Chapter Nine - The Unprotected Mind

When Hermione knocked on the door to the potions classroom at precisely five minutes to seven, she was met with a scowl and a raised eyebrow.

"Clearly, you don't understand the true meaning of punctuality."

"But I'm early!"

"Yes, yes you are. I'd have thought you, with your head constantly in a book, would be able to understand the word 'punctual' better than your imbecilic peers. Come in."

Hermione slid through the open door, and was surprised to see a smirk on her teacher's face as she turned back towards him.

"Punctual, Miss Granger, means at the proper or agreed time."

"I'll take that under advisement," she shot back, sitting at her usual desk.

"How are you feeling this evening?"

"Sir?"

He sighed, and ran a finger through his limp hair. "I asked how you are feeling. Answer me honestly."

"I'm feeling confused, and slightly irritated at your pedantic comments upon my arrival." She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head on. Her eyes dark and eyebrows creased.

"Good. How are you feeling now that you've said that to me?"

"Concerned about Gryffindor's house points."

At this he chuckled, and the brunette couldn't help but stare. "Shut your mouth or you're going to catch flies," he snapped, returning to his usual composure.

"Sir? Why are you asking this? It's not like you usually care about the emotions of students."

"Interesting that you'd think that, Miss Granger," Snape murmured. "But you are correct; generally the menial worries of academically stunted teenagers do not interest me in the slightest. You, sadly, are currently an exception."

He perched on his large desk at the front of the room, crossing his ankles and leaning back on his palms for support.

"Occlumency depends very much on your ability to bring your mind into a complete state of calm, where you are able to combine both your logical thoughts, and your emotions together to form a state that muggles would call the 'wise mind'. Muggles, however, would use this as a tool to bring forth and study past traumas or experiences to prevent a very inelegant lashing out at others about how life...isn't… fair." His lip curled, and his head fell forward slightly. "To an extent, this is true for occlumency as well, however eventually you will use in a different manner. Where therapeutically you'd use this to unpack baggage, when it comes to protecting the mind, you need to be able to compartmentalise feelings and experiences so that they do not interrupt a stoic mind and exterior. Once you gain experience in this, you will be able to remove all traces of a memory from your mind if you wish to keep it hidden, to lie without any tell, or to experience greatly violent events while retaining your sanity."

"I take it Bellatrix Lestrange isn't a great Occlumens, then."

He smirked. "You are quite right. Bella has always been quick to fly off the handle, so to speak."

"So you're bringing my emotions to the surface so that I can try and box them away?" she asked slowly.

"At this point, no. Firstly, I would like you to confront the trauma and betrayal that you are feeling, to understand why you are feeling the way that you are. Only once you understand what has happened will you be able to put it away without it suddenly bursting free of its box to plague you with depression and fear. Often, the repression is a form of defense for people who have been abused as you have, and it almost always makes it harder to heal."

Hermione scowled. "I thought you were going to teach me to control my nightmares. And I never said anything about abuse."

"You didn't have to," he told her. "You have no defenses in place, and without even looking into your mind I can see the signs of trauma. I know that you weren't attacked by Death Eaters, Miss Granger, despite the story that Dumbledore has told the Order. I know that you are loyal and brave - traits of your house. I also know that you've protected your parents, so you haven't suffered a loss of them. In fact, the only people who possibly could have contributed to your return to Hogwarts would be Misters Potter and Weasley, unless you happen to have been accosted by a random wizard on your travels. Or even a muggle?"

He clearly knew the answer already, but Hermione wasn't about to give in. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she focused her gaze behind his head, eyeing the cold grey of the stone walls, and the smudges of chalk on the board that never seemed to be completely clean. She shivered, and pulled her robe tighter around herself, wishing that she had left her hair down to hide her face. "You don't know what happened, so stop guessing."

He leaned towards her, and waited until she met his eyes once more. "I am very sure that my guesses hit the mark, Miss Granger. You've become much more tense throughout our interaction and you look ready to sob at any moment. I should warn you, I do not take kindly to being snotted over," he sneered, "but I do happen to have a handkerchief should you need a moment to compose yourself."

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"If you say so."

"I don't want to talk about it, if that's where this is going."

He snorted and straightened up. "I don't expect you to. Not only would I rather detest hearing it, but I have been led to understand that I am not the most sympathetic of teachers here. If you want to wax lyrical about your woes, I suggest you go to your head of house."

"Then why are you asking, if you don't want to know?" she hissed sharply. "Why don't we just get on with the lesson?"

"Because, regardless of details, you need to admit. What. Happened."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't, Miss Granger. But to teach you occlumency, you must admit it. I can assume you haven't told anyone other than Dumbledore?"

"No, sir."

He nodded to himself. "I understand. Most victims of sexual assault never come forward."

She gasped. "How did you? Did you look in my mind? How dare you! I trusted you. I-"

"Calm down, Miss Granger," he ordered firmly. "I neither looked in your mind, nor found out from other sources. I merely had a hunch, one that you've been kind enough to confirm."

"You had no right!" She sobbed, and her Professor sighed before handing her the aforementioned hankie.

"All is fair in love and war, Miss Granger. And this is war."

She sniffled, blowing her nose. She paused for a moment to think, and then nodded slowly. "I understand. Thank you for helping me, Professor Snape."

"You're welcome."

She held onto the handkerchief, folding it delicately before offering it back to him, secretly grateful when he waved her hand away. It smelled soothing, partly of the lab and what she assumed to be her professor, and slightly of lavender oil that he'd likely applied to aid himself in getting rid of weepy teenage witches as quickly as possible.

"How did you happen to have a hunch?" She asked meekly. "Is it something I'm doing, or not doing?"

He sighed. "You've been having nightmares that required you to take dangerous amounts of potions. I've seen you flinch at the mention of your former companions and, if you'll recall, I told you about my own experiences of taking dreamless sleep."

"You've- you've been?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. And if that ever leaves this room, then you can expect to die a very, very horrible death."

One look at his face, and she didn't doubt it for a moment. "I would never tell anyone."

"Good."

She sighed. "So what happens now?"

"You need to face the events," he told her, putting up a hand to prevent her interrupting. "Not by talking to me, or showing me. I want you to simply sit and write what you can about what happened and how you felt about it. I will not read it, no one will be shown it, and you may burn it afterwards if you wish. You don't need to write everything in one sitting. If you only want to write two lines before it is overwhelming, then that is very much okay. I will be in my office when you are finished, and you can come and join me. If you simply want to go back to your common room, then you may, but I ask that you come and let me know first."

"Okay," she whispered. "I think I can do that."

He rose to his feet, and immediately made his way to the room next to the store cupboard. "I shall leave my door open."

She'd barely managed a paragraph when she had to stop, crying softly with her head resting on her arms. Tears smudged the parchment, causing the ink to run, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The dungeons felt colder than ever, and a hole seemed to agonizingly open up inside her as she thought through what she had written, allowing feelings instead of flashbacks to overtake her.

"During our camping trip, the horcrux started to affect us more and more. One night, I woke up to find Harry on top of me, pushing himself on me. I was immediately afraid. I tried to fight him. I lost the fight. I felt weak, dirty. I felt broken. My body felt broken, but also my trust and my mind. I hated myself. I hate myself. I wasn't able to stop him, one boy that was my friend. If I can't look after myself in a situation with such equal footing, how am I supposed to fight in a group? I want to be as I was before it happened. I want to feel whole again, and brave enough to fight. I know now that I am weak, easily overpowered. I know now that I am not good enough. I don't think I will ever be good enough for anyone. The people who are my friends now, are only my friends because they don't know what happened. Soon, I will be all alone."

She read it through twice before crushing it into a ball, still sobbing, and setting the parchment alight, watching the flames burn in front of her. Her chair squeaked as she stood, but Professor Snape was looking at book when she knocked on his office door.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked.

"Yes. Please." Her voice was hoarse from crying, and she knew that her face would be a state. "Can I wait to go up to the common room? I don't want people to ask questions."

"That, Miss Granger, is precisely why I offered. Have a seat."

She sat down gratefully, thanking him when he handed her a cup of tea without asking. She sipped it slowly, feeling a great appreciation for the man who returned to his book instead of holding her under scrutiny.

"I think this has helped me. Thank you."

He could have asked what for - the conversation, the writing exercise, the cup of tea. Instead, he merely smiled at her. "You're welcome. Thank you for reading the journals I left. The work from you and Mister Malfoy today is the only time I've ever felt truly tempted to give an 'Outstanding'. I expect the good work to continue."

He went back to his book, and Hermione smiled softly. She recognised a polite dismissal when she saw one, and went back up to her common room full of thoughts about her rather contrary, Jekyll and Hyde Professor.