Chapter 11
Now and again, he itches to delve deeper, to properly touch on topics that will leave their mouths hanging open in fascination and their hearts racing with awe. In an instance such as that one, his concern wouldn't be on whether it was good or bad awe, it would only be that he was able to amaze them with the actual scope of the dark arts. He'd take great pride in introducing them to certain things then, that way demonstrating to them that just as advanced as he is with ordinary magic, he's accomplished on the other end as well. But that only if the school syllabus didn't restrict him. As it is, as it will continue to be at Hogwarts, there's only so much that he can do, under the strict condition to never pique their interest beyond knowing the necessary.
Hmpf! As if many of them posses any more interest than giving free reign to their teenage desires and fantasies. If any of them were as creative and original as to do their own research on the dark arts, then he'd have a reason not to ignite more interest than necessary with his teachings, not invigilating them in this manner. He must admit, though, that being subjected to going around watching their performance like this, is a rewarding thing for a change in his teaching, unlike the way that it had been with Potions. Every step that he made in Potions had always been a risk towards total disaster, whereas watching them work with each other and depending on each other against their will here, fills him with a sense of pride that he cannot put into words.
'Hold your wands properly!' he suddenly snaps for no other reason than to watch them scramble around for nothing.
Telling them what do to and then standing back to watch them attempt to follow his instructions has come to show him a different side to all of them really, if he's being truthful. When he interrupts their progress, whether in a testing manner or to his personal amusement, they nearly never fail to fall into line appropriately, dropping their guards to give him as much attention as he wants from them. Without faltering, as he's doing now, he always then watches their waiting faces, including hers, basking in this new sort of attention that he's become accustomed to; an attention of interest and not of trepidation – he surely wouldn't have imagined that he'd receive a pure sort of attention like this.
'It serves for nothing to have a wand that can be removed from your hold,' he decides to tell them, this way rewarding their deep attention.
Humming sounds of agreement come from them, much like they're beginning to see what he's told them, and then exchanging looks here and there, they're all back to trying to attack each other with their wands held more firmly in their hands. It's somewhat seamless, their transition from attentive to reactive, that seeing them follow his instruction in that pure manner, fills him with a strong bout of pride. Like a metallic anchor, the pride settles itself deep inside his chest, causing it to swell out through a short breath of response. It may be extreme, but he's allowed to feel pride to a point beyond what he'd allow himself to, he believes, for if not in his own hands' work, what else does he have to feel pride for?
Nothing, that's what.
Except, perhaps, that one with her hair tied above her head, concentrating hard on today's task just as her peers are.
She's been doing well in this class, if it's necessary to note. Not the best and not the most natural of the lot, but she has been carrying on with pronounced determination, despite the gloominess that she wears on her face whenever she enters his class. Though he doesn't like to meet with that expression, he understands why it appears. She alone has month upon month of knowledge on understanding of the dark arts, thus her determination during class, and at the same time, she alone bears the loss and then the reminder of his particular lessons, hence her sadness upon appearing in class, but even so, she's doing better in holding herself together since they last spoke alone.
Of her, for that particular effort, he'd like to think that he's proud.
Perhaps he's not that in the traditional way, when one usually feels an immense rush of accepting satisfaction when another person has achieved well, but truthfully, what else should he call it? When seeing her doing well in class, also keeping herself together outside of class, and his chest feels to fill with a wave of something that he can only identify as nearly completely good with a only smidgeon of negative, what should he call it, if not a small branch of pride? Although, on the other hand, he could simply be conflating one thing with another and then naming it pride, when it really shouldn't be like that. After all, this new method of teaching her year had initially been for her benefit, due to Albus' decision, and because she's the reason for the change, he could be mistaking her role in the garnered pride of his own decision for pride in her.
But should that be the case, he would like not to discover it clearly.
He'd much rather think that in spite of the real origins and the reasoning behind his new way in Defence, he's able to see his selfish plan bloom into something different for the students. Through noting it affect them for the better, pushing them to depend on each other and defend each other against their will, he's then in turn rewarded with pride for what he's done. That's instead an alternative to removing his pride from her, because that will never happen.
For as long as he doesn't have the free opportunity in the evenings to witness her emotions displayed on her face, hear fierce words come from her, receive the smiles that come his way from her and all in all, feel all the other smaller and medium ranged emotions because of her, he will not remove his pride from her. In the absence of what she used to be, of the girl who used to make him look forwards to his evening, his pride of her is the only stable and likeable feeling that he can experience to do with her these days.
26Chapters
He wouldn't say that he is alarmed to receive a call to see the headmaster at once, not precisely, no. It's rather more of a concern, when remembering that nothing seemed as important as to be discussed when he tended to Albus on Sunday evening. It was all straightforward on Sunday, with him arriving, doing what he was called to do and then leaving soon after to allow Albus some resting time. Monday passed by without a call for service, so to receive one today, and that before lunch, is highly unusual. What big thing could have happened between Sunday and today that's caught Albus' attention enough to call for him before lunch? Had Albus at least waited until the lunch hour, he wouldn't be giving much thought to the summon.
Of course, he'll find out the reason as soon as he's climbed all the steps and has made it through the door, however, his mind can't help it wonder if something went wrong with Albus – or someone else for that matter. The call surely won't be about him, seeing as he's done everything that was asked of him, but say that he is directly implicated in the reason, he can only hope that it won't be a conversation about Draco and his plans. Concerning Draco, his effort is better spent on keeping an eye on him in Defence these days, than cornering the boy wherever he can. Nonetheless, as he takes the last of the steps into the headmaster's office, he trains himself to remain in order and not attempt to fight Albus on his course with Draco, no matter what.
'Will this take long?' he wants to know as soon as he steps in through the door. 'I have a class after lunch.'
'No, no,' Albus shakes his head, looking directly at him from where he stands. 'I only just concluded a rather strained meeting with the Minister, so I won't keep you long. What I called you for is an urgent matter, but it shan't take long.'
An urgent matter?
Well, if the man standing away from his table with his hands behind his back, looking like he just finished pacing the open length of his office, is any giveaway, he'll then assume that Albus is dreadfully displaced by something. For him to even forgo his regular niceties and usual welcoming expression, just what news was it that the Minister brought to him?
'What is that matter?' he asks with a strange sense of unwillingness to really hear the answer.
Despite his apprehension to hear what he might be told, his irregular heartbeats and a sour taste in his mouth, he's all too aware that he cannot hide from what awaits him. Should it be that it's at last coming to an end for him, it's surely better to hear it at once than to prolong the news.
26Chapters
To Minerva approaching him, he'll simply nod his acknowledgment and then carry on his way without engaging her. He knows her well and even from a small distance, he can already tell by her unwavering eyes on him and then the effort to walk in a line parallel to his walking path, that she'll try and stop him for one thing or another. Well, not this time, if she'd like to know. His mind is still inside Albus' office, listening to the man recount his distress with all seriousness, that he cannot entertain any other person before he's organised his mind enough to see something other than Albus that troubled way.
'Minerva,' he says, not even looking at her as he takes a long step past her.
'Severus, you are just the person that I was looking for,' she calls after him.
Oh, for goodness' sake, did she not see him walk past her? Does she think that he made a mistake by avoiding her? Really, as cleaver as she is, she should work it out for herself that this isn't such a time as he's willing to entertain her. That he has to still his steps for her when he has a pending thing to do...
'Minerva?' he quietly breathes through briefly closed eyes
He isn't bothered to turn her way, because really, just what would she like from him? He wouldn't like to hear what's on her mind either, she should know.
In what seems like a second, she's doubled back to him, bringing herself directly in front of him, to then tell him, 'I have a favour to ask of you.'
'Now?' he looks all around them to communicate that the corridor to the headmaster's office is hardly an appropriate place for a conversation featuring favours.
'It won't take long,' she softly assures him, but that doesn't ease his need to get away at all.
In fact, a similar set of words left Albus' mouth and the result is this, him looking to have some time to himself to process everything in depth. He eyes her as he should, partly doubting her to be reducing the importance of her favour and just outright sceptical that she'll leave him any better than Albus did.
'Quidditch?' he wonders, hoping against all evil that it isn't about that.
Or about watching one of her younger classes. Sacred magic, not that; the amount of times that he's had to correct horribly stated spells during Transfiguration...
'Miss Granger,' she tells him, a soft smile playing on her face.
Oh, magic, his heart drops too fast, returning to Albus' office, Minerva as well?
26Chapters
It can't enter into his mind.
He's tried, four times now, in fact, starting at the narrated point, and still, it can't properly enter into his mind that she could do that. Well, that she did it, more accurately. Fruitlessly, he's also tried to insert himself into her mind, that way to see things from her point of reasoning, only to come up with the same result of incomprehension.
It's that it's too simple, what she did.
Had it perhaps been something that the Weasley twins would do, something to damage the physical being of someone, he would have understood then. In the case of something so completely simple, quite comical in its foundation, yet so very effective in damaging Albus' settledness – even a little bit of his pride, if he may – he's at a loss.
Was it something that she thought of on the spot after she'd gotten the password from him, or was it afterwards when she was walking to her class? Truly, he's at a loss as to what he should feel about the whole thing, that on top of still not understanding what she did. Albus spoke of her crime with such trouble, struggling to keep his voice even while expressing his deep distaste for what occurred, and through that he understood that it really happened, except, his mind still refuses to take in what she did.
Albus acknowledged it as a golden idea for payback, despite the effect, and he could and can only still only marvel at the audacity. She's well capable, yes, that he's sure of. If he remembers how she'd spoken about Miss Edgecombe and how she'd shouted at him for apparently 'mistreating Potter' during Occlumency, he can, without a doubt, confirm that she's capable of doing what she feels is right to her own sense of justice - isn't she always talking about fairness to him? It's only that truly, she was capable of something so juvenile?
According to Albus, yes, she was. And he believes it, he really does, and yet his mind isn't catching up as it should. Has he become an idiot? Because why can't he understand something quite simple and to the point? And why, for the love of magic, can't he decide how he feels about it? His feelings, though very well hidden, have always been the first to spark inside of him in light of anything, but not this time. He rather only stood and listened to Albus speaking and after that, he left without knowing how he feels about the whole thing.
No matter, he consoles himself, whatever it is, he will see her tomorrow afternoon and then probably, his mind will open in the way that it can't now.
26Chapters
'Remain where you are,' he says to her, tapping a finger on her desk while they pack their things up.
There should be no mistaking that he's talking to her, when he's standing before her desk, looking only at her, yet her friends on either side of her lift their heads up to him. Quite nosy, they are, he takes the time to think, even though he makes as though he didn't see their interest from the corners of his eyes.
'Yes, Professor,' she answers and that alone is enough for him to lift his hand from her desk and leave for the door.
At the door, with a patience that he's forced to have, he waits for each and every student to go through the door, right until the last one – her Weasley friend, who looks back at her as though waiting for her to tell him to wait for her – disappears through the door. Simply because Weasley seems to want to involve himself in something that has nothing to do with him, he takes great delight in reaching for the door with his hand and firmly pulling it shut after the boy.
'Over here,' he calls as he turns his back on the door to begin his walk towards the teaching table.
For his own comfort, he takes a seat once he's reached the table, and though it would be better if she took a seat as well, he doesn't summon a chair for me. Instead, he leans back in the chair to look at her in detail, in the hope that now that he's got her in his sights, putting her face next to her crime inside his head, he'll be able to understand what she did to the headmaster. It's no help, he finds after a moment; seeing her waiting expression doesn't help in the least.
'Do you know, I had the most interesting information come from the headmaster yesterday?' he chooses to ask, counting on his clue to spark something from her.
It does bring out a reaction from her, he notes. Her face takes a sour expression as her arms cross over her chest as if challenging him to dare say what he heard and dully get a piece of her mind once he has. Oh, he'll hear her piece all right.
'Curious to know what he told me?' he presses, suddenly feeling the teasing urge to see how far he can poke at the subject before she gives it up.
His poke instantly works, he realises when she darkly responds with, 'I know what I did,' nearly immediately.
Ah, a lightly bubbly feeling settles around him, she really did it.
'Tell me that you didn't,' he lowly bargains, leaning forwards to hear the contrary before he loses his mind to a manic reaction.
Her admission was quite clear, and there's no evidence that she's remorseful over the entire thing, and though he cannot say that he's utterly surprised, he's shocked by the whole thing now. In the time that it took her to admit her crime, during the aftermath of him looking at her in complete silence for a moment, he's gone from not understanding what she did to Albus, to actually feeling amazed that she truly did it. And oh, what that amazement feels like.
'I did,' she states with no trace of deceit in the tone, which propels him to get up from his seat.
For this, he has to be close to her, and so he goes around the table to take up a place just beside her, his bottom half barely touching the edge of the table.
'You did,' he repeats, slowly running his eyes all over her face and settling on her eyes, he questions, 'You broke into the headmaster's office and stole all of his sweets, why?'
To say it aloud, to truly bring it out in the open, feels like the silliest thing to him. At this moment, one could accuse him of being a parent scolding a child for doing something naughty, and he'd reluctantly accept it, because in depth her crime is that juvenile. She must've picked it up in crèche as a little one, for such tactics surely belong to those only in that age range.
He won't even mention that she apparently found every hiding place in headmaster's office, took every single sweet from its place and then announced to the portraits that she would be taking the sweets to the kitchen elves, because that surely wouldn't leave his mouth in an unbroken cadence. Even now, it will take only the wrong syllables from her mouth to tickle him to laughter.
'I didn't break in,' she rebuts, uncrossing her arms. 'I asked you for the password, remember?'
This girl; she thinks that bit about the password liberates her from breaking in?
'To steal his sweets, yes, I now know,' he quietly returns, quite proud of himself for not bursting apart into laughter.
'I didn't like how stupid he made me feel,' she tells him with a passion that impressively sobers him at once. 'I didn't like how he ended our lessons either and then made me feel inconsiderate and selfish on purpose about why they ended. I couldn't just let him get away with it. Taking his sweets was the one thing that I wanted to upset him with. He won't be justified enough to expel me for what I did, but at least he'll know never to treat me like that again.'
Well, if he's to be honest, she's certainly made her position on how she feels very clear. Really, she read through the school disciplinary code to aid her in her crime? Even Albus wouldn't be able to say that she didn't demonstrate her feelings well. To him, however, it's that at least between the two of them, she wasn't afraid to strike Albus for what he did to their lessons. The very fact that included in her vengeance was that their lessons came to an end, he's...
'You stole his sweets for that?' he slowly asks as if to say that she wasn't justified enough to commit her crime.
Nodding her answer, she then asks, 'Was he angry?'
Angry? Albus? If only he could extract the memory for her to see.
'He didn't appreciate not having his sweets,' is what he chooses to tell her at the last moment.
That's not the truth in its rawest form, it's only that he doesn't care to dwell on the anger that Albus relayed to him. Perhaps she'll be glad to know that she apparently made him look like a fool for offering the Minister some sweets, only to not find any anywhere, but that's not much of a priority to him at the moment. Now that he has her account of things, later tonight, he'll pair it with Albus' account and then rightfully revel in the effect for the both of them. As for her, it's enough that she has an idea of the sort of damage that her crime did.
'Good,' she says through a proud smirk. 'That ought to teach him. He's lucky that I didn't cancel his monthly subscription to Honeydukes.'
For the briefest moment after her threat, he simply takes her in, precisely as she is and then fully processing that she'd really have cancelled his subscription, a deep rumbling sound of his own laughter fills the space around him as he heaves out fit after fit of sound from the depths of his stomach. Helpless against his body's reaction, he easily surrenders to the joy of laughing, enjoying the lightness that it brings him.
'It's a little funny, isn't it?' he hears, but between his stomach clenching and the sounds coming from him, he cannot bring himself to respond to her.
So as not to leave her unattended, however, to keep her in place just in case she gets any idea to leave while he enjoys his laugh, he touches a hand to her arm, leaving it there. For its part, his touch does something to her, acting as an infection to entice her to soft laughter as well. Her sound of laughter, unlike his own, is a sound that he's come to like hearing, a sound that he would stop his own to listen to without missing a beat. In fact, he does just that, gradually bringing his laughter to a still, to rather listen to her.
After so much time, after not even a single smile from her and only expressions that he doesn't like to see on her, the sound of her laugh is a soothing balm to an inflammation that he didn't realise had inflamed this badly. Well, of course there had been stirrings in him that he recognised as a longing to keep her after class, but only now, with her displaying her natural side, he's comprehending that plain and simple, he's formed an attachment to her, and he's missed her as the result.
It does a strange this to his heart to admit, but it's the truth. Truly, he's missed this her; the uninhibited and expressive vessel of a person that she is, unafraid to burst out of herself when she gets any urge to.
No one, not even Albus asked him how he's adjusted to the change in his evenings. If anyone had, they'd know that he's dealing with it as he should; with acceptance. The alternative would be out of character for him, and having already, on multiple occasions indulged in that particular trait with her, he can't continue to abuse it further. But if he could, just for a tiny slip indulge now; only a little bit, just to spend a little of his time with her, if only to enjoy her spark for a little bit more.
'Miss,' he hears himself say with a tenderness that makes his own stomach move differently, more so when she quietens, her eyes, bright with tears of laughter staring into his.
Now that he's got her held in the moment and his response to that is what it is, someone convince him, his stirring stomach to be precise, that he hasn't, because he's truly missed her. And for all the time that they couldn't be free with each, he wants to attempt making up for it now. Only a little conversation - light and not too demanding - is bound to transition them into a familiar pattern. He hopes. Oh, he hopes.
'You really stole his sweets?' he asks, clearing his throat a little bit.
'Yes.'
'You are a menace,' he says simply, stepping right into he and not knowing why his hand gently goes back forth along her arm - he does know, however, that he will keep his hand from doing what it wants to.
'I don't care,' she responds. 'He can't think that he can do whatever he likes to people. And you said I couldn't pay him back.'
He would laugh again, if the idea of her believing that she can take on the headmaster didn't put an uneasy feeling inside of him. He'll have to be careful with what he says to her about Albus from now onwards, otherwise Albus will find a way to ruin her eventually.
'You must always prove yourself.'
In part, he's chastising her with Albus in mind – what he could do to her, what he could make her believe, what he could use to tie her to him, but he's also complimenting her for being who she is, no matter what that could mean.
'He made me feel stupid!' she insists, whining about it.
As Albus makes him feel a lot of things as well, he can understand the impulse to be rebellious. The comfort here with her at least, is that she's not bound to Albus as he is, and so has all the freedom to exercise as much of her rebellion as she'd like to. However, never again will he allow her to do anything against the headmaster.
'Many others will make you feel as such in your life,' he tells her, giving her an advance in life lessons; if she's to live on in the world, she had better get used to the idea of meeting opposition wherever she goes.
He lets go of her arm without stepping away from her then, feeling that they've reached a comfortable place now, where it's only the two of them being themselves.
She frowns at him for his words, saying, 'I'm not afraid of that.'
'No,' he agrees, he visually assesses her. 'Your tenacity to traipse around, looking for trouble with Potter each year despite the warnings not to, has demonstrated that.'
'I don't –'
'You do,' he interrupts her, not willing to discuss it further for now if she has to make it to the next class. 'There's in any case another matter. You spoke to Professor McGonagall about a Muggle test?'
At first, as if unsure whether to answer him, her eyes only search his, and then apparently choosing to, she nods, but looking at him with renewed interest.
'She's tasked me with supervising you on your trip this weekend.'
It's a thing to behold, how her face lights up at the mere mention, and then suddenly, she's holding onto his arm, gripping it in a way that only she does. Did he already think that he missed her? Because goodness, he's done so. All these little things, so very her, only for him, he hasn't had for close to four weeks now.
'You'll go with me?' she asks, somewhat out of breath, but wondrous at the same time.
Must she sound like that, sending unholy sparks throughout his body?
'I'm apparently left with no choice,' he replies as dryly as he can manage when really, she's ignited some form of excitement within him for it.
Apparently, he's understanding now, in light of Albus' problem, it didn't come together for him that accepting Minerva's request, he'd actually be leaving the castle with her for a few hours. It is now, and the prospect is something to look forward to.
'You promise?' she asks, her eyes clearly begging for him to.
Though he nods to her, and though the resulting smile that comes from her is a promise of impatience for the day to come, he can truly only wonder if doubting him is something that she enjoys, for she tends to do it right when she has no reason to.
26Chapters
'You've spoken to Miss Granger?' Albus raises his head to ask.
Watching the man push his scrolls aside to then rise from his chair, it hits him quite like a vicious attack that he was always meant to return and give feedback, despite not being asked to.
'Yes,' he replies a bit too tightly, the result of how he feels about the demanding question.
'There's no need for that, Severus,' Albus shakes his head, apparently seeing the reluctance on his face. 'I will do nothing to her, you must know that. I only wished to show you how things are getting out of hand. A capable witch as Miss Granger can do as much as she feels is just to do so, as you've no doubt come to realise.'
Stopping, quite strategically actually, Albus looks at him searchingly, giving off the impression that he's waiting for a response, but not yet ready to say anything, he only inclines his head to the right, that way telling the older man that he has nothing to say.
'Very well,' Albus nods and then takes only one step to the left of his table. 'I shall make a confession to you. I cannot presume to know precisely why she did it, but surely it must have been brought about by something that you said to her.'
What's this, the blame is his?
Just like that, as the last of Albus' words settle into his mind, his face tightens with heat at the proclamation that he's always the one in the wrong. How unfortunate for Albus, that he's not the one in the wrong, that he could be doubted so!
'Have you forgotten that she's in confidence with Potter?' he coldly returns to the other man. 'Would you expect that Potter would hear something about her and not report it back to her? What was it that you told her, Albus?'
With his eyebrows raised high, Albus appears to challenge him as he says, 'As I could ask, what you have told her.'
Of course, he would refuse to be the one in the wrong, when he clearly is. All three of them have a view of what happened and why it happened, but for Albus to remove his part from it should not be allowed to happen, not when he was clearly wrong. Albus was the one to say contradicting things that led her to seek for answers from him. What should he have done, but tell her the truth enough to clear his name in her sight? Should he really have stood by, and let her believe that he lied to her face?
'Can you see?' he urgently moves his hands to demonstrate his supposed point. 'Be rational, Severus, you cannot confide in her and expect that no consequence will come of it.'
And why doesn't he point the finger to himself first? He cannot deceive her and expect no consequence to come of it. She's Hermione Granger for goodness' sake, hasn't he heard about her? Besides, he mustn't believe himself so all-knowing.
'You couldn't have known that she would do this!'
'I didn't, I admit,' Albus sombrely accepts. 'Perhaps that is why it made me as cross as it did. I have since given some thought to your situation with her, and I am convinced now more than ever that I was right. Don't you see, Severus, are things not getting out of hand now?'
He doesn't know how to respond to Albus now, he only knows that hearing him say something so careless with as much conviction as he is ugly. Those lessons were good for him and helpful for her! Those lessons meant something important to him, something that he separated from all the other ugliness in his life and what, Albus is convinced that he did the right thing? The right thing for who?
'I understand how you are feeling, Severus.'
He says that he does, even going as far as to sound and appear like he does, but Albus really doesn't understand anything about his feelings. Had he even just once asked how he feels without the lessons, what he does to fill his evenings now, how he deals with seeing her sad face in the corridors, wondering if she still cries where no one can see her, and what he'd like to do with it all, then he could say that he understands his feelings.
'You do not,' he evenly denies, his hands beginning to close up into loose fists. 'But you are cruel man, do you know?'
But cruel in a horrible way; the things that Albus subjects him to without hesitation and then convinces himself that he's doing the right thing…
'In sprinkling, yes. Yes, I am,' Albus nods, lowering his head right after as though the thought brings him light shame. 'I'm also hopelessly desperate. Understand my urgency, Severus.'
Oh, the irony!
It's like a strong blow to his chest, manifesting inside his throat – thick and constricting and oh-so unbearable.
'How is it all right for me to understand you, but not you me?' he cries, lightly doubling over as if experiencing mild pain in the stomach.
'I understand you perfectly well, Severus,' he's calmly told. 'Your interactions with Miss Granger have changed you. You can't deny the difference to me. As one who knows you, I am afraid that she will come to make you desire things that you had not before. Can't you see how you've become? We must solve this before it becomes bigger than it is.'
He whips his head up so fast towards Albus, that his hair strongly flings onto his face as he eyes the other man with angry disbelief.
For the love of magic!
It's rather bold of him to assume such a lie!
Simply because he never expressed his desires, he can't be taken to never have had them to begin with. What does Albus think? That he's an extraordinary man, the grand exception to all other men? And then he claims to understand him, does he?
'Excuse me, Headmaster,' he dismisses himself suddenly.
No longer will he bear to listen to the injustice coming from Albus, because what more does he expect to come from a man who claims to understand him, yet removes him from the basic wants of other beings? As he moves out of the office, he hears Albus call after him with a pleading, 'Severus, please, we aren't finished,' but he pays him no mind.
26Chapters
Step after step, he's resisted the temptation to return to Albus and tell him unpleasant things for a change, to pour out his feelings as they truly are, and why they should matter in these dark times. Now that he's opening his office door, and a cold draught settles on his side, reminding him of his solitude in the world, he has half a mind to fling the door wide open, head straight for the fireplace and open the connection that will lead right him back to Albus to give him a huge piece of his mind. It would be quite easy to show up there and spew horrible words to the man, although, thinking about it properly, would it matter if he did?
It probably wouldn't.
Knowing Albus, he would probably write it off as a just and warranted emotional moment before sending him away to get some rest for the night. There'd be no way to convince Albus of his side of things more than he'd be wasting his time going over there in the first place. With that thought, counselling him that he should rather accept that for tonight, neither will listen to the other, he slowly pushes his door open, just as leisurely walking in through it and then allowing a few seconds for that conclusion to fully settle in, he closes the door behind as the same cold draught from before brushes past him again.
On a better night, he'd pay some mind to the chill, but not tonight. Tonight, he's displaced and there's anger there, leading him to the fireplace, crossing with him into his private sitting room and pushing him to move towards his bedroom where he's sure to get some rest away from the horrible effect left behind by his meeting with Albus. On his way, his eyes catch sight of the single bottle of drink on his small table in the sitting room, immediately influencing his mind to take a drink to calm himself.
He pauses, eyeing the bottle carefully, the beat of his heart quickening by the second, and yet, he's more sensible than drinking his mood away. It would be easy, yes, but what then if he does? No, he should rather do something else. At a previous time, maybe, when he had nothing better to occupy his time with, he would have sat in one of the chairs and indulged in two or three classes. Hmm, would someone look at that; it's quite the change to how he'd been even last February. It even brings a sardonic smile to his face, the notion of preference now, but who ever said that change was a bad thing?
Albus, his mind whispers to him. Albus continues to accuse you of changing as though it's an unforgivable evil.
'Yes,' he answers his mind aloud, closing his eyes to swallow that particular unpleasantry.
Yes, he's changing.
He's changing into a man who likes the attention that he receives, a man who looks forwards to it, but the difference is that he's still the same. Albus can't point any of his old fingers to an occasion where he's refused instruction or gone against a given order. As much as he's changing, he's still thoroughly dedicated to the promises that he made. In fact, he would never go against his offered word even if a brand new life was being offered to him. The choice that he made long ago to do what he needs to do, he won't back down from, no matter what.
Now, if only Albus understood that he's not looking for a way out of his promises. If he could simply see that his current request is only to continue with what he's come to know until he no longer can. That shouldn't be too much of an unreasonable request to be granted, he believes, except, remembering that Albus couldn't even be bothered to check up on him since the lessons ended, how does he truly still have a little hope that Albus would understand him even in inkling?'
That's what bothers him the most about tonight with Albus. That he pretends to understand him, claims that he knows him, when he hasn't even met the basics of what that could begin to mean... Albus is a well-rounded and thorough man, what would it have cost him to ask, just once why he tried insisting on keeping the lessons with her? And had he heard that inside the umbrella of those lessons, were hidden so many jewels that he'd never had in his entire life, would it have made the difference to him?
It probably wouldn't, he concludes from his own experience with Albus, then moves to sink into a sofa. Albus, as determined to keep him in line with his plan as he is, wouldn't have seen reason in that way, and that thought makes him feel very resentful. Resentful like this, he can nearly see what drove her to steal Albus' sweets. It couldn't enter into his mind yesterday, but after hearing her speak today, and just a while ago experiencing Albus for himself, he can understand why it mattered to her that she made him feel what she was made to feel. Strangely, he also now sees why she always goes on and on about things being fair.
'She's right,' he says, lazily smiling to himself as he remembers her insisting on justice.
It isn't fair, as she would say.
Albus is already asking him to do that which he's never done before, something he isn't glad to oblige with, and on top of that, he takes away the one thing in his life that he categorises as completely separate from the Dark Lord and him? Does Albus really know that his life consists only of summons and meetings with the Order, Albus, the Dark Lord or fellow teachers and none of those tedious and boringly random interactions that someone his age ought to have? Could he understand that unlike others, she surprises him with her ways, or when she begins telling him things that he didn't ask to listen to, nobody else engages him further than polite formalities? Just this afternoon, she was excited to be leaving the castle with him on Friday. Who has ever begged him to promise to spend time with them?
He's not at all like other men in the world. He doesn't have anyone to engage him, anyone to make him feel as though he matters for more than just being of service, and a man who can receive without giving in return, except her. The lessons have meant something important to him because of that, for in them, he become a Severus Snape that was not on his guard, constantly wondering if he had to protect himself from intrusion and other such things. In her company, he releases the burdens of the outside world, to only be there with her, whatever that may look like – whether teaching or disagreements. He'd rather have someone to disagree with than not have a place to express himself even a little bit.
Oh, if only.
Heavily, he sighs into the air, his eyes looking straight ahead, because he really should've been able to keep their lessons until he has to kill Albus.
It's all set in stone for him in any case, that when the time comes, all that will remain for his company and comfort will be his memories. In the life prior to her lessons, his memory of comfort was only his Patronus, which got him through the harder times, reminding him why he had to push him out of bed on the difficult days. Since then, however, he's amassed significant memories. The best of all having been formed on one particular night when she accepted his apology, giving him her forgiveness, not only with words, but with actions, thus cloaking herself around his heart and weaving herself so intricately into his mind, that no memory modification would ever remove her from it. Even remembering the effect of that embrace now, his body fills with a touch of serenity to a point where he suddenly feels drawn to see it.
Giving in to that urge, he closes his eyes while he brings out and his wand and points it to his temple to draw out that memory. He has no Pensieve around to visit that memory in vivid detail, although he does know of another, less known way to see a memory – assuredly, if she saw him doing it, she would beg him to teach it to her. She's insistent that way, that one, always asking him for things. And doesn't he have some difficulty not yielding to her, when her requests are so pure?
Mm, the corners of his lips softly move upwards, she must always find a way into his thoughts.
That single acceptance is everything that he needs to complete extracting the memory and once it's left an empty space in his mind, he opens his eyes, speaking a few words to suspend the thread of memory in the air in front of him. Immediately after, he draws out his Patronus for good measure, setting it right beside the memory. Although both are the same colour, the memory thread seems dimmer, is much smaller and appears less significant than the doe next to it, which oddly makes him shift in his seat. It's no way smaller, that thread of memory that bears too much of him within in and not at all liking the thought of his memory being smaller, he swallows hard to do away with that thought. As that thought dies away, he's oddly taken back to the moment when Albus advised him to rather only stick to the memories associated with Lily than grasp onto a passing phase of lessons.
Albus doesn't always know everything!
In fact, he's going to prove to Albus, despite him not being here, that he can keep both equally, not only Lily's memory. True, he's never had to choose between the two singularities and he doesn't believe that he will ever have to, but just to prove that his 'apparent' change is enough to 'corrupt' him away from his decided path, he'll conduct an experiment. It's just as well that he does it now and perhaps find a relief from the distaste left behind by Albus. In the following silence, he works out how to test himself and after a while, he gets onto his feet, his idea fully formed.
He's never been one to dally when it comes to doing and testing magic, and it's in that mind that he pushes both the doe and thread of memory out further in front of him before charming the thread to morph into a still image of memory. It's a spell made of sending a message to the core of the memory to magnify the picture that he wants and there, right before his eyes appears the precise moment when he held back onto her, taking it in that she just forgave him and forgave him in the most profound of ways. With an enraptured heart, he watches the image expand to the size of the Patronus, this being the first time outside of his mind that he's seeing it. Next to each other, the image and doe shine differently, one not quite the same as the other, but even so, he's satisfied enough with what he's done.
Just here, however, a shift happens in the room.
It's subtle, but the air of hungry greed that flares in the room passes through his own touch of magic in the room. Suspicious, he stills his movements, his breathing even, to wonder about it, but the air now settled and blended into his own magic in front of him, he dismisses the disruption as his magic doing well in keeping his experiment suspended as it should be. In the following moment, he returns to pulling out a memory with Albus, doing that same to it that he did to the previous memory. Unlike the first image, watching this picture with Albus coming to life doesn't feel any better than standing in front of those horrid Dementors; the chill carried with it is too real. Nonetheless, having endured much more than that in life, with all three pieces in a line, one next to the other, he uses his wand to rearrange them; Albus in the middle, the Patronus on the right and the embrace on the left.
All right, he takes in a steadying breath, blinking once to relax himself.
It's that before the beginning of term, his option was clear and singular, but now he has another choice. That in itself is a miracle that he must've gained out of pity from some deity if they exist as the Muggle myths teach small children. All those tales about Egyptian, Greek, Norse, Roman, Celtic and Chinese gods must have something to them after all, then, if he truly has another option – and he does. But that's all well and fine, seeing as he isn't to make a choice between the two now, he's only going to prove that he can keep both without a problem.
It's time, he urges himself for all time.
He's already convinced that the newer memory won't change his cause, neither will it push his Patronus away, so it's time. That way convinced, he places another charm on all the images, reminding himself that whichever image he steps to, the other two will instantly disappear. And then promptly, he's taking a fast step to Albus in the middle, carefully watching from the corners of his eyes to see the other two images fade away. His heart clenches tightly, drawing an unprepared breath from him and making him twist instinctively to his right.
No.
That cannot go - it's all he's ever known in his life.
But, he must remember that it was only an experiment. It hurt to see it disappear, but isn't that how things have been for him? Hasn't he always had to bury himself and his emotions to do what needs to be done? That man that his father and then Lily later taught him to be, the one who had to bury his feelings, because they didn't matter anyway if he showed them, isn't he still that man?
He'll try the experiment again.
Now's not the time to pretend that he's not the same person who dwells when he should move on despite his feelings, and so breathing out, he draws the other two images again while taking the appropriate step back. This time, feeling a bit more prepared to see it happen, he steps back to Albus in the middle, but with his eyes set on his right, just waiting to see it disappear. And there, like being pulled by an invisible cord, seeing it happen, his feet move to reach out after it, pushing his hands to grasp the air that's left behind as his heart sinks out of place. He isn't even sure where it falls to, only that he feels the hurt of it missing from place.
No, he silently cries. No. No.
No, it's all right. It's not real. It's an experiment. And experiments are meant to be repeated. He should pull himself together, stop feeling so much and get back to repeating the entire process from the beginning. It costs him much strength, strength that he doesn't even want to pull from himself, but this is what experiments are made of; they're often failing and difficult before they're successful. He must press on – That's who Severus Snape is, after all. This third and last time, as he looks on at everything that he's repeating, his heart beating loudly to his own ears and then seeing his does disappear, it hurts him even more than the first two times, that he sharply turns his head away from the evil of nothingness that's now in the place of his doe.
And then, he's simply quiet.
She once asked him what determines the shape of a Patronus, and he doesn't know. Not really. It's a mess of a thing that he asked himself when he first cast a Patronus, wondering why it matched Lily's, but he went no further. Even then, at his young age, he knew how he felt about her. It doesn't matter that she never forgave him, because his feelings for her were never dependant on what she did, only that she was even beyond her death. That doe is everything Lily. Were he to lose it completely, he'd have nothing left to remember her by. But he hasn't lost it, that's at least a great consolation.
And since he's tested the Patronus, he'll have to test the embrace as well. Never mind now that he hadn't been looking to test them like this precisely, he'll still not waste time in repeating projecting the images. Charming them as before, he steps to Albus between the two images, and then lifts his eyes to his left to catch the embrace fading away.
It's his own image that goes away, his arms around her that become as transparent as air, and his own involvement in the moment that disappears as though it never existed and him freezing, unable to move is the only sensible reaction for his body to have. That he cannot move is as simple as anything can be; he would rather die by torture, resurrect and die a second time by a longer form of torture before he gives that memory up. It is his, it's precious and he will not watch it disappear. There will be no repetitions of that charm – experiment or not. That's enough for now. And for always.
Slowly, the result of a sudden weakening of his body, he does away with the magic in the room, feeling nothing even as his doe fades out. With his body, he moves back to the sofa, dropping into it with his wand tightly clenched in his hand as he tries to relax his body. For a little moment, he tries to restore some energy to himself through breathing, but that is when he feels a warm hand clasp over his left shoulder, to which startled, he jumps onto his feet, whipping around to confirm the face accompanying the soft, 'Severus.'
Albus.
For only that immediate moment of confirmation when his eyes feather over the other man's face, his mind turns numb, not yet able to recognise the truth.
'Have you -?' Albus begins, but those words...
He's only able to hear the first two words before his mind recognises that voice as belonging to a mightily capable wizard. As a match would ignite a piece of string, quickly leading along the trail, his mind makes the fast connection, coming to realise that this wizard's been present since the beginning.
Secretly, he's witnessed things of an intimate nature, remained quiet through it all and only now at the end, makes his appearance. His mind quickly concludes that, and as it does, the connection is too much for it to bear that in one second, it combusts, bringing only heavy blackness to his eyes and an unforgiving fire to his body. His insides, his heart, especially, burn with an intensity that not even Fiendfyre could dream to generate. The air surrounding him is just as thick as the blackness blinding his eyes that surely, he's been taken to the Muggle darkness of a burning hell. He's burning in hell, the very joints of his bones crinkling with abandon to weaken him to the core.
'This – Granger – Too – Discretion – Wise – It – Responsible - You– Happen – Me – Patronus – See.'
They're all broken sentences, mere fragments to him and even though his ears want to pay attention – maybe they'll hear a way out of here – his eyes cannot see enough to pin on the man speaking. Even if they could, his chest wants to burst open. If there's anything that his mind is vividly aware of now, is that he's never felt like this before, and to brave himself through this sudden trip to hell, he has to cling onto the only certainty that he has at the moment; his wand. His little length of wood, always to be trusted in preserving him to safety, onto that, he grasps firmly before blindly lifting it to fire a spell to push him out of here.
Afterwards, he weakly collapses to his knees, his strength robbed from him by a shout bursting from his mouth, which in turn is muffled by his face's graceless smack onto the floor. It's like that, face down on the floor, his hold on his wand loosening and tired breaths coming out in short gasps through his mouth, that he realises really took place just now.
26Chapters
Tired of the ruse of attempting to find some sleep, he springs his body from the mattress. In the rigidly upright position, he pushes out a frustrated breath, hating this wholeheartedly. He never would have been able to fall asleep like this.
This, when he has no peace of mind. This, when it's looking too much like it will never come his way. This disturbance, this unsettlement, this feeling of betrayal, it's all clinging to his skin like leeching slime and it won't go away. Worse yet, on his tongue is the taste of pungent smelling cheese, that leaving his mouth open is the only relief to an otherwise horrible taste in his mouth. His lungs are too heavy now that he's upright as well, collapsing his breathing to short expelling for air here and there.
He cannot take it anymore!
Albus went too far this time, he saw something too deep, too intimate and that will never leave his memory. Just how far does Dumbledore believe himself able to push people without them having an emotional outcry and rise against him?
He, for one, won't stand for it now - not anymore.
And not ever again.
Here and this is the end.
Albus' recent sin has reached a level far beyond his capability to withstand, and no, he cannot let it be this way. He would have accepted anything, would have agreed to anything, would have given anything, only not shared that. The mere thought of that being out in the open makes him want to cry out and get rid the heaviness stuck in his throat. That cry, if it would come out and tear a giant hole in the night sky, for the particles to rain down as heaps of hot coal upon that man, if it would then do away with that nosy man, he'd want it to.
26Chapters
A drink, even a potion would have sobered Draco to full attention, and he could have gone to the trouble of handing him either, if at the very last moment, he decided that having the boy drowsy with sleep would be helpful to him. As such, he's lazily standing behind the seated boy with his left hand pressed down hard to keep him in position and hopefully kept away from the candlelight's illumination if someone were to be spying on him.
'I have sworn to protect you,' he tells Draco in a low tone, measured to be that way for effect. 'I have also sworn to assist and to guide you, yet you treat me as an enemy, when I am not.'
Silence is the only response to come to come back. And the faint sniffle, if he was willing to take the boy's emotions into consideration.
'Your plan, Draco, what is it?' he tries again, his tone not changing, only clamping his hand tighter on the shoulder to counter a standing attempt.
He is not in the spirit to entertain tonight.
He will not be subject to the boy's elusiveness either.
There will be no questions about it.
'What is your plan?' he calmly repeats, not in the least bothered by being repetitive.
'You wake me up to repeat the same things to me?!' Draco answers him at last.
His voice is shaky, he notes, and probably, he should recognise that the boy has always been and will continue to be afraid concerning this matter, he simply will not, however. He would only like to know how far of a progression is made and that is only what matters to him.
'Your plan of execution, Draco,' he tries again, because though he doesn't have all night, he'd take as much time as needed to find about Albus' death – the sooner that he gets to kill that man, he'd like to embrace it and prepare for it already.
'Do you have any idea what it's like to be marked?' Draco rasps his reply.
Is the boy about to cry?
Maybe he should prepare himself a drink, after all. To help him through the wait, if that's what it's going to take.
'Enlighten me,' he quietly invites, strategically lightening his hold on the shoulder to allow the boy some illusion of freedom.
It appears to work, because under his hold, he feels the boy slump, notably surrendering his body to a less defined posture.
'Why must I be the one to do it?' he follows his action with. 'My aunt Bella says it's the greatest honour. My mother only looks at me as though I'm dying before her eyes. My father can do nothing for me – he says that I should carry myself with pride – as a Malfoy! And you, Snape! You leave me no rest! You wake me from sleep. It's the only time that I have rest, and you wake me from it!'
'So then, you've nothing to say about when you will do it?' he presents as easily as he would if he was teaching a class and refusing to listen to an excuse about why their homework was not done.
'What?' Draco bursts in a way that suggests his surprise; he hadn't expected that response evidently.
Tough for him, then, he reasons as he lifts his hand, allowing him to get up if that will satisfy him, he is not here to see to the boy's emotional needs and support, he only needs information, but even that's not going to come, it appears.
'Could I suggest a number of ways to ensure that you achieve your goal?' he asks, mostly to rub it in that he is failing and that way sting him for wasting his time. 'You clearly cannot do this yourself.'
'You're a selfish coward!' Draco shouts, going as far as to spring from his seat and face him. 'And no wonder! You have no troubles. You have no responsibilities! You think that the rest of us have nothing to do with our lives as you do? Some of us have more responsibilities than you, who nosies around other people's business to feel important.'
With only one look at the boy, fast concluding that he knows absolutely nothing about anything, and that he is far too emotional to be anywhere close to attempting the deed - to then mess up, for him to clean – he decides to put an end to this already.
'Spare me what you don't know and get out of my sight if you can't tell me when it will be done!'
'You woke me!' Draco cries as well as blames him, if that look of disbelief is accurate to his interpretation.
'And now I'm dismissing you. Leave.'
Draco somewhat looking to stay, could that very mean that he is vulnerable to influence and persuasion? Yes, most likely. But could he, tightly woven with anger that won't permit him to see anything about anyone, be bothered to care? No, most definitely.
Perhaps tomorrow morning, when he's calmed down, he will think back on tonight, remembering the shattered look on the boy's face, recall his hesitance to move just before finally making his way to the door and then scold himself for letting an opportunity to get into the boy's head walk away from him, but what would his anger be if cared about others tonight? He was the one who was wronged, he is the one to remain with the sleeplessness tonight, and he will forever remember Albus watching him test himself. The way that he knows himself, just as he did with James Potter and his friends, he will never again be able to see Albus' face and not seethe with remembrance, which means that he will have to stop seeing the man in his everyday life.
With Draco unfortunately unable to hold himself together and make his proper attempt, there remains only one other thing to do, to make sure that he never sees the man again. And then, after he's taken care of that, he'll return to his bedroom and get some sleep, for surely, the satisfaction of doing that will be enough of a memory to lull him to sleep. But first, he's going to take down a drink and then with his wand openly in his hand, he'll leave to see Albus, who surely won't be expecting him to do anything tonight.
26Chapters
It feels just like moments ago that he heard the man's voice and turned around to meet his face. At least, it does so to his tightening body. Seeing that face react alarmed at his arrival now, he's attacked by a heaviness that nearly pins him to the spot, nearly stopping him from proceeding, only, if he's going to get some sleep tonight, he must push through and move on to that table.
At such an hour, he would really be seated with Horace at a table adorned with varying bottles of potions and glasses of drink?
The nerve of him!
Of course, he doesn't care that just some hours earlier, he imposed his presence into a private space like a thief. To him, it was merely an inconsequential moment, forgotten the moment that he left, and here he is, demonstrating it as such, going about his normal night with no consequence. His father used to go about his evening as well, turning on the telly and engaging in entertainment as though he didn't just have a terrible one-sided row with his wife, and as though he didn't leave her broken in their bedroom. That last thought brings an even stronger taste of bitterness to his soul, because never before in his life, would he have compared Albus to his father, and yet they're turning out to be the same.
Still, despite the horrible likeness and how burdening it is to make, he strides over to the table, his eyes directly on the headmaster in the armchair. He spares Horace next to him no look as he hands the scroll in his hand to the older man, then standing back to watch him read it. Albus unroll the scroll, giving him a look, probably asking for an explanation before he discovers what's written in the parchment. He will not give the other man a clue, he silently refuses, remaining quiet. What Albus doesn't know is that this isn't an easy thing for him to do. All of this, looking at the man in such proximity, even the fact that he had to find him here in Horace's private rooms after not finding him in his office, is not something that he is enjoying, but merely doing because it must be done.
That being so, in silence, he waits for the other man to finish the letter. He must be going over it for the third time now, because surely, he doesn't need as long as he's taking to read a total of twelve words.
'Having trouble?' he deliberately incites.
'What is this, Severus?' he responds without looking up.
Has the curse on his hand affected his reading ability?
'Exactly what it is,' he answers, his eyes set on him in earnest even though his jaw clenches at having to explain something quite straightforward.
'Surely, you jest,' the headmaster says, looking up to peer at him over his glasses.
Oh, he likes that look of challenge; it's part of the reaction that he wanted to get from the man and so much a much longed-for caress to his decadent side.
'Not at all,' he firmly returns.
If the preceding look by the headmaster was a caress to his hellish part, him suddenly pushing out of his chair, letting the parchment slip from his hands as they roughly slap on the round table to remain planted on there could easily be said to feel like the first lubricated grip of his own hand around his sinfully aching nakedness; such a sublime relief it is to watch Albus come out of himself with abandon. It's made that much more sublime by Horace reacting visibly shaken, for the more witnesses, the more glorious the shame. Much later, Albus will look back on this and drown in the humiliation of his own out-of-order comportment, remembering that Severus Snape did that to him.
'I cannot accept this!' Albus insists, dangerously leaning towards him over the table.
'Will you duel me to stay?' he mocks, hoping that his disdain is very evident in his voice. 'Because I see no other way in which you can keep me from leaving my teaching post behind.'
'You swore to things!' Albus screeches with passion.
Yes, he's very aware, and no, he hasn't considered everything in detail, but none of what he swore to requires him to be a teacher at Hogwarts per se. Although this is terribly emotional of him to do, he feels wounded to a point where he cannot stand Albus' face for much longer. He never had to face the Dark Lord immediately after he killed Lily; he had years to prepare himself for that moment, so why should he torment himself with Albus for days to come before his death?
'I do not have to be on staff to comply with your orders, I should remind you, Albus.'
Pulling a disbelieving face, he asks, 'And what of Draco?' in quite the superior tone, as though his authority is final in all things.
'Draco has refused my help at every turn,' is his tight counter. 'How much longer am I to contend with him futilely?'
The man's grasp is steadily slipping, he can tell. That Albus only eyes him at first, whatever sinister thing is going on in his mind and that he can't read past the tight shield over the old man's eyes, is proof enough if that. He is fast realising that in this unprepared situation, his power is minimal, which must be why he slowly straightens himself from the table, takes a long moment to compose himself by lightly shaking his body into place while his come around to join, intertwined in front of his robe.
Now that he looks in order, he's calmly able to ask, 'What if he is to succeed? Have you considered that?'
And just in which castle does Albus believe Draco able to succeed at something alien so him?
'He will do no such thing,' he assures Albus in an even tone. 'He is frightened out of his mind. His fails so far have been accidents that he's been relieved to have happened. I know him better than you do, remember that!'
The other man shakes his head to what he's being told to rather stress for the opposite, 'Even so, Severus, you cannot resign. Where will I get a teacher to fill in for you so late in the year?'
'It's a mere four months before the end,' he generously replies even though that isn't any concern of his. 'You could manage my classes as you see fit. Assign them endless essays and delegate for a student to mark them. Might I nominate the student for the role?'
'And Harry?' is the question that comes next, instead of conceding to the point made.
'Horace would be happy to fill that role, wouldn't you, Horace?' he asks turning to the man in question.
Clearly caught off-guard by the sudden inclusion in the conversation, a light gasp comes from Horace, but nothing more than that. And just as well, because Albus takes away the moment for him to respond even if he wanted to.
'See reason, Severus,' he tries to reason, his voice calm yet pleading. 'This is not what we had planned.'
'We?' he spurts out in a short laugh of contempt.
His disbelief could never override his anger towards Albus, although, it's doing a decent job of competing with it at the moment. Should he have imagined that Albus would dare tell him something so volatile?
We, he said?
'Yes,' Albus agrees with an affirming nod. 'You agreed to the terms of the plan and now you are turning out to betray me.'
Hearing that come out as easily as it does, the urge to run his hands over his face nags at him, because maybe it would clear everything up for him, especially his hearing. He ignores the urge, however, rather pushing out a long breath to help cool his heating skin.
'You dare call me a traitor when I stand in front of you?' he dangerously lets out.
'Is that not what you are doing, Severus?' Albus replies, his tone also taking on a dangerous note. 'After all the plans and when we are so close, you seek to betray me all for what? Are you perhaps looking for a bargaining hand with this? Speak clearly, what is it that you would like?'
He doesn't want anything, except to stop seeing him for the rest of the year. It's that plain and straightforward.
'I am leaving tomorrow night,' he ascertains with finality, 'and you cannot stop me, Headmaster.'
'Oh, yes?' Albus appears to mock, quickly taking a step around the table to stand directly on his side. 'And what would he think about this? This could affect your position to him. He needs to be vulnerable to you, but if you leave here, you could lose the current value that you have to him.'
'I am leaving,' he maintains, refusing to be manipulated.
He already knows his value to each individual that he deals with, so none of that will work on him.
'But consider everything, I ask. We are so close and precisely at this moment you lose your courage, Severus? Did I not predict that you'd be enticed to desire the things that you had never before?'
Perhaps if there was enough desperate begging in his tone, maybe if he got down on his knees and pleaded with him to stay and his vengeful side was appeased, he'd consider the idea of considering what is being asked of him. With the way that he's presenting it now, though, all the more that he's brought that up into the conversation, he will not hear any word that he might have to say. Of that, as sure as his name is Severus Snape, he will not speak. Neither will he allow Albus to.
'Refrain from mentioning anything to do with that,' he warns under the influence of tingling nerves. 'I have never asked you for more than you could give and that you can give me. And excuse me, I should be retiring to bed.'
Knowing that he won't continue with this conversation anymore, in the following breath, he turns his back on the two men, making his way towards the door with his sharp nerves leading him in the same strides that brought him in.
'We aren't finished, Severus,' he hears behind him, and although he's already at the door, he sharply turns around, his eyes quickly finding Albus.
It's that those words stabbed too deeply into a wound that hasn't yet healed. If he could, as repayment for the painful reminder of what happened, he would set this whole room on fire just to watch the flames consume that man.
'Should I wait for you?' he venomously spews. 'Perhaps you'd like my permission to come after me this time? What more would you like to see for yourself, that I may display it for you while I'm here and save you the trouble of following after me?'
Lightly, Albus shakes his head, evidently denying what he did, 'I hadn't meant to spy on you.'
'Yet you did!' he rages back in an instant. 'You watched it all! All that wasn't yours to view! All that had nothing to do with you! All that was a personal matter and not a study for you to add to your findings! How can you stand there and accuse me of betrayal when you've done much worse than betray me! You've stolen from me. You've violated my trust. You've tainted something that was never to be made foul! You've soiled all of it. How dare you, Dumbledore, accuse me of betrayal!'
The sound of his racing heart is rampant in his head, a constant drumming as if designed that way to keep his outrage alight, and when he is calmly advised to, 'Calm yourself,' it only ignites him even more. Apart from the blinding rage that consumed him in the moment that it happened, he hasn't gone back to confronting all of the feelings surrounding that moment. Although if Albus insists on treating him as if he is making a lethal poison from harmless ingredients, he will be forced to confront those feelings, and should that happen, Unforgivables might very well be cast in quick succession, damn the end results.
'Should you have treated me like an adversary?!' leaves his mouth nearly strangled to his own ears. 'I've given you no reason to doubt me.' - To doubt his loyalty, by extension - 'I have done everything that you asked of me. Why was it that you couldn't excuse yourself to allow me my own privacy? Was it too much of an ask to allow me my moments alone? You have no respect for me Dumbledore! You've made everything despicable. How can I trust that I will ever have such privacy again?'
'I only wished to know what you were thinking,' the man explains to him, maintaining his calmness. 'Forgive my callousness.'
Forgive him?
He can't hold himself upright and claim callousness when he knew exactly what he was doing when he chose not to leave. Doesn't he remember that try after try with the images, he stayed, watching?
'That was not yours to see!' he shouts at the man, because he will never receive forgiveness for it.
'No, it wasn't,' Albus quietly agrees, 'however, be practical, Severus. No matter how far you run from here, nothing about what I did will change. Your memory about it will still remain with you. You will take it with you wherever you go! I know well of what I speak. Leaving will help nothing. Though I understand your fury, and you are right to feel it, we must move along. We cannot pause at every inconvenience for the sake of it. Emotions must be put aside for they have no place in battle.'
Heartless, that man is.
His self-assured way of speaking words of harm in a sympathetic manner, yet so dismissive when listened to carefully, is one of the stronger qualities of his and surely, that quality must be used against him.
'Would you care to show me your own private memories and see if your own words will appease you?' he shoots back through a hollow laugh, just dying to get a response.
'As you wish,' Albus accepts through a small sigh. 'Retire to bed tonight, but we have not yet reached a conclusion regarding this. You are obligated to stay at the school until I have dealt with your letter in the right manner. Do well to remember that.'
If he cares at all about Albus' threat, it's as much as he cares that his father returns to life after so many years, that's the thought that pushes him out of Horace's rooms back to his own. Tonight, he will force a potion down his throat and sleep, but come tomorrow, tomorrow Albus will tell him nothing.
26Chapters
Horace is the first and only one to look his way when Minerva announces the headmaster's unavailability starting today and all weekend in the case that anyone had plans to see him. It's not much of a surprise that Albus would run away when things are turning his way, what is a surprise to him though, is his own hardened reaction to the news.
As he looks back at Horace, his mind whispers that he should be grateful for the fact that he will not have to go through the day dreading to bump into the headmaster at any point, only, his heart is still stuck on yesterday's event that the mere mention of the man's name makes him want to crush something in his hands.
'Oh, and Severus,' Minerva says, turning directly to him, forcing him away from Horace's face. 'Please don't forget about Miss Granger tomorrow afternoon. She'd be most disheartened if she couldn't go.'
Because he hesitates to discuss anything to do with her since Albus stole from him, he inclines his head in a quiet nod.
'And would you do me the favour of informing her about it? I haven't gotten around to telling her.'
He nods his answer again, but this time, he rises as well, having had enough of Horace watching him unabashedly.
'Will that be all?' he asks and when she nods her confirmation, he wastes no time in leaving them in there.
Albus may believe himself to be clever to involve Horace in their matter, but that changes nothing for him. Though it is something to wonder about, if the pair of opportunistic wizards are conspiring something against him, it really means nothing to him in the end. Come Monday morning when Albus is back, he will leave the castle for always.
26Chapters
'Prepared?' he asks as she is reaching him.
His eyes naturally wash over her to confirm whatever her answer is, and though nothing seems physically out of order with her when she gives him a quiet, 'Yes,' there's a shaky note in her voice that's hard to miss. Was it not for her looking around them, clearly expecting to see something, he would have asked her to explain herself.
'Where's Professor Dumbledore?' she wonders, her eyes settling on him for a moment before returning to looking around them again.
'Away,' he tells her, to then watch her face relax a little bit.
'Will he be back soon?'
'Why?' he asks instead of giving her an answer.
Something about Albus must be making her uneasy, and he'd like to know what it is before they leave for the gate. From where he stands, all of his trust in Albus has been reduced to nothing, and truly, he wouldn't put it past the man to have planted some false idea in her head.
'He was there one evening when I asked Professor McGonagall about today,' she begins to explain, her eyes still darting to the sides. 'Does he know that you're taking me? He obviously doesn't want you having anything to do with me, and since I took his sweets, he could show up and stop you from going with me.'
That's her concern, is it?
Well, he was told that Madam Pince couldn't postpone her errand today. Minerva followed that with letting him know that she would have liked for a woman to take her, except, there was no one else available. Apparently, he remained the natural choice to accompany her to Muggle London, although now, after the fiasco with Albus and this new information from her, he's suspicious if the two heads didn't plan this among themselves. When he remembers that of all places, she met him when he was leaving Albus' office, it wouldn't be too absurd of a thing to think that they communicated beforehand concerning him particularly, using her as the bait.
Damn them then, if that's what they've done.
'He's away and I am taking you,' he says to her, even as his heart turns black with loathing.
He truly detests that they're infiltrating themselves into a place that doesn't fit their bodies.
'Okay,' she nods.
'To the entrance, then,' he says, right then beginning to walk.
His steps aren't too long that she cannot keep up with him, he makes sure of that, yet he's still careful enough not to keep in line with her steps. Several long steps away from the castle and closer to the entrance gate, he looks back to see how far she is in following him and what he finds is not to his liking. Did she not believe him when he told her that Albus was away? Why does she keep glancing behind her for?
'Keep up,' he says to rouse her away from behaving like she's doing something wrong.
His warning startles her to look his way and satisfied with himself for getting her in order, he returns his eyes to his path as behind him, the sound of small stomps come closer and closer, finally ending up directly beside him.
'Are you sure that Professor Dumbledore's not here?'
Although he briefly looks at her, he carries on leading them to gate without another word to her. In the silence that takes them the rest of the way, he silently curses Albus for doing this to this extent. He's even gone and planted himself in her brain, not leaving her alone, but to what end has he planned to take this? Once they reach the gate, passing through the doors, he turns to her then.
'To where do I Apparate?'
'It's close to the Home Affairs building, if you know where that is,' she tells him.
'What time is your appointment?'
'Three,' she quickly answers. 'I should be the last one to take the test. They close at four.'
That last piece of information is additional, and he truly doesn't need to know it, but she is who she is, always offering additional information. He doesn't mind it to be honest, and because he doesn't, he nods to her, telling her to hold on to his offered arm. For a moment, however, she only looks at his arm.
'He said it's like that,' she quietly says, looking up at him after she does.
There's something about her that wants to say something else, he can tell, and maybe she expected them to go by some other form of travel, but he says nothing to get anything out of her. It's then that she closes her hand around his arm and before he can tell her to hold onto him properly, she quickly slides her hand from his forearm into his hand. Properly taken by surprise, he pulls in a short breath, realising that he's left with no choice but to grasp hers back as she crushes his hand in her hold, closing her eyes. She might even be holding her breath, but he cannot confirm that, for in the next instant, not wanting to dwell too much, they go through space and arrive at the place that he's chosen.
'We've arrived,' he tells her, to which she slowly opens her eyes to then look around, although doesn't let go his hand.
With a doubtful look as she looks around, she tells him, 'This isn't the place.'
'There's more than an hour before your test,' he eyes her carefully, waiting to see which expression she will reward him with when he adds a rather deadpanned, 'You didn't eat lunch.'
'Oh,' is her immediate response.
And oh, indeed. She should know by now that he never fails to notice things about her. One of those things that he noticed about her, is how she didn't touch her food all lunch. Each time that he looked up her way, she appeared to be looking around without eating her food. He never likes it when he's called into question about his eating habits and so he won't ask her about it, but that is not to say that he didn't notice and won't do something about it.
'There's a place over there,' he absently gestures with his hand free hand, not that interested to narrate what will become clear soon.
Her response to that, is twofold, the first being her eyes lighting up with comprehension and the second being that she releases her hold on him, to dig into the pocket of her jeans. From within that tiny enclosure, she comes out with a small bag, a Muggle pouch to store one's pennies and opening it, she shakes her head.
'I didn't bring any more money with me,' she tells him. 'Could we go to my house first? I have some money there.'
'After you take your test,' he says simply.
'I'll be able to go home after this?' she asks in the same tone as wonder as when he told her that he'd be coming with her to her test. 'Mum and Dad leave early on Friday, it'd be nice to greet them quickly. Could I?'
'After you take your test,' he repeats, once again leaving her to fill in the rest for herself.
26Chapters
She's excused herself to the bathroom now, and he's already sent the waitress off with the small bill for her meal, but magic, someone should have warned him that sitting across a person whose company he is evidently attached to, someone who he is tender for, would be quite pleasant. But pleasant in a way that not even meeting with her in the evenings could achieve by itself. In his inexperience, his total naivety on things such as these, he'd expected the little gesture on his part to be a blend between watching her during mealtimes from the Head Table and witnessing her be herself during their evening lessons, but he's found out that it's nothing like that.
Had someone done him that courtesy of information, he would have excused them from Hogwarts much sooner than lunch.
Without question, he would have brought her here earlier than an hour to her test, sat her down and began listening to her talk without pause, delivering everything with as much emotion as it required. To longer enjoy the quiet time that she allowed him to have while she went on and on about this and that, he would have preferred to arrive with enough time to spare. Simply sitting there with his ice-cream bowl and understanding that she didn't expect anything from him, while she explained her reasons for wanting a driver's license, and then the touch of nearly absent curiosity about his favourite food before moving on to talk about something else, thoroughly relaxed him.
The thing about it, however, even if someone had given him a clue about the outcome of his decision, he doesn't believe that they'd have been able to give him the full truth about it, and that's that he couldn't do and has never done any better thing in his entire life.
26Chapters
'No,' he denies her.
For a man who's already refused her request three times now, he ought to follow up his refusal with simply taking her hand and Apparating them back to Hogwarts, yet he is still entertaining her with a walk down the quiet street of her house and still saying no.
'We've been to my house,' she begs. 'I only want to know where you live.'
Yes, she's said that already, but she hasn't given him a better reason. Her argument is complete rubbish and she must realise that, surely.
'For what reason?' he continues to entertain her, because why ever not?
'I just want to know. Just to see. You've seen where I live. You've met my parents.'
'My parents are dead,' he says, looking at her walking at his side. 'You won't be able to meet them. Unless you want that I take you to their graves.'
'Your parents are dead?' she stops in her tracks. 'I didn't know. I'm sorry, Professor.'
'People die,' he says with a light shrug, not knowing what else to say about his parents.
'But they were your parents.'
That she reaches for his arm is consoling and he likes it, but what else can he tell her? There's nothing to say about his parents. They were not like her parents; polite and welcoming, obviously loving and proud of her. No wonder she's the way that she is, her parents present to be quite the accepting sort, not very judgemental at all.
'Hm,' he sounds just to do her the courtesy of responding.
Nodding, she drops her hand from him, soon after picking up her feet to follow the path in front of him. With an amused smile on his face, he follows in measured steps, letting her take the lead in a place that she is familiar with. Although she's given up on asking that they go to his house, it doesn't make the silence uncomfortable. On the contrary, it seems perfectly natural to walk in silence with her, like he couldn't do better than be at ease this way, next to the only person who treats him like he is more than just a fountain of information or a vessel of service. The problem with that last thought, though, is that they'll soon Apparate to Hogwarts and all of this afternoon will stop being and only belong to his memory. He should know, watching her walking down ahead of him and so lost in the moment - seemingly loving it too -, does he really want to give it up so soon?
If one, she's not expected at the school until supper, and two, he will leave her behind after the weekend has come an end, could he not afford himself one callous afternoon? Up until this point, the majority of the things that he's done have been because of his past, knowing what the result will be, shouldn't he do just one thing because of his present reality? Even though he can't be assured whether he will regret it, or it will be a reward for him, should he really close himself in with limitation at a time when he has all the freedom to indulge? Honestly, considering that his present actions are strongly driven by his past actions and commitments, if he happens to make a poor choice now, it's anyway going to become a part of his past, and will so add onto the existing list of past crimes.
'Here,' he says at once, swiftly crossing over to step and still in front of her.
Without giving it more coherent thought, he makes up his mind and will not hesitate about it. Even as her eyes go wide with question when he clasps his hand into hers, he doesn't stop to reconsider, because any other thought than the place where he intends for them to arrive, will influence his decision to change. In an instant, they land exactly where he pictured and while he waits for hers to snap open, he releases her also stepping away from her.
'One moment and then we leave,' he says to her, waiting for her to realise what he's done.
To his eyes, it happens slowly, from her eyes opening, to her head moving one way first and then the other, and then a look of shock settling on her face when she discovers his bed a little way from him, but strangely, none of it makes him rethink what he's done. If anything, it's a mere reaction to him, nothing else particularly big.
'This is your bedroom?' she whispers as though it's a sin to acknowledge, following it up with, 'Why did we come here?'
'You suffer from memory loss?' he dryly asks in the hope that it will get her to look his way; she's looked at his bed long enough now.
'You could've said no,' she fiercely turns to him to defy with. 'You actually said no. You could've taken us back to Hogwarts.'
Rather than contend with her on what he could've done and what he did, he warns her to, 'Only remain where you are and say nothing,' just before he steers away from her, taking it for granted that she'll obediently do what he says.
His feet lead him to open the door, and opening it with care, he just as cautiously steps out through it, quickly closing it behind him once he has. Although certain that there's no magical trace on the landing, he still shoots a protective spell on the door, because wherever Pettigrew is concerned, he should never take chances. For purposes of gathering information that could suit him later on, that one is always sure to turn into a rat, which is why he chose to land then in his bedroom, not anywhere else in the house. Going through the house quickly, using three different spells, he soon confirms Pettigrew's absence.
He's convinced that the rat's probably doing base things in the Dark Lord's service, but even so, he's reluctant to bring her down here. His bedroom, no matter how private of a room it is, is really the safest place for her while here. He needs to return to her now, in any case, so he goes back up to get her, but not without diagnosing the whole place first. Opening the door, he finds her seated cross-legged on the bed, and studying her, she looks different. Because of that precisely, he closes the door and leans his back against her, mostly since she's sitting on his bed.
No one has ever been in here, so seeing her on it is a miracle in itself. Hermione Granger, sitting on his bed and now offering him a smile? Oh, his heart can do no better than flutter as it does, neither does he want it to. Who is he, that he may for once in his life see a lively girl turn to her right and begin to rummage through her now enlarged pouch, coming out with two items? It's a little gobsmacking, the reality of it all, beginning from his impulsive decision to bring her here, to her now getting up from the bed to stand at the foot, holding out her hand to him.
'I got this from a Muggle shop when I went to the bathroom,' she tells him with a smile, waving the card. 'And you never took your potion the other day.'
From her face, he looks at her outstretched hand, he stands where he is for a while, not yet decided on what to do with her. The better thing to do would be to take the necessary steps to her and get his presents from her, except that he can't convince himself to stop feeling too much at once just yet. Again, he must wonder who he is, that all of this should be real? In this house, in the bedroom that once belonged to his parents, where his father probably never appreciated his mother's gestures, he is fortunate enough to make a lovely memory that's not him watching his Patronus in the dark?
He swears, this girl.
'I didn't know what else to get you,' she says apologetically. 'It's easier to choose something for my parents or Harry and Ron, but I don't know what you like and I didn't want to get you something ridiculous, so I only got you the card.'
Because he doesn't want her to believe that he dislikes her thoughtfulness, he pushes away from the door and walks over to her in three moderate steps. Wasting no time, he takes both items from her and already knowing about the potion, he throws it on the bed. He no longer has any use for the potion now that the card that he'd wanted is finally in his hand. For only a fraction of a second, he eyes her, confirming her presence before going back to the cardboard card and opening it, just barely reading the bright red Happy birthday title on the white cover.
His ears are then greeted by A Muggle birthday tune that will die once the battery eventually spends. It's the golden, 'Wishing you a happy birthday', however, intercepted with a handwritten 'v' symbol squeezing in between the words 'happy' and 'birthday' to add the word 'late' just above the symbol, that move him to lift her eyes to her. Really, she shouldn't have bothered to charm the letters to change to a new colour every passing second, when it's already enough that she remembered to give him the card even a month after his birthday.
'I didn't know what else to get you,' she confesses to his fixed stare. 'Do you like it?'
He should tell her yes, or he should nod, that he knows, but he doesn't know where to begin saying that he does. Because of that, he makes only a small movement to her, wishing that she understands just how much he doesn't trust himself to speak evenly.
'There was something else that I wanted to give you, if you don't like it,' she lets him know through quiet and cautious delivery. 'You didn't seem to mind last time, and you said - If you don't want to, it's fine, but I want to. I always - With Harry and Ron, and I want to.'
He is about to wonder what other thing more she has for him, when she steps to him with no effort, to wrap her arms around him, pulling him to her and hanging on tightly as if that has always been a thing that she did with him. Short of gasping like an unprepared idiots, in his state of recognition, of bringing his mind to catch up with body, he reconciles how he never thought that it would come to this. He had no expectations for today, least of all here in his bedroom, neither did he prepare for anything really, thus his slight hesitation at winding his own arms around her at first.
He swallows hard rather, both to submit himself to the moment and to clear his throat of the block that just wedged itself in there as the necessary push to place his arms around her.
As his arms take their place around her, he hears her breathing change, and no wonder, when here they are holding each other as partners would do. As partners indeed, because his body clearly remembers the feeling of her face close to his neck, the smell of her hair next to his nose and the tightness of her hold around him, and yet, there's a newness to this familiarity. He isn't entirely sure what it is about it, whether it's his own breathing meeting hers in the air to make some of the most lulling of sound that he's ever heard, or the their physical closeness, but something about it feels to him wanting a little bit more than this. If he could recognise what it is that's different to him this time, it would have to be described as him desiring things that he hadn't desired before. It should only be a desire, this ticking push to just lightly squeeze his hand at her waist and the thought to push her hair out the way with his nose, for better access to her naked neck - she's already pasted on his, why not return her the favour? What else but desire tastes like neediness in his mouth and comes out in breaths of pleasure? He could be wrong, simply merging one thing into another without cause, but no, he isn't. If Albus could see him now -
Albus!
As shortly as that name sounds in his mind, his eyes shoot open to concentrate behind her, immediately looking around to see a white beard showing him standing there and watching them as he did that night. It brings a bitter taste to his mouth, right down to his heart, and contorting his face to something that probably looks hideous by the feel of it. Next, he hastily pulls away from her, only, in the unexpected rush of trying to separate himself from her, he causes the back of her knees to hit against the bed making her lose balance and stumble back onto it. He tries to reach for her before she falls flat, but he only clumsily manages to lose his on balance before falling on top of her. Startled by his clumsiness, a little frustrated too, he spends only a moment to gather his mind, to then quickly position his hands on either side of her as a propelling point for himself off her.
Once he is on his feet, he extends a hand to pull her up, stepping very far away from her right after.
'We must go,' he announces, darkly feeling that there's nothing with them in this house.
It's Albus, he is the problem. He's planted himself into something that had once been sacred, and now it's looking like he will never be able to live through another embrace without blue eyes, white hair and lavender robes imposing themselves into the moment. Even now, separated from her, he feels the need to search around for that man and he detests the feeling coming with it.
'But there's still some time and I already told my parents that I'm not going back there,' she protests, to which he immediately responds by summoning her pouch from the bed, replacing it with the card - it will be safe on there with the potion.
'I heard you,' he replies, handing her shrunken pouch, 'and if you were entertaining ideas of spending your evening in my house, dispel those from your mind. I'm taking you straight back to Hogwarts after this. I am expected to be at the school during the weekend.'
Giving him a look of challenge, she wants to know, 'Did Professor McGonagall say that?'
'Have you forgotten who the headmaster is? Surely, he will return tonight and will hear of our travels from Minerva. He will call me back and collect you himself from my responsibility.'
And then he will be subjected to hearing a sermon about taking her away from school - not that he would care in the slightest about that sermon, however, Albus and anything to do with her, he wants to keep separately apart.
'He really doesn't want us to spend any time together, does he?'
'He believes that you are a bad influence on me,' he answers without giving it too much thought.
'I'm not,' she fiercely returns.
He agrees that she's no influence to him, much less a bad one, although he must at least acknowledge that he has come a long way from where he began to now. With her specifically, he used to keep his more private emotions hidden, instead exposing his more flippant ones, whereas now, dealing with her has led him to mostly forget about the useless feelings of annoyance and intolerance, because she just as easily could return what he gave. On the subject of what Albus believes, on the other hand, he is reluctant to get into, and so he won't.
'If you believe so,' is what he chooses to respond with, in a way not to contend with her.
'But I'm really not,' she says and only then does she stuff her pouch into its original pocket.
That she puts her pouch away satisfies him less than it leaves him wishing that she hadn't just yet. Looking at her and knowing that he didn't embrace this afternoon with her as he should've and now they're going, and then he will probably disappear from the castle in a few days, he wishes that he would've done more to fill himself with her. But such is his life, he should remember, he shouldn't pretend to expect more than was allotted to him. Wasn't he just confirming that he hadn't truly changed, and that his irregular breaks with her are due to his own willingness, not her necessarily. Also, isn't he leaving and is still to make his small goodbye to her?
'Come,' he calls, 'we must go.'
Although she does hear him, the way that she carries herself to him lets him know that she isn't pleased with what he just said. Coming to a stop before him, her protesting expression sticks out even more than her whining words of complaint do.
'That's not fair. I didn't even see where you live.'
'You saw it, now let's go,' he quickly returns. 'Now hold onto my my arm, and keep your appropriate distance.'
His voice doesn't waver one bit, that way telling her that he will not go back and forth with her about it, and like he hoped it would do, his sternness moves her to take hold of his arm, except not without a look of dislike from her. He takes note of it, silently telling himself that their departure couldn't have been avoided and as soon as hes made peace with the end of today, he lands them at the castle gates.
As familiar with Apparation as she is now, she doesn't linger in opening her eyes and fixing them on his. A shadow of a frown doesn't take long to appear on her face either.
'You're always so fast to Apparate,' she remarks, taking her arm away from him. 'You don't even tell me to get ready.'
'You have nothing to complain about if you haven't splinched,' he replies, getting his feet ready to start moving
Now that they have reached the grounds, any speck of prying eye can reach them where they are, and damn it, he doesn't want to find Albus' eyes on them.
'It's just better if you tell me. It was my first time, you know. I've never Apparated before this.'
He only looks at her for a moment before he turns away and begins walking towards the castle. Not more than three steps away, does he feel a hand gripping his elbow and keeping him back. Why is he even stunned that she would do this out here, when she's clearly proven herself able to do whatever her feelings tell her to?
'Keep your appropriate distance,' he reminds her without looking back or wriggling his elbow free from her hold.
'Professor,' her soft voice reaches his ears. 'I really liked today. Thank you, for taking me.'
To his surprise, she lets him go and suddenly skips past him in four or five leaps and only that small distance away from him, does she return to regular walking. It's oddly contrasting to him how she can say something so sincere to him, and then move past him as though it didn't just happen. It was always his advice to her that they carry on from whatever happened and that's what they've always done and yet, he's finally beginning to wonder if he hasn't ruined himself.
Watching her walk ahead of him, as his own feet pick up to move, he wonders if he hasn't damned himself more than he thought possible by giving her an avenue to be in his life.
26Chapters
He's now become the sort of man who entertains dreams. Now, at end his life, when he doesn't have much of it left, and right when he's doomed to spend the rest of his days inside his bedroom, he is one to sit by the fire before he goes to bed or comes when he isn't able to find sleep in his bed, and then create a world of images in his head featuring her.
In his dreams, she sits cross-legged on his bed, animatedly talking while he goes about doing nothing around the bedroom. That particular sequence oddly only comes to him in the interval between settling into bed and succumbing to sleep, always behaving as a hypnotic send-off into slumber would do. There is a detail about that, however, that's hugely different from how it happened in reality, and that is how his bedroom door is always wide open, suggesting the absence of fear that anyone, including Pettigrew, would walk in.
The life in which that would be possible, he won't even strain his mind to imagine, because he physically cannot. It's a thing that he disciplined himself to never do ever since Lily married Potter and he never again will. His mind so far, only calls upon images that he has already seen, which require no effort to bring to the front of his mind just as he is about to sleep. But then there are those early morning dreams, the ones that come just when he is about to fully awaken, and to sacred magic, those are the sweetest of his dreams; so real and vivid they appear to him, that even for several minutes after he's realised that it was only just a dream, he struggles to let go of the effects.
In those dreams, she stands with him, well, pressed into him, really; her arms securely keeping him in her embrace as his own arms keep her pressed into him, and her lips leisurely moving – telling him something. The lazy smile on his face always widens at some point during her speaking, though his dreams are never loud enough for him to hear what she says to him. And for what would he need to hear her words when she at last entices him to allow her to press her lips to his. It always feels like the first time in those dreams, the first firm contact on her part and the twitching uncertainty of own lips, not quite able to believe that it's happening and yet anxious to explore much further than a simple touch of lips. She secures his face with her hand as well, but for the life of him, he can never feel it in the dreams. And then they always end there.
All three mornings now, they've ended right then, never allowing him to live in them longer, but of course, that's what he gets for his foolishness. It's fitting that he should be tortured with the sweetness which he tasted for a small bout one afternoon, but never again to have for the rest of his life. He did it to himself. Had he done his part to listen to Albus advising him about the wickedness of emotions, he wouldn't be this way, dreaming of things that he will never have. What's more, he would have known better than to do anything other than take her to her test. He would've understood that actions led by emotions inevitably form into memories, and memories, when not given an avenue to be free, manifest as dreams.
And what dreams they are; sweet, but with no sense of decorum.
They come to him during the quiet times of the day, showing him at a meal with her and her parents – she loves them so, and he's met them, had a polite sip of tea with them (his dreams remind him). And then later, she would return home with him as his companion, willingly scooting into him when he sits down to read, robbing him of any intimate space, but still, he'd happily kiss her temple to demonstrate that he didn't mind her being that way.
Those blasted sweet dreams - they always leave him languid.
26Chapters
How the following week finds him still at Hogwarts, teaching Defence and now answering summons from Horace, can only be named Albus'-deliberate-absence-from-the-castle.
'Has he sent you to summon me?' he demands to know, reaching the man in the middle of the lab.
At the very least, Horace isn't like Albus in that he denies truths that are obvious, and so he responds with, 'We've had some conversations concerning you.'
'And where is the headmaster?' he asks, looking around. 'He should have returned to the school by now.'
Or he has, and has simply been hiding from him specifically in order to delay the inevitable. He takes a close look at Horace, waiting for clues to present themselves, and sure enough, his eyes shift in a telling way.
'He is attending to something,' unconvincingly leaves the man.
'How so very convenient,' he mocks. 'His delegation skills are noteworthy.'
Hadn't Albus just some time back, tasked him with talking to her about what she did in his office? Being headmaster must be so grand, that on top of being powerfully skilled in assessing individuals for what they truly are to later bend them to his will. Come to think of it, he would have made a good dark wizard.
'He would have wanted to speak with you himself, my boy, but you know the duties of –'
'Know that you will not change my mind, Horace,' he interrupts the fumbling man, knowing that he is only saying what he was sent to say. 'And you should know better than to insert yourself into a subject that has nothing to do with you.'
The last part, he adds only as a warning for generosity's sake, not because he feels threatened by the man's minimal knowledge of what happened. That he happened to attend to Albus that night, does not make him fully aware if what happened and certainly not involved in their matters. He should know his place.
'Oh, but your spell involved me, Severus,' Horace heavily returns, seemingly lamenting the fact. 'It was a nasty curse to use on an old man. I used up a good amount of potions to heal him that night.'
In truth, what Horace is telling him is news to him, because as much as he suspected that something shot from his wand that night, he never could confirm whether he really did. Although now, in his haste to get to the point of this summons, he masks his surprise behind a response to make it seem that the curse had been on purpose.
'Suppose that the headmaster had violated your privacy, becoming privy to your innermost thoughts and troubles, how would you respond?'
'I understand what you mean,' the man nods thoughtfully, his eyes taking on a glossy display as he appears to stare at air. 'There's no comparison to your deepest regrets being discovered.'
'It wasn't regret that he saw,' he delivers gruffly, the subject still a sore spot for him.
It seems to pull Horace from his reverie, his eyes focusing on him again to excuse his friend with a meekness that doesn't usually suit him, 'But he's apologised.'
'And I've refused his apology. If he's unable to keep what is between us only between us, then where is the respect? Up to now, he refuses to honour my privacy.'
While he was still getting his words out, he noticed Horace looking over him in the direction of the door, and not very attentive to why he might be fidgeting his eyes around, he didn't think anything of it. Now that he has finished his piece and Horace is still looking that way, his mind puts that obvious together quite fast. Albus used Horace to corner him here, meaning that in a small while, he should expect to hear Albus stride in. He doesn't want to, but he holds his breath just for a little in anticipation.
'Your feelings are your own, and I can understand them, but there's a way to do things, Severus,' Horace says, returning his full attention. 'I don't mean to speak where I shouldn't, but perhaps you've acted rashly? Albus is of the opinion that perhaps you've – My boy, consider your life as you've chosen to live it, then perhaps you'd see that you haven't had many opportunities to experience uncomfortable situations. No one can expect you to know how to tackle that which you have never before done. Albus doesn't hold your actions against you, because he understands your lack in such areas.'
He scoffs then, one part disbelieving and the other affronted, not only at the implication that he is immaturely bred in a certain area, but also at the fact that Albus has spoken about him in depth to Horace.
One of the more bothersome things about Albus' intrusion is that for certain, Albus considered the possible repercussions of what he was doing and decided to anyway. In his head, Albus probably told himself that he, Severus, wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, which in itself was a contemptuous thing to do and that suggests how little that man values him.
'If Albus believes that I'm behaving as I did when I was humiliated as a student, he understands nothing about my feelings and my lack of expertise to do with anything.'
'But do feelings matter -?'
'Are you saying that his feelings don't matter?' suddenly comes from behind him, stilling his inside at once.
He knows that voice; its brashness and the indignation carrying it to him, he's well acquainted with its owner, and for that reason, he stares at Horace, waiting to see how he will respond. He should be careful how he responds, though, and that is simply information, not a warning.
'Miss Granger, he is a teacher,' Horace begins to say. 'His responsibility is far greater than you could understand.'
Nothing else comes for her immediately, though he does hear fast steps trek their way and in a moment, she situates herself between them, putting her back to him as she defiantly faces Horace. Seeing it for himself, an involuntary twitch of the lips happens to him, because really, how absurd is it that she would believe herself able to protect him from another experienced wizard? It touches his heart, nonetheless.
'How could you say that?' she cries crossly. 'Even if he's a teacher, his feelings matter just like anyone else's.'
'Miss Granger -'
'No!' she refuses to hear Horace, going as far as to reach for his arm and hold on to it, actually claiming her protection over him. 'He isn't a broom or a potion! He's a person! He's allowed as anyone is to have feelings and feel them!'
'I know, my girl, but understand –'
'That's enough,' he softly warns, placing his free arm between her and Horace.
He could have freed his arm from her hold, but he chose not to. Just as he could have allowed this to carry on for as long as it could, but he's certainly had enough.
'She's here to brew,' Horace looks at him as he explains her presence.
'I'll supervise her brewing today,' he volunteers without thinking about it. 'Watch over my next class. It's in the seventh classroom on the second floor. They're first years. Do as you wish with them.'
A little too enthusiastically, Horace nods, just as quickly moving around them and in what seems like no time at all, the door is closing behind them. At first, he only blames himself for not recognising the signs as they happened – he did that night with Albus as well - and then putting together that the plan had always been eventually to lure him into being alone with her, he lets out a low laugh. She turns to him at that. His arm falls from her hand, but it's the look of concern and the question accompanying that look that sobers him.
'Are you all right, Professor?'
It's all that it takes to, for a change, take her by the shoulders and lead her backwards to the nearest seat. At the chair, he sits her down, his eyes studying her in depth as he tries to calm himself in totality. It's that he wouldn't ever know how other people would feel about being defended when they feel cornered, but as for him, he is not taking it lightly. In that thought, making sure to maintain eye contact with her and then assured that he has her full attention, he places either arm on each chair arm, hemming her in.
'I want you to listen to me extremely carefully,' he says, to which she quietly nods.
But then, in the next breath, she strangely leans forwards, so reminiscent of his live dreams, seeming to require him to take her into his arms. Swallowing, he warns his body to remain unmoved, that surely, she's only acting innocently, doing her part in being attentive to him, but damn it, if trusted himself to not make a fool of himself while doing it, he would take her into his arms. What she doesn't know is that his body is ablaze, desiring everything that she has to offer. The fire started when she first spoke, standing up for him and now, her practically offering herself to him in light of all that she's done to protect him from Horace, she might not be able to escape his embrace. He wants to, however, he must tame that want for now.
'The next time that you find it appropriate to defend my feelings to anyone and I hear about it, I might very well do something I ought not to.'
Something improper like bring her close to him and never release her again. Not until he's stopped breathing and can no longer have her. Never again must she put him in such a position, and no he won't have her thinking that she can defend him, for it to go unnoticed. She has long since introduced him to the loveliness of touch, appealing to his long-starved senses, and so shouldn't overestimate his ability to be moved to mush these days.
'But you're fine, aren't you?' she wants to know, still not moving back from him. 'Professor Slughorn wasn't understanding to you, and I just wondered if you're fine.'
But this girl.
He shortly chuckles then, enjoying the sweet relief from emotional tension on his end. He swears, just for that, he will repay her back in full. If anyone dares to make a tear fall from her eyes and he hears about it, he will make them pay for it dearly. That's not as pleasant a thing to tell her, and so he keeps it to himself, choosing rather to distract her away from him.
'You'll steal his potion ingredients if I'm not?'
'I won't. I don't just steal things, you know.'
No, that he knows. She only does it when she needs to help her friends, when she's upset and when she wants to teach a lesson.
'I do not believe you,' he tells her honestly.
She's already proven that she would stand between him and an accuser to wrestle for his victory. And considering that, precisely what more will be it to steal for his sake? If her care for him is as thorough as she's painted it to be, he can't trust her to take drastic measures.
Shaking her head, she insists, 'I won't. I just want to know if you're fine. Won't you tell me?'
'It matters?'
To her, he means.
Strange that he wants to hear her say that it does. Having an idea and seeing it proven is good, affirming even, yet there's a part of him that's yearning to hear her say that it does matter to her, that it's important to her.
'Just tell me,' she nods. 'I won't tell anyone.'
That's completely unnecessary. Had he any suspicion that she shared their dealings with her friends, he wouldn't entertain her in the least. Because of it, he remains silent, for a change contemplating if he should tell her something about how he really feels. After all, it's probably only a matter of hours or days before he leaves the castle, and he's always thought that he would say some sort of goodbye to her. What if this turns out to be the last time that he ever sees her? Maybe he could just tell her a little something alluding to a goodbye.
'Please tell me,' she begs. 'I want to know. I won't stop asking. Even if I'm brewing, I'll keep asking you.'
Quite adamant, she is. One would almost say that she has a deep reason to keep up with asking. No matter, though. Whatever he reason for insisting, he cannot ask her, more than he can try to deter her from doing so.
'Do nothing to his brews.'
'I keep a phial as well,' she replies, clearly unhappy with the thought. 'I can't spoil anything that I brew.'
'You've done superbly in making the headmaster cross in a way that he never expected,' he reminds her, lifting one arm away. 'I have no doubt that you could easily find a way to harm the brews without bringing that same harm to yourself, should you believe that he has wronged me. Do not, for the sake those helpless cauldrons, concoct anything untoward.'
'Are you fine?' she asks, completely ignoring what he just said. 'I won't stop asking. And if you wanted me to stop, you'd have said so. Just tell me if you're fine. I care if you're not.'
She cares, her last utterance, spoken with such a caressing note etches that into him, and his heart nearly stops for it. She said it, and damn it, he should tell her something now. How very mad that he'd confess his feelings to her when he hadn't expected to.
'I am as I'm constrained to feel,' is his quiet answer; it's true, although not detailed enough. 'Does that suffice?'
Her immediate reaction is silence, but then she lifts her hand to his face, pausing to look back at him for just a pinch. He dares himself not to swallow, to keep his eyes on hers without losing himself to the nerves of waiting to see what she will do, but he is not all that surprised that he wants her hand to touch his cheek. How would it feel? He's wondered about that after his dreams. Besides, they've been more intimately embraced than her hand upon his cheek, so she should do it. He nearly closes his eyes, quite convinced by his own mind that she'll touch him, only to feel a small sting on his cheek. When she pulls her hand away, he realises that she's just pinched him.
'How are you constrained to feel now?' she asks somewhat darkly.
'Have your laugh,' he dismisses, resisting the urge to rub his cheek and instead removes his other arm from the chair. 'It appears that I know nothing about you. You are far more devious than I could have believed. What pay-off does being a miscreant have?'
'As much pay-off as it constrains me to have.'
To that, he makes a noise and then stands up and she follows him, placing her bag on the chair.
'See, it's not so nice, is it?' she goads.
'You must always be right.'
'You must always tell me nothing. I don't know why you don't trust me.'
After that, she walks past him, leaving him there for a moment thinking that if he told her things, and he is just now pitting it together, she would listen and she would care and she would go around defending him from Albus as she defends Potter from him. As warming as it is to be defended, he would rather not include her in his life in that way, for realistically, there's nothing of his life to give. He will forever be grateful that she stopped him that one day, asking to brew and through it, wound herself into his existence, but when has his life ever had anything good? He cannot have hope for anything. Through that, he decides to join her at the brewing table. In the short amount of time that he stood stunned, she gathered the first of the ingredients that he's now finding her beginning to slice the mushrooms.
'You'd have a much better time slicing those, were you to turn them sideways,' he says, leaning his body on the surface.
'You're like Harry with that book,' shortly leaves her mouth as she shoots him a disapproving look. 'The instructions clearly say that I should slice it this way.'
'When you become a master at brewing potions, then you can convince me that book instructions are always precise.'
'Professor Slughorn doesn't supervise me like that,' she refuses his aid, continuing with her slicing as it was from the beginning.
'Shall I fetch him for you?' he quips.
'No,' she quickly, an alarmed look on her when she looks at him. 'But you never used to tell me this in fourth year either. You just let me do what you wrote down.'
'And you believe that I would've written down what I could have shown you in a textbook? Don't be ridiculous!'
'Oh!' she seems to catch on. 'You never really did use the textbook when you taught potions, did you? You always wrote it on the board, and – Oh! I didn't realise.'
'Now that you do,' he dismisses, tipping his head to her ingredient, 'slice that mushroom the right way,'
26Chapters
He hates not to, he truly does, except, ignoring the man's presence will not make him go away. He wishes to magic that making as though he couldn't see him standing in the doorway, but then that would chase the man away, and with him gone, he wouldn't be able to put an end to his stay in the castle once and for all. And so, as begrudged as he is to grant that man even a fraction of his time, he looks at the door, decidedly acknowledging the request to enter.
'Dumbledore,' he darkly lets out, his eyes remaining on the now approaching man.
To the tightening of his stomach, the door seems to close on its own accord, and if he can honestly claim to have been this agitated in his life, he would be a liar. Albus possibly bears the worst news for him, about to tell him that the time to cast the curse has come, and if not that, he's come to bid his last goodbye, in which case, he would truly be leaving the only home that he's ever had away from Spinner's End. Whichever of the two has brought Albus here, he is doomed, and no, nothing in him wants to live through this moment.
'Can I assume that your mind has changed about leaving, Severus?' he's asked in a concerned tone.
'You haven't convinced me enough,' he dryly responds. 'Your attempt with Horace hasn't done anything to change my mind.'
There should be no mistake; he detests the tactic used on him yesterday – to be played with in that manner, for Albus to take liberties with something that has nothing to do with him, but it hasn't steered him away from what he wants. Despite the time with her that he was afforded with, Albus should have looked for some other thing to touch, just not that. The very fact that her time with him was used as bait, is all the more reason for him to want to be away from Albus.
'I was afraid of that,' the man confesses, looking regretful about it.
'You believe to know me so well, do you Albus?'
'I do,' he's assured with no falter in tone. 'I wish that you would come to see reason, Severus. There is no one else who could do what you must. If I lose you now, have you any idea how that will set everything back?'
'I am not forsaking anything,' he says sincerely. 'Everything that I have agreed to, I will still do.'
Including suspending his emotions, leaving behind what he would rather not and being as resilient as life forces him to be to the end.
'But you won't have the same advantage as when you are here,' Albus stresses. 'You alone remain the most vital person in this. I cannot allow you to be out there, away from me, when there is still much for you do perform in this battle. You matter –'
Unwilling to believe that, he scoffs at the false praise, but Albus doesn't allow that to stop him from continuing.
'You truly do matter, Severus, and though I have conducted myself poorly, it is not reflective of my consideration of you. My actions were led by my more recent discoveries and how I greatly fear that things may fall apart. Without you, I could not continue properly. I truly do apologise for infringing on your intimate moment, but perhaps with this, I can attempt to make up for it. Forgive me, Severus.'
An apology should not immediately be followed by a raised wand his way. He thinks this as he looks at the other man, studying his face for any clue of what might come next, but he needn't have bothered to. Not when a long stretch of pain touches his lungs, roughly squeezing itself around all of his chest, forcing him to open his mouth to gasp for air. There's pain too, an abundance of it flowing quickly and spreading all over, but in his proud mind, he would rather search for air than show Albus that he is in pain.
'Please believe that I find no enjoyment in doing this to you, but it must be done,' he's told, but his body is in too much pain to test the truth behind those words. 'After this, your mind will be changed, I'm sure.'
Leave me, Albus. Shut up and just leave me.