking a break. He had not stopped making preparations since he left Malfoy Manor, and his head had already begun to ache with the strain of Occluding, though he had let go the day before. He tried to sleep, but sleep would not come, so he went back to thinking of preparations. Eventually, the numbness of exhaustion carried him off into an uneasy oblivion.
Hermione was browsing the library again for a lack of anything better to do. Classes and exams had been suspended, and Madam Pince had refused to allow her to check out any new books, so she was spending her last day at Hogwarts in the only place she could not bear to leave.
She found herself re-reading Snape's yearbook entry, eyes lingering over his younger face. Then she nearly fell over from where she was crouched in the book stacks, because suddenly she knew where she had seen the face before.
Sliding the newspaper featuring Eileen Prince side to side with the yearbook, she wondered how she had not seen the resemblance before. Snape was a half-blood, and his mother was named Prince. She was sure of it now.
Snape was the Half-Blood Prince.
It was dizzying. Of course, Snape was the Half-Blood Prince—who else could have been that brilliant and that dark at such a young age?
It was ironic, that the entire time she had been jealous of Snape's younger self's ability in potions, that he had been teaching her his skills while they brewed together. Towards the end of the year, Hermione's potions had become almost as good as Harry's cheated efforts.
Hermione did not know how to react to more news of Professor Snape anymore. He cared deeply for his childhood friend; he killed Dumbledore. He was good; he was awful. He was ugly and striking at the same time. Hermione was envious of his genius, but it was almost fine if it was Snape, because he was brilliant on another level and she had always known that. He made her feel inadequate by throwing away all the rules and then incredibly competent by teaching her magic far beyond what she thought herself capable of.
The man was a mass of contradictions.
Since the night of Dumbledore's death, her mind had felt sluggish and tired, as if she had a fever that only affected her brain. She'd even cast diagnostic charms on herself and had Madam Pomfrey check her over, but the matron had only said that she was stressed.
She was so, so tired. She didn't want to think anymore, but her mind would not let her rest. There was something to Dumbledore's death, something about the way Dumbledore had looked for months—she was convinced of it, but the facts were just out of reach of her conscious mind, and she was lost in a fog where nothing made sense. Her emotions were equally as unclear; she felt horror, sadness, betrayal, admiration, and a persistent low-grade sense of attachment to the Professor who had helped her so much in the previous year, which caused her no small amount of guilt.
Hermione took a steadying breath and returned her reading materials back to their proper places. She didn't want Madam Pince knowing what she had been researching.
Exhausted, she made her way back to her dorm room and fell asleep within moments of lying down in bed, her uniform still on.
Far too early the next day, Hermione found herself wandering the chill halls of the dungeons, lost in thought, and ended up in front of the Potions classroom.
A lump rose in her throat as she looked at the familiar doors, where she had waited for numberless classes to see Professor Snape. It was odd how she had never dreaded the classes; for the most part, Professor Snape ignored her, especially after the incident in fourth year, and she had learned so much from him. He had taught her so much, even though she was Harry's best friend, and a Muggle-born.
Shaking herself, she walked away from the Potions classroom, past the Potions stores, then stopped and doubled back. The wards around the Potions stores were usually very strong—after her second year she had made a habit of noting how Snape warded his stores, just in case—but they were all but gone. There was only one person who could have taken them down and left a small number of wards up, as the wards had all been linked when she last checked.
What was the meaning of this? It was a bewildering opportunity—there was no telling what kind of ingredients they would need while on the run, and here was a prime chance to fill up on ingredients. Offering a silent apology to the late Headmaster for what she was about to steal from the school, Hermione quickly tore down the flimsy wards and slipped into the storage room. Closing the door behind her, she took out the beaded bag that she had enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm and shoved in as many useful ingredients as she could.
She put her ear to the door before furtively leaving the room and headed to the turret closest to the Headmaster's office. The idea was a gamble, but worth a try. She pointed her wand at the Headmaster's office, and clearly enunciated her spell.
"Accio Horcrux books," she said. The Summoning Charm often worked on relevant information in the library, but most of the collection was warded against it, to prevent books from flying off the shelves, though the books would still rattle in place so searchers could find what they were looking for.
For a moment, nothing happened, then three thin volumes flew out of the Headmaster's office and into her hands. Hermione looked down at the books in disbelief, and hastily put those in her handbag as well.
She had one last stop to make but would need to wait for dinner to be in progress so she could be sure that the room she needed would be empty.
During dinner, Hermione wrapped two roast beef sandwiches in napkins and left, excusing herself to Harry and Ron by saying that she had "research" to do.
She walked at a slow and steady pace to Slughorn's office and tried to forget the fact that it was Snape who told her that walking as if she belonged was a key part of fooling people when undercover. There were no people around so she quickly took down Slughorn's wards and broke into his office.
It didn't take her long to find the flask of Polyjuice potion sitting in the back of a cupboard, as well as Harry's Draught of Living Death, and a few of the rarer healing potions.
As she turned to leave, she accidentally knocked over a crystal vial of a thick white potion, and briefly smelled a pleasant mix of cedar, spices, and herbs before she vanished the mystery potion and repaired the crystal. The hair on the back of Hermione's neck prickled; unknown potions which smelled appealing were usually dangerous. She decided then she had enough potions and needed fresh air in case of side effects from the mystery vial.
Casting one last judgemental but fond glance at Slughorn's collection of delicacies housed in cut crystal, she quietly slipped out of his office and replaced his wards.
She found Harry sitting by the Common Room fire looking forlorn when she returned to the tower.
"Harry, I found something out this morning…" she said, fingers fisted in her skirt.
"R.A.B?" Harry sat straighter.
"No. It's Snape."
"What about him?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing.
"Well, it's just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business," she said tentatively.
"D'you have to rub it in, Hermione? How d'you think I feel about that now?"
"No—no—Harry, I didn't mean that!"
She explained then how she knew that Snape was the Half-Blood Prince.
She gripped her robes when Harry responded by drawing parallels between Snape and Voldemort; how Snape must've known that Harry had the Half-Blood Prince book. The fact that Snape had let Harry use his book puzzled Hermione.
"I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," said Harry. "All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too—"
"'Evil' is a strong word," said Hermione quietly, heart hammering. The words slipped out from her before she could take them back, and she waited for Harry to explode.
"You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!"
"I'm trying to say, Harry, that you're putting too much blame on yourself. I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humour, but I would never have guessed he was a potential killer…" she said with a lump in her throat.
"None of us could've guessed Snape would...you know," said Ron.
They lapsed into silence after that, each preoccupied with their own thoughts, before they all left for bed early to prepare for the funeral the next day.
Hermione's eyes were still swollen from crying when she boarded the Hogwarts Express, but they had dried when they reached King's Cross. She had cried until the tears stopped coming during Dumbledore's funeral, and it had the effect of clearing her mind of the mental fog that had descended over her during the past few days.
Several things occurred to her as they neared the station as if all of these thoughts had been percolating in her mind, just waiting for the right moment to come together.
The situation was unsettling. Voldemort had not managed to kill Dumbledore for all his scheming throughout the years, and Dumbledore might have been wandless and weakened when he was talking to Draco, but he was not helpless. He had been able to keep Harry immobilised and silenced wandlessly; he could have done something to save himself, but he did not. The only explanation was that he had chosen to die, because there was no other way a man as powerful as Albus Dumbledore could have gone without a choice, even weakened as he was.
And she was almost certain that Snape had been in on the choice, but she did not know why. She needed to know why.
There was only one person alive who could tell her. The facts did not make sense as they were presented, and Hermione Granger was good at nothing if not making sense out of disparate and conflicting information.
It was recklessness on a level that could only be matched by Harry, but she was sure.
"I'm going to Apparate home; I'll see you two later this summer," she said to Harry and Ron, and gave them both hugs. She bid farewell to Ginny, Luna, and Neville, and then left the station, walking until she could find a secluded alleyway from which to Apparate.
As soon as she dropped her trunk off and let Crookshanks out at home with some food, she stepped into her garden and took a deep breath.
In her mind, she pictured spidery handwriting on a scrap of parchment. The last thought she had before she Disapparated was that she was possibly quite mad.
Severus could feel the telltale tingling of someone crossing his wards. He felt a dim sense of alarm before it was replaced by rage, once he figured out who was at his door. Striding from his sofa, he briefly looked out the narrow windowpane by his door before he wrenched it open and saw Hermione Granger standing on his doorstep.
Severus was livid.
"What are you doing here, you foolish girl?" he hissed at her. "Do you make it a habit to walk into the homes of murderous Death Eaters?"
She was taken aback for a moment, before her a look of disbelief crossed her face.
"Professor Snape—are you drunk?" she asked incredulously.
Just like that his anger deflated. Drinking half a bottle of Firewhiskey had been a bad idea but it helped numb the pain and his thoughts. Not enough to remind him of the fact that he had grossly violated his very position to the school—as a Professor he had been tasked to protect and teach the children, and not only had he brought death and Death Eaters to the school, soon he would be bringing even more danger and complete madness to the castle.
"I am no one's professor anymore. Please don't call me that," he said hoarsely, gathering his emotions and burying them deep within himself with Occlumency as he let her in through the door. The air around him chilled, but the effects of alcohol dulled as he sharpened his mind.
"What do I call you then?" asked Granger, eyes wide. Some part of him noted that she had disconcertingly gentle doe eyes.
"Anything. I don't care. I have a first name. You can use that." Severus backed away, suddenly exhausted.
"Please use mine as well then," she said. Severus shrugged, and waved her to the loveseat where he had been making plans for the school.
Granger took a seat, and carefully looked him over. "I—are you all right?" she asked, leaning to look at him closer while she rested a hand on his left arm.
His mind broke when he felt the soft warmth of her hand on his arm.
"What are you doing?" He clenched his fist until he could feel his nails dig into his palms.
"I—I'm sorry. You're so cold," she whispered, frozen.
It was agonising, having her hand on his arm. Severus drew in a ragged breath and exhaled slowly. He tried to reach for his mental control but it failed.
He should have thrown her out while he had the chance, but the chance had probably passed months ago.
"My Occlumency leaves me cold," he said, carefully looking around his room, anywhere but at her.
"Oh!" she said, and then cast a Warming charm at him. He shivered as the warmth of her magic wrapped around him. The pain loosened in his chest and he felt as if he could breathe properly for the first time since he had cast the Killing Curse.
She was blushing brightly when he swung his face to look at her. "I'm sorry—I should have asked—"
"It's fine." Severus rubbed his face absently with his right hand and pretended to think while he enjoyed the warmth of her touch just a little longer.
Finally, when he could see no other reason for stalling anymore, he gently removed his arm from her hand. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?"
"I'm—" A low growl sounded in the room. "I would be glad for some tea. Thank you," she said, embarrassed. He nodded.
Severus took his time in the kitchen, carefully brewing a pot of tea with his little-used tea set that came as a gift from Narcissa one year.
His Occlumency had all but failed when Hermione had touched him, but now was not a safe time to lose his mind. Taking an extra moment in the kitchen, he carefully wrapped his emotions up and buried them deep.
He floated the tea set along with a plate of oatcakes with him to the sitting room and library, and found her staring in wonder at the wall-to-wall bookshelves. Severus felt his facial muscles relax into something that might've been the beginnings of a smirk. Such typical Granger behaviour.
"Prof—Severus! I—your library is incredible," she said, face still flushed.
"I suppose." He served her tea without any other comment, and found himself unable to stop looking at her while she drank tea and ate the biscuits. She was avoiding his gaze.
"Why are you here?" he asked finally, having no patience for a prolonged staring contest where the other participant was not cooperating.
"I was worried about you." She finally met his eyes. Severus was discomfited by her lies.
"No. Tell me the truth. You're in the home of a known Death Eater who killed the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. Why are you really here?"
"Dumbledore asked you to kill him. I want to know why."
"I killed Dumbledore because I'm a Death Eater." Severus settled his face into an impassive stare.
Hermione's face took on the same pinched expression as McGonagall had at her most unimpressed. He wondered if she learned it from his old colleague.
"Really. That's the answer you're going with."
"If the answer fits," Severus said nonchalantly, and sat back in his seat.
"I don't believe it."
Severus briefly closed his eyes. "But I am a Death Eater. That is the truth."
Hermione actually glared at him for that. "Yes, but there are many kinds of truths. I can't deny that you are a Death Eater, but you yourself taught me that the best lies are couched in truths, and I think you are lying right now by omitting a wealth of facts."
Pride and frustration warred within him; he wasn't sure if he was proud that she had looked beyond the surface so well or frustrated that she did. Severus stalled for time while he contemplated what he should tell her.
"Are Mr Potter and Mr Weasley aware that you are here?"
"Of course not!"
"What I am about to tell you must never leave the walls of this house—do you promise me your word?" he asked, looking at her intently.
"I'll swear a Vow if you want," she offered.
Severus made a pained noise. "Please don't go around offering Unbreakable Vows lightly. It's a hazardous lifestyle choice."
"I don't offer this lightly," she said, voice quiet.
"I won't require one. I find them distasteful." Severus gathered his thoughts and then heaved a great sigh. It seemed inevitable that the truth would come out now, or Hermione Granger might do something even more foolish than showing up at his doorstep in search of it.
"When it became apparent that the Order of the Phoenix could not stop the Dark Lord from taking over Wizarding society, that Dumbledore was dying, and that Draco Malfoy had been tasked with killing the headmaster—something that everyone involved knew he could not do—the Headmaster came up with the brilliant idea that I should kill him when the time came so that I could further cement my cover as a Death Eater."
Hermione blinked. "Incredible. Dumbledore was dying, so he thought that the most logical solution was for you to kill him before he died on his own so you could further your cover at a time when you would need the Order to trust you the most. Well, congratulations. Your cover is truly set now. Everyone thinks you're the next Dark Lord."
Severus let out a strangely pained noise at that.
"What will you do now?" she asked when he made no response.
"Do? I will continue on my act until you and Potter finish your task, and then die, I suppose."
There was a sharp intake of breath. "I think we can do far better than that. We can work together, and you are certainly not going to die."
He could tell that no amount of logic or reason would get Hermione to see the fact that his death was all but guaranteed at the end of this war, so he decided to focus on the other part of her argument.
"And how do you propose working together? I'm of the understanding that you, Potter, and Weasley will go on a search for the Horcruxes entirely separate from the Order. If I pass on information who is there to receive it? Who would believe you?"
"I am in contact with Tonks, who can inform the other Order members," she said. "And I've come up with a cover story for how I got to know a Slytherin defector over the course of the last school year."
"And they'll believe you, just like that? What if they demand to know who your contact is?"
"They'll believe me when the information proves true. And I'll tell them it's too dangerous to risk his identity getting out."
"You've obviously thought this out," he remarked dryly. "What happens when at the end of all of this they find out that it was I, and not some innocent Slytherin student, as you seem intent on misleading them to believe?"
"All the better to clear your name then," she said. Severus sneered at her naivety.
"There is one problem though…we need a method of keeping in touch," she said pensively. "Owls are too slow and easily intercepted...I could enchant a coin. It couldn't be a galleon though, I've already got one of those."
"I have something," Severus said, leaving Hermione alone in his sitting room. She had a coin clenched in her hand when he left. He lit his fireplace with an Incendio, as it was getting dark. He went to his childhood bedroom and retrieved the mirror compact from his box of mementoes.
"This is one half of a two-way mirror," he said after he returned, presenting the silver compact with blue enamelled irises to Hermione. It was fitting, as the flowers stood for faith, wisdom, and messages.
"They will only work for the person they are keyed to. Tap your wand on this compact with me." Severus drew his wand from his sleeve holster.
Hermione retrieved her wand from an inner pocket. They tapped the compact together at the same time.
"Praestituo," Severus said.
He took out his silver pocket watch and flipped it open. There was a mirror inside the cover opposite the watch.
"Hermione Granger," he spoke into the mirror, feeling awkward and uncertain. He had never planned on using them after his mother's death when she had passed them onto him.
Hermione nearly dropped the mirror compact when it responded.
"Oh. It grows warm," she said faintly.
"Yes." Severus motioned with his hand. "Open it."
She opened the compact and started. "I see you." Her face bore a look of surprise, and he experienced the curious sensation of seeing and hearing her both from the mirror and in person.
"Yes, quite." He closed his half of the mirror.
"Thank you," she said, turning the compact over in her hands. The compact fit into her palm perfectly. "Oh! Here's your coin." She handed over a charmed one pound coin that he had seen her charming right before he entered the room again. "We can send short messages and times to talk with the coins when it's impossible to speak face-to-face with the mirrors."
"Right."
After Hermione demonstrated the use of the coins, they exchanged information on the state of the Ministry and how Potter and the Weasleys were doing, as well as Regulus and Grimmauld place. Severus started when a loud gurgle sounded from Hermione's stomach, and realised that for the first time in months he also felt hungry. He bought fish and chips from the nearby chip shop, and they ate the meal together silently. She went home soon after dinner to feed her familiar, leaving Severus to stand behind his front door as he watched her walk down the street until she disappeared.
AN: Hey all, thanks for the reviews for the last chapter—I especially enjoyed the 'oh no's haha! I've been under the weather recently so I haven't been able to answer the reviews, but I really appreciate them. Finally, their relationship moves forward a tiny inch. :D