Chapter 9
"Ready?" Draco asks, taking Hermione's hand.
Together, they lean forward until their faces touch the swirling mist inside the Pensieve. She's never watched a memory of Legilimency before, and it's different from watching a memory of something a person witnessed first hand. It takes her a few moments to acclimate to the layers of awareness—first, what Becky remembers seeing, then what Becky was feeling while Draco was in her mind seeing it with her, and finally, what Draco himself was feeling as he saw it.
First is the scene with the Time Turner, Becky and Gus standing under the Invisibility Cloak—the memories that brings back for Hermione—and counting out thirty-four spins. She watches the children run from Filch – more memories of her childhood with Harry and Ron – and feels Becky's shock as a young Severus Snape sweeps down the corridor toward her. She cringes at watching first year Draco's cruelty toward her first year self, as does Becky, but her reaction to Snape in the classroom is completely different.
For Hermione, this Snape is the only one she remembers, the one who sneered and scowled and snapped at her and her Housemates for six years. She knows he was a hero, on their side all along, but she learned this only after he was dead. During his lifetime, she believed he was loyal to their side, trusted him, but that trust didn't translate into any feeling of benevolence or gods forbid affection. She respected his intelligence and his magical power, but she never liked him.
Becky's feelings as she watches Snape in the classroom are a maelstrom of shock, anger, disbelief, horror, guilt, and above all love. The girl's love for Snape is powerful, all-consuming. In the memory, Becky looks at first year Hermione with compassion and outrage at her ill treatment, and though she can feel the love Becky feels for her mother, the intensity of it isn't quite what it is for Snape. Hermione knows it's insane to feel slighted by this. Why should she care that a child she's never known, who doesn't exist in this reality, loves Daddy more than she loves Mummy? Not Mummy though, just Mum. That's how Becky usually refers to Hermione in her thoughts. But Snape—horrid, bullying Snape—is always Daddy.
The scene dissolves and they're in Draco's office. Becky is looking at Snape's portrait, sobbing, and Hermione can feel the pain of Becky's loss twist like a knife inside her. Then Becky is a girl of seven or eight, sitting on Snape's lap, only he doesn't look at all like Snape, really. His hair is shorter, clean and shiny and streaked at the temples with silver. He's at a normal, healthy weight and he's wearing a shirt unbuttoned at the neck, no tightly buttoned frock coat in sight. His features are relaxed and warm as he holds his daughter. The child is reading Hogwarts, A History to him, and Snape occasionally corrects her pronunciation of an unfamiliar word. They both look up when Hermione appears in the doorway.
"You look beautiful, Mummy," Becky says, her eyes shining. Watching the scene, Hermione is ridiculously gratified that she hasn't yet become just plain Mum at this point.
She is completely gobsmacked by the expression on Snape's face when he sees her memory self. There is an initial flash of desire, a hunger so nakedly carnal that it takes her breath away, followed by a smile of such benevolence and, well, if she didn't know better, she'd almost say love. He's fixed his teeth, and this, along with the weight gain, the clothes, the clean and nicely styled hair, and above all the absence of sneering and scowling, makes him seem almost a different man. And Draco is jealous of him, Hermione realizes as she becomes aware of her lover's emotions as he watched the scene in Becky's mind.
She turns to look at Draco now, and he is watching her intently. Hermione slips her arm around him and they continue watching as there is a knock at the door and Memory Hermione answers it and smiles—actually smiles—at that bitch Parkinson. Hermione will always think of her as Parkinson no matter how long she's been Mrs. Malfoy. Parkinson smiles at Hermione in return instead of calling her homewrecking Mudblood slag. Becky jumps off her father's lap and launches herself at Parkinson, who sweeps the girl up in an embrace.
"Thanks for staying with her, Pans," Memory Hermione says. Pans? Oh, for fuck's sake. Draco's shock at this development during the Legilimency competes with Becky's excitement at getting to spend the whole evening with Aunt Pansy—Aunt Pansy!—while her parents go out.
Hermione looks at Draco, who gives her an I know, I couldn't believe it either look.
Snape drapes Memory Hermione's cloak around her shoulders, and the look she gives Snape is one of unadulterated love—and desire. Watching, Hermione's insides twist with embarrassment, and she can feel Draco's hurt and anger in the memory. When she looks at him now, though, he appears simply resigned.
The memories that follow are a patchwork of times and places, with Becky ranging from a little girl to her current age, and so many people who are dead in this world that Hermione's head is spinning.
Outside Malfoy Manor (she thinks that's it, but she only saw it at once, at night, and under circumstances where she wasn't paying attention to the architecture) Draco and Harry play seeker on opposite teams in a pick-up Quidditch game with Ron, George, and Fred Weasley, Neville, Gus, several younger men and, oh gods, is that Snape playing chaser on Draco's team? Becky is watching the game snuggled up next to Lucius Malfoy of all people, while a golden-haired girl about the same age sits next to Narcissa.
"Yours?" Hermione asks, indicating the girl, who is too beautiful to be anyone's but Draco's.
"Yes, Cassiopeia. And Scorpius," he says, pointing at a blond boy playing beater.
"On Harry's team?" she asks, surprised.
"Apparently he and Potter's son James," Draco indicates the other beater on Harry's team, "are inseparable. You're godmother to both of them, by the way. And see that boy?"
"Yes?"
"That's your son Lucius."
Hermione looks at the boy, who looks to be a few years younger than James and Scorpius but considerably older than Becky and Cassiopeia. He and a blue-haired young man are playing chaser along with Snape on Draco's team. Her son's hair is darker than hers but lighter than Snape's, with a wave that hits the sweet spot between Snape's fine hair and her own unruly curls. He's strikingly handsome, as though someone took a young Snape and then softened and idealized every feature.
Hermione glances at her son's namesake. Like Snape, Lucius Malfoy is minus the sneering arrogance in this world as he watches the game, his eyes moving from his son to his grandson and back again.
Ginny, too pregnant to play, cheers madly for Harry's team. Memory Hermione and Parkinson, deep in conversation, are the only ones not watching the game.
After Draco holds the snitch triumphantly aloft, Snape lands, tosses his broom aside, and sweeps Memory Hermione into his arms.
"Severus! You're all sweaty," she protests, laughing.
He waves his wand over himself. "Better, pet?" Gods, he calls her pet?
"Much," she says, and leans into the kiss. Hermione's mouth goes dry as she watches, and she does not dare look at Draco.
She doesn't recognize the woman who is Draco's wife in the memory. She doesn't remember Daphne's little sister from school, had almost no contact with the younger children in Slytherin. There's no post-Quidditch kiss for Astoria, since the winning seeker is mobbed after the game, with his china-doll beautiful daughter clinging to him like a limpet.
"Good game, Draco," Harry says, clapping his boyhood enemy on the back.
"It was a near thing, Harry," Memory Draco says. "Well played."
What the fuck? is what Draco was thinking when he saw that in Becky's mind.
"My thoughts exactly," Hermione says.
When they emerge from the Pensieve, neither Hermione nor Draco speak for a few moments.
"Well," Draco says at last.
"Your daughter's beautiful," Hermione says.
"So is your son," Draco says. "He looks rather like Severus."
"I was trying to figure out how both of those things could be true," Hermione says.
"My godfather was a deeply unhappy man for all the years I knew him. Obviously, even his appearance was affected by that unhappiness." Draco is quiet for a moment, then adds, "He was happy with you. And you appeared to be happy with him."
"Draco—"
"I know. It's another life, another reality, another you."
"He still had that awful nose," Hermione says with a half-hearted attempt at a smile.
Draco returns her smile with equal lack of enthusiasm. "I'm not jealous, love. Not very, anyway." He frowns. "Not that I have any right to be, all things considered."
All things considered. That tends to be the phrase both of them use to refer euphemistically to the ugly truth that he's married and she's what society considers his whore.