Disclaimer: Everything you recognise belongs to Rowling and Gato Azul.
19. Bewitched Walls
"I have good news, professor Snape. Today a letter came from the Ministry."
The man had already done his labour for the day, so he faked surprised by a letter he already knew about.
"The trial's last session will be in a month. Harry's anxious, you must be too."
She moved from and across the kitchen, rereading the bureaucracy writing.
"I hope he already prepared a good strategy; we need to win at all costs."
She shifted her eyes to the thin, sharp-nosed man; he seemed distant, annoyed.
"Professor Snape, if we were to lose the trial, I'll blow up Azkaban's walls myself. Harry and Professor McGonagall agree, and not even mentioning the Weasleys. You could say you have a small army by your side."
"A small pack of morons, to be more precise."
Granger frowned her lips, showing her indignation.
"Harry sent you a letter."
"I'm in ecstasy."
"I guess you won't have any inconvenience presenting in front of the jury, given you can talk as much as you did before."
"I thought we'd have more time."
"You've almost recovered, we don't need more time."
"I beg to differ; Potter's brain may have not processed the defence yet."
Hermione sat on the chair, making it squeak. She was mad at Snape's comments and wanted to let him now.
"Stop talking about my friends like that in my presence, professor."
The man crossed his arms, smiling with haughtiness and sarcasm.
"Saint Granger."
That words triggered a memory in the girl's mind, something that made her shiver slightly in her seat.
"To what point is an insult or a compliment what you say, professor Snape, not even you know it."
The man turned his head violently, his vitriolic eyes falling over her like boiling water. Hermione had to hide her face; those strange looks, and each day more frequent, were starting to make her fearful and curious at the same time.
Beyond his moments of rage, Snape was a silent confidant, almost imperceptible. She talked for hours at a time, asking him about Potions and telling him about her academic discoveries; the professor made an effort to tolerate her and listened patiently when he was in a good mood. He accompanied her to breakfast, sitting in front of her and eating in silence, glancing at her from time to time. They also read together: she sat on the carpet next to the Potion Master's couch and read out loud some interesting phrases from his muggle books; she was committed on convincing him there were amazing writers in that magic-less world.
"Listen, professor: 'Books are the only place of a house where you still can be at peace'. What do you think?"
Snape looked at her for a few moments, face blank.
"True."
"I know, right?" then Granger turned her attention back to her readings. She didn't notice that the black gaze kept on hovering on her for a few more long seconds, scrutinising her.
Why don't you answer my letters, Hermione? I'm trying to understand what did I do to make you angry at me. I found out you're still writing to Harry. Tell me what the bloody hell is going on, for Merlin, Hermione. What did I do wrong? Just spit it out, behaving like a child with a tantrum won't fix anything.
Write to me, write to me, write to me. I'm not good at reasoning your problems, you know it, just tell me what's going on!
TIRED OF NOT KNOWING ANYTHING ABOUT YOU.
Ron W.
My dear Ron:
Where are you? Why haven't I received a line from you? Too busy with the store? Did they call you from the Quidditch team you auditioned for?
I know you don't like to write, but right now, having a letter from you in my hands would make me very happy, it'd change my week. We'll soon meet in the professor's trial. You will be there, right? I hope to see you.
Write to me, Ron. I want to know how are you.
I love you, you know that, right?
Hermione J. Granger.
Snape was more careful with Potter's writings; in one of them, he asked Granger what the motives of her breaking contact with Weasley were. Snape rewrote a part of the letter using magic and omitted the piece that gave away his interference in the Gryffindor's mail.
He was no fool, he knew what he had to do.
"What were you thinking when you asked Voldemort to let you go and find Harry?"
Snape stopped, without taking the mug to his lips.
"I had to talk to Potter."
"You needed to tell him that he was a Horcrux."
"Precisely," he took a sip of his coffee gravely, with that dignified impassivity he used on every action he did.
"You knew Voldemort would kill you. How long had you known it?"
"In fact, Miss Granger, I only sensed it. I found out at that moment, that's why I wanted to find glorious Potter."
"You weren't afraid of dying and everyone believing forever you were a traitor?"
"Why would a dead man care for the opinion of the living?"
The brown eyes blinked on him; he could vaguely see his own thoughtful, bleak reflection, blurred in the big, clear pupils.
"If you ask me, it's a horrible state… to bear guilt that isn't yours even after death. Not even one part of you wanted to tell the truth?"
The man turned his head to the window, pensive.
"Maybe, just to Potter."
Hermione was surprised, given the bad relationship between the Potion Master and Harry.
"I still hear your screams sometimes, when I'm asleep, and then I wake up afraid, thinking something bad happened to you."
"Nothing can happen to me anymore; that's one of the advantages of almost dying."
Hermione's hand crossed the way to Snape's, religiously.
"Could you consider me a friend, professor? Could you give me that chance? I'm loyal, I've proven that."
Snape took his hand away slowly, watching her while his fingers averted.
Prodigious of the lions, sweet Granger…
How could something like that come from Snape? Only by a delirium, fed by fever. And yet a gift of tenderness hanged from his hands since then.
Sweet Granger.
A voice so dark, a voice of distant cello, always used to hurt, suddenly using soft words. She wasn't sure Snape had wanted to say that, but she found very pleasant to imagine that maybe, deep down, almost unconsciously, the man had learned to appreciate her, just as she had started esteem him.
Don't think I've forgotten about you. You'll always be here, somewhere, in the constant feeling I've missed something, that I've forgotten a crucial detail.
That someone had stolen a piece of my life, something that must have been, a past where I was happy and I can remember.
What does she mean? I don't think you care to hear it; I was never to you what Potter was. I'll tell you anyway because I should have never hidden something from you. And I did it, so many times, until you couldn't recognize me anymore and I turned into a stranger because I kept away too many things.
Her presence doesn't leave me alone; it's like watching your shadow, wandering around me, like watching my life's possibilities, the life I sold. I know nothing is waiting for me anymore.
Granger is too kind and too dumb and too cruel at the same time. She has a blind spot she doesn't even know about. She thinks she's nice to others and that she's doing good, but she's wrong. Granger only does good for herself; she doesn't see from where I'm standing that her actions are nothing more than crumbs.
Sometimes I want to tear her away from whatever she's doing, to force her to really look at me, but what would be the point, Lily? The only one capable of seeing me was Albus, and he used his knowledge of me to manipulate me.
That bloody fool had always seen me as his toy.
And dumb Granger says she will pull me out of Azkaban, but I'm not going anywhere. If they execute me, I'll be happy that at least my death would be useful to torment Potter's, hers and Minerva's soul.
I'm not useful for anything now. What can I expect from Granger? Why am I even expecting anything from her? She's trying to help me, but she's so clumsy, so inexperienced, and so young…
The other night I took a potion. I wanted to feel Granger, I wanted her to be close, I wanted to believe in her. And I thought that, if I managed to get her close, I'd be breaking the silence of many years. Deep down maybe I just wanted to take her away from Potter and Weasley, just like the first Potter and Black took you away from me. But it's all useless; when I woke up she was asleep on the carpet. And I realize that it was the same from last night, that Granger is blind and deaf, that she doesn't realise anything. She's decades away from me.
It would've been good to died then, I wanted to die and pretend everything was fine, that I can close my eyes and say the world and I are at peace, that she's the bridge that I have left to humanity. I wanted to die so I could torment them with guilt, so at least she could have kept the remorse. Sometimes I get so desperate though, I think I need her irremediably; other times I feel there's something in her that makes me angry.
Everything is fictitious. Granger doesn't know me better than the first day we talked, while I think I already know her well. She's kind, but that's her nature, it doesn't actually have anything to do with me. Even if she touches me, if she brushes my forehead (why did she do that?), she doesn't get past the physical barrier, she doesn't get where you did, without needing to brush me. Even if she's next to me, the distance is too big.
Granger is afraid of me, even if she doesn't realise it. Granger can't help me, there's something cold in her, something distant that separates her from me, she's a child. She'll never be able to see beyond.
I'm alone in this, Lily, as I have always been.
Snape was in the living room with his eyes closed, but he wasn't sleeping. He looked like a condemned man, waiting for the rope on his neck; or maybe a sphinx, or the statue of a solemn man, dead many years before. She contemplated him from the threshold.
"What will you do when you're free, professor?"
"What do you mean with free?" he didn't move, his lids remained down.
"When we get out of here."
"I don't have any interest in getting out; I guess you're impatient. Too much time alone with a greasy bat?"
A fold of anguish formed in Hermione's brow, but Snape wasn't looking at her.
"I haven't done anything for you to believe I think that."
"Leave me alone."
"We have already left you alone too much time."
"Don't be ridiculous and go, I don't want to know you're there. Out."
Opposite to what he pretended to cause, he could hear steps getting close to him.
"I'm not leaving. I don't know why you are mad, but you should tell me. I thought things were getting better."
"What things, Granger? Your charitable project of the year? I'm not a professor at Hogwarts, I'm not going to give points to Gryffindor for you to hover around me, pretending to be a nurse."
He opened his eyes to see just in front of him the girl's furious face, taking a breath to start yelling at him too.
"You're no charitable project! If I wanted to help somebody I'd do it with the elves, they're much more vulnerable and infinitely nicer and more grateful than you. I do it because is the least you deserve from us and, even if you don't believe it, I always had esteem for you."
"Of course, that's why you set my cloak on fire!"
Hermione gasped confused and then backed off, angry.
"I was a child when I did that, and I already apologised."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is it? That you like to remember the offences against you so you can have excuses for you awful attitude?"
"You're a hypocrite, everyone is! You're here to uphold your image of good, prim girl, you insufferable, stupid brat, not because of me!"
He had assumed the girl would yell some insults as him as a retribution, but she kept quiet and looked at him for a long time. He suddenly felt angrier, because of those touched, bold eyes that looked at him as if he was an old picture.
"I don't need your pity, silly girl."
Granger tightened her lips; her face was a blurry mixture of emotions, exposed one in front of the other.
"You're wrong, professor Snape. Indeed, I didn't always like you, I'm not lying to you. When I thought you were dead I felt at peace, relieved, but I almost always trusted you, until all evidence pointed to the contrary, and you're right, at the beginning I came here to please Harry and not for you, but things have changed. Since the Death Eaters attacked us I don't have any doubt you're one of us. And I want to help you; if I hadn't gotten any closer it's because you don't let me."
The man swept her with eyes on fire, ablaze. He rose in all his height, seeming threatening and stunningly big.
"If you don't believe me, ask me anything you want, I won't hide anything."
The Potion Master raised a bow, incredulous.
"Potter had told you something about the Occlumency classes I gave him?"
Granger had turned her head and watched him carefully.
"He said you were awful and you weren't worried about him learning, one day he just stopped going and didn't talk about it again. Why is that?"
"I will ask the questions," he smoothed his clothes and raised his chin, in a very similar way as Lucius Malfoy did. "Why did you always raise your hand in my classes, no matter how much did I tell you to be quiet?"
The girl shrugged with seriousness.
"It's a compulsion. It wasn't enough to know more than the others, I wanted them to know it and recognise me for it, but they always mocked me. It's a habit I haven't been completely able to erase."
She was surprised that the man, instead of making fun of her, watched her with daunting force.
"Aren't you going to ask me something else?"
"What do you pretend to gain by doing this?"
"Nothing."
"Don't be absurd. Even for you Gryffindor, there's always something to be gained. In your case, Potter's gratitude?"
"I'm not going to lie to you. I accepted to take care of you because I didn't trust you and I didn't want to let Harry stay close without being sure. But I was wrong, we were all wrong about you, okay? I understand your anger; if Harry and Ron didn't care about what I did, if they thought I was their enemy, I…" she squeezed her sweater, nervous. "I know my head would tell me they were acting on what they see, but deep down, a piece of me maybe couldn't forgive them. I understand you hate us, but with time you have to understand that we really won't abandon you this time, even if we're not friends, we're indebted."
"It's always about Gryffindor and their honour," he reproached her bitterly. "I don't expect anything back. You're all imbeciles and couldn't do it even if you tried to."
Hermione didn't say anything else, just stood there in the middle of the living room, gloomy. And her vulnerable voice lightened up like a candle between the silence.
"If I made you a question, would you answer me sincerely? Just one."
"Why would I do that?"
"Please."
The man growled.
"Why, if you hate Harry so much, you gave it all to protect him?"
Snape looked at the corner of the room, muttering something to himself.
"This will be the only time I'll talk to you about this subject."
Hermione sharpened her hearing.
"I made a very vile, stupid mistake when I was young. If I wanted to die with a tiny bit of dignity, I would have to pay for what I had done."
In the Gryffindor's head hives of questions appeared, born out of that answer, but she knew the most prudent thing was to control her questioning impulses and accept the small revelation she had been given.
How many times have we judged you wrong? How many times have I made the mistake of thinking I knew who you were just by the impression you gave me? Will I ever have the right to ask you to trust me?
Today I confessed you I always felt ugly about my teeth and my hair, and that I cried when someone mocked me and called me a bookworm, cruelly alluding my most noticeable defect.
You snorted, I don't know if in solidarity or mockery. I feel that anything I may tell you will end up seeming childlike or immature. You, in exchange, told me you had once gone to a muggle school and that kids hit you there and locked you inside closets. As you spoke, it seemed as if it was another person's life, without giving details, and with that stony, undaunted expression.
I felt surprised, thinking about you being once a child, that a long time ago you didn't have the aggressive aplomb that makes you seem untouchable, like above a pedestal, so unreachable for all of us, who don't know how to walk with his lordship.
Professor Snape, you know? You're one of those persons that always stuck in one's memory, because of your rareness, for some unique characteristic, in your case just by being who you are. You're the origin and the end of many mysteries.
I wish I wasn't one of the students you most dislike, then maybe you'd tell me more things and not strictly that single revelation that today we agreed we'd make. I, on the other hand, have talked for hours, so much that I made myself dizzy because I want you to know me, to know who I am.
Actually, it's because I want to erase the prejudice you have of me and that, for once, you tell me something nice, like the other teachers used to tell me; a simple, small compliment, just like the one you made me that night (and which I don't think you're conscious of.)
Dear Professor Snape.