A/N 1: Over three years. It has been over THREE YEARS since I left you all hanging. I feel terrible about that! 2017 was a very difficult year for me and at some point I just couldn't handle the emotional onslaught of what was happing in my life while also keeping up the passion for this story. I don't know what changed, I had honestly just succumbed to the idea that I would never work on it again, but over the Thanksgiving holidays I got an unrelenting urge to pick this back up. I am posting chapter nine for you today, whilst having written up to chapter seventeen. Written, but still in need of editing, mind you. In any case, I hope that this makes you feel better about me posting again, knowing I have so much more written. I have no set update plan as of this moment, but just know that the new chapters are coming. I hope to post Chapter Ten in 1-2 weeks from now.
If you're new, hi, ignore all of that, and I hope you're enjoying the story!
Chapter Nine
These men are idiots.
Over a month it took them to respond to his summons. A month that was spent gallivanting across the United Kingdom enacting deeds of devastation and debauchery; not the quick, quiet retreat he had needed. These three had just arrived and were already proving to be of no use to him.
The men in question stood in his study, reciting their long list of crimes as if he should be rewarding them for their foolishness. Did they really think he would be pleased with them? Is this how low Lord Voldemort had fallen- grand displays of violence to terrify the public into cooperation? What happened to the strategy, the scheming, the reason?
"Shut up!"
His knuckles were white against his glass and he turned towards the fire to think. Idiots. Fools. Imbeciles, the lot of them. He could hear them shuffling behind him, muttering, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Deep breaths, Carden. Deep breaths. You don't need them. Just find a way to get rid of them. He sifted through his anger and grasped at a distraction. "You said there was a traitor."
"Yes, sir," the most reasonable of the three responded. Antonin, if he wasn't mistaken. "Severus Snape. He had been working for the old fool Dumbledore for-"
"Yes, yes, there's no need to go into details," he brushed off with a wave of his hand. "If he's a traitor as you say, it would be in our best interest to deal with him."
"We burned his house, sir." The youngest stepped forward- his name eluded Carden- and Antonin pulled him back with a hissed, "Shut up!"
"As you've said." Another deep breath and Carden felt confident that he'd rung in his anger. He set the snifter down on the mantle and turned, his emotions smoothed from his face. "Well, a house can be replaced. He deserves worse, wouldn't you agree?"
"It was our hope to do so," Antonin answered. "But the risks were too great- he was so carefully guarded. And we knew you were expecting us-"
"Yes, I've been expecting you for quite a few weeks now."
Antonin bowed his head. "Our deepest apologies for keeping you waiting."
A plan was forming in Carden's head, but he would need time to let it grow to fruition. "You three have had a very long journey," he said with a clap, and a bedraggled house elf appeared at his feet. "Juni will show you to your rooms. Food will be brought to you promptly, as I'm sure you are famished." He turned towards his desk as the house elf stepped forward, and as he sat he added, "I will call for you tomorrow. I trust you'll be alright until then." He was already jotting down ideas as they walked out the door.
The candles were burned low when he finished scheming.
Azkaban prison was impressive with its dreariness. The greyscale halls, dim flickering torchlight, and an incessant drip drip dripping from somewhere deep in the tower gave an endless weight to the prison's unfortunate dwellers. Severus was glad to have avoided this place.
That he was here now was no matter- he would soon be leaving. He hoped, too, that the prisoner he was visiting would find their way out as well.
The Azkaban guard- a newly instated Auror as part of a team to replace the Dementors- led him down to the end of a hall and gestured towards a nondescript door, with a long, thin rectangle cut at eye level. As he approached, he could make out a single figure sitting on a dirty cot, the only furniture in the room. She looked up into his face, but made no motion to move closer.
"What do you want?" she asked monotonously, defeated but still proud.
"Narcissa." Severus stepped close to the door. He could see her stiff posture, the way she still held herself as if she owned the room. He saw a hardness behind her eyes, and saw not a beaten woman, but a strength that would not die. It gave him hope.
"What do you want, Severus?" Narcissa Malfoy sighed and shifted slightly, a fraction of an inch closer to his direction. She was no fool.
"I wish to speak with you." He felt an urge to break open the cell door; he hated seeing her like this. "I need information, and I'd hoped you could help."
"And why would I help you?" Narcissa finally stood, her prison garb falling around a thin, dirty form, and somehow she still had a proper elegance about her. "You, who betrayed us all?"
"And what of you?" he responded. "You deceived him, at the end."
"I did what I had to," she stepped closer, "to save my son. Your godson. The boy you could have helped-"
"How, exactly, was I supposed to help him?" Severus's anger was rising, and he glared through the slit. "Turn him against his father, his mother? His whole world? I did what I could do to keep him from trouble at Hogwarts, I spoke out against his receiving the mark before graduation, I took a bloody Unbreakable Vow for him-"
"And none of it was enough!" Her voice rose as she gestured towards him, finally losing control of what dignity she had been maintaining. "He still took the mark, he still plotted death, he still saw things a child his age should never have to see!"
"What if I could help him now?"
"Why would you do that?" she hissed. "What do you have to gain?"
Severus sighed. "Narcissa, my role in the war was never about hurting you or your family. I still care for Draco. He doesn't deserve to be in here. And neither do you." He paused, staring into her eyes. "Let me help you."
They stared at each other with intensity, one with distrust, another in earnest. Finally, Narcissa sighed and took a step closer. "What is it you need to know?"
"Three Death Eaters have gone missing and crimes are being committed. We believe they are related." He handed her a file through the window, and she perused the information slowly, calculated.
"Walden MacNair, Julien Gurth and Antonin Dolohov…" She flipped to the next page and studied a map. "These are their crime locations?"
"All that hold similarities, yes."
"They're heading for Wales."
"How can you tell?" Severus peered through the door at the map- only four attack sites were circled, and there was no indication of a meaningful pattern.
"Each attack was near a safe house or similar location," she clarified, pointing. "This one, well… that's Spinners End, so that'd be your home. This one over here is near Gibbon's plot. And this one would be the Carrow's home, newly instated as a safe home following their employment at Hogwarts."
"And the last?"
Narcissa shook her head. "Even I am not aware of all of the Dar-… of his plans, but it is awfully close to the Nott family's estate."
"And how does Wales add up to this?" Severus asked.
"Because," she replied, gesturing to the last circle, "there were plans to portkey to Wales assuming the Battle at Hogwarts was a success."
"What?" Severus gestured towards the files, and Narcissa stepped forward to hand them back. "Why was I not told this?"
"I assume because he had already decided to kill you by that point."
Severus looked up from his scowling at the map and scowled at her instead. "Yes, that does make sense." He folded the file shut and instead focused on her information. "And what was in Wales?"
She shrugged. "We were not told."
"Of course you weren't…"
Severus was rubbing his thumb over his lip, deep in thought, when she asked, "Severus? Can you really help him?"
He looked into her uncertain eyes, and with as much conviction as he could muster, he replied, "I am certain that I can."
A tiny, almost-missed smile graced her face and she nodded, turning away from him in dismissal. As Severus turned from her cell, the damp and dread of the prison beginning to sink in, he privately swore to do all he could to help her, as well.
The summer days of mid-June were long and lazy, and Hermione found herself spending much of her time outdoors with her books, waiting for Ron or Harry to return from training. Ginny kept her company sometimes, when she wasn't with the family, and they would enjoy long talks as they prepared for their final year together- but mostly it was just Hermione, her cat, and her reading.
Her favorite spot was out behind the gardens, where she could lean up against the stone wall, a charming hilly view in front of her. Crookshanks often darted around the yard, chasing bugs and imaginary prey, pouncing through the long blades of grass like a tiger stalking its dinner. This was where she found herself drifting when the day grew too quiet. This was where she sat now.
The pages in her lap weren't doing much to hold her attention, she realized, as she watched her furry companion launch himself after a grasshopper with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. She closed the book and placed it to the side, leaning her head against the stone as she went over the material she had been trying to absorb.
She began to talk out loud, working through what she didn't understand. "It says that I'll need to create a shield in my mind, something of my own creation, strong enough to withstand the attacks of a legilimens, but it doesn't explain how to create the shield. It just says-" she grabbed the book again, flipping to the page-"'using great willpower', as if that helps me understand the mechanics of it at all." She furrowed her brow in irritation as well as confusion, trying to imagine what the book was telling her. Finally, she sighed and stood. "Well, maybe it's something I have to feel for myself," she muttered as she walked back into the house, leaving Crookshanks to his insect hunt.
She checked her watch as she entered the kitchen and saw that it was nearly time for her lesson with Snape. Good, she thought to herself as she put together a small sandwich, I can ask him what I'm missing. I'm sure he'll love to call me out on not understanding.
She leaned against the counter as she ate, contemplating her last few lessons with the man. They had managed to meet twice more since their first session, and thankfully he hadn't attempted legilimency on her again, instead focusing only on meditation and clearing the mind. As it was an almost entirely out of book learning situation, Hermione had very few answers and many questions, questions he answered with more patience than she had ever seen from him in any of her classes at Hogwarts. It surprised her, how easy it was to be taught by him now that books and a classroom were taken out of the picture.
That would most likely change tonight, however, as he had asked her to come prepared for a different focus. She could only assume it was time they began to work on her shields based on his reading recommendation, which is what had led her to scrutinizing the book she had grown so frustrated with. The book in question sat on the table in front of her, and she glared down at it. "'Great willpower,'" she grumbled to herself as she shoved the last bite of sandwich in her mouth.
With a sigh, and realizing with disappointment that she would be leaving the Burrow mere minutes before Ron and Harry were set to return, she dusted off her hands, collected her things, and walked out into the yard.
Enough of the wards had been restored over the castle grounds now that it was deemed no longer safe to apparate directly to Hogwarts, so when she appeared, it was in front of the castle gates. She expected to see the wrought iron bars and the twin winged boars that framed the path to the school. She hadn't expected to see her professor standing in front of them, as if waiting for her.
"Good evening, sir," she greeted, an unspoken question coloring her tone as she stepped forward. She didn't remember any prior agreement to meet here, but she supposed it was possible he had mentioned it and she simply forgot. Judging by his look, however, she doubted this was the case.
His eyebrow rose as she approached. "Is my presence upsetting, Miss Granger?" he asked her unkindly.
"No sir," she quickly replied, unsure what had given him that idea. "Just unexpected."
"Ah." They stood there momentarily, neither saying anything further. Hermione felt her tension rising.
"Why-"
He cut her off abruptly, as if he had been waiting for the exact moment she questioned him to begin speaking. "I am here at the gates because I am just now arriving back myself." He paused, annoyance glinting in his eyes as he stared at her intensely. "I suppose it may seem like I was eagerly awaiting your presence, Miss Granger, but as hard as it is to imagine I do have a life outside of teaching you."
His words shocked her, and it was a moment before she could think to respond. "I know that," she finally managed. "And I didn't think you were 'eagerly awaiting' me, either." She hadn't seen him in a bad mood in a while; it made her nervous. "Is everything all right?" she asked, worried something had happened to him.
Something in her tone must have clued him in to how nervous he was making her, and he seemed to make an effort to relax. His body loosened, and his eyes lost the hard edge they had been holding. "My apologies, Miss Granger," he said to her in a forcibly measured tone. "I'm only now returning from Azkaban. Even without the dementors the place is a cesspool of unpleasantness."
Azkaban? "You had business at the prison?" she asked, instantly regretting it as his glare returned.
"My business is my own," he snapped, but soon after he raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing them roughly. With a sigh he added, "perhaps it's best we walk in silence up to the castle."
She nodded, and he spun away from her, moving quickly through the gates. Watching as he stormed up the path, his retreating backside growing smaller, she decided against running to catch up with him. A brooding walk might do him well to clear his head, and she knew she would only be an unwanted irritant. So when she walked through the gate, it was at a much more leisurely pace.
Was he going to be in such a foul mood for her lesson? God I hope not. Her understanding of the subject matter was muddy, and she had questions she knew he would snap at in this nerves started to gnaw at her as she walked, imagining his annoyance with her growing as she tried and failed to understand his teachings.
He was a good ways ahead of her but she could still see the tension in the way that he carried himself. What had he been doing in Azkaban? She tried to remember if anything had been brought up in the most recent Order meeting, but nothing came to mind. It must have been an unpleasant visit, to leave him like this. Had the dementor's dreary effect seeped into the very stones of the prison itself, lingering even after their departure?
The castle loomed in front of her, and as she began to ascend the steps, she saw him waiting for her just inside the double doors. He seemed calmer, she noticed with relief. Still, it was better to err on the side of caution. She approached him in silence, offering him only a small smile. He inclined his head and turned from her once more, this time walking at a much slower pace so as to lead her through the dungeon passageways. That was certainly an improvement from earlier, she considered. Maybe her lesson wouldn't be so bad after all.
They didn't say a word to each other until Snape had opened the chamber and they walked inside. It surprised her when he broke the silence first; she had expected him to wait for her to do so.
"We will be moving on from meditation today, Miss Granger," he told her as he summoned the two chairs in the center of the room once more. Straight to business then, she thought as she sat in the one she had claimed as her own. That's fine, don't explain anything. We'll just move past it as if it never happened.
"Will we be working on my shield today?" she asked as he sat in front of her, half expecting him to berate her for the question.
He nodded. "Have you done the readings?" Misinterpreting her frown, he added irritably, "Or were you too distracted by all your other obligations? If you can't make the time-"
"I've read them." She glared at him over his assumption, annoyed herself now. It's like he didn't even know her. 'Have I done the reading.' Honestly! "I only hesitate because while I read what you asked, I still don't understand what we're doing."
That gave him pause. He sat back, mollified. "Very well. I suppose the text may be rather vague in a few areas. What were you having difficulties with?"
Feeling like she was experiencing some form of mental whiplash, Hermione shook her head minutely and answered, "I understand how a shield is supposed to work. I don't understand how to make one."
He stared at her for a moment, the tips of his steepled fingers resting on his lips. "Right," he said abruptly, his hands falling away to rest casually on the armrests of his chair. "I can understand how it would be hard to imagine. It is a very abstract concept. Shall I go straight into the lecture, or do you have specific questions for me?"
Surprised at his receptiveness, she answered, "The lecture, please."
"Creating a shield is not something easily described," he began, "because it differs for everyone. You can cast a patronus, I believe?" she nodded, noticing how he seemed to relax even more now that he was teaching. "The patronus charm requires its power to be pulled from a happy memory, unique to its individual. It's all about the feeling of the cast that makes it work, not the mental image in and of itself." He paused, making sure she understood what he was saying, and when he saw she was still following he continued. "Much like how your patronus requires happy memories unique to you, your shield will require its own mental image."
"What emotion powers the shield, sir?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"It isn't a perfect comparison. The shield isn't powered by an emotion, per se, but a feeling of protection- of safety."
"So do I..." she bit her lip, trying to understand. "Do I imagine a memory where I felt safe, or-"
He waved his hand dismissively. "You're trying to hide your memories, not display them." He sounded irritated, but he continued on in the same lecturing tone he had been using. "No, in this case you won't be pulling from something you've experienced. Tell me: When I ask you to think of something protective, something that acts as an impenetrable force, what do you think of?"
She took a moment to consider that, her thumb and forefinger worrying her bottom lip as she looked down in contemplation. Many things came to her mind, such as a tall stone wall or a frozen lake, or even a tower reminiscent of the story of Rapunzel. She even considered a magical forest, its trees and vines growing together to create a wall of wood and flora. But in the end, she went with the first thing that had popped into her head.
"A door," she said, knowing it sounded foolish but feeling like it was right. "A locked door, sealed shut. I don't know why," she continued, looking up at him. "A door is usually a way into something, and there are many ways to break through one, so it would seem illogical. I can't explain it, but a locked door came to my mind first."
He was quiet for a moment, considering this. "It does make sense," he agreed. "People lock doors behind them in an act of safety. When you lock a door your intention is to keep dangers out. It's the intent that matters, in this case. What does this door look like?"
"Wood," she answered, closing her eyes, "but heavy. Thick. With supporting bars and a metal handleset."
"And the keyhole?"
"Metal as well. With a skeleton key to lock it in place."
She opened her eyes and met his; he looked pleased. "Where is this door located, Miss Granger?" he asked.
She smiled at the simplicity of it and said, "Down a castle corridor, dimly lit with torches."
"A fine use of imagery," he approved with a tilt of his head. Her heart soared at his compliment as he leaned forward. "I want you to cement this image in your mind. The corridor, the door, the keyhole, and the key. I'm going to ask you to meditate, to clear your mind. When you've achieved proper clarity, imagine yourself walking down the corridor. Walk through the doorway, close the door, and lock it behind you. Focus as hard as you can on turning that key, and when you do so, concentrate on your intent to keep your mind safe. The magic should rise up at that point- lean into it. Power the lock with your magic. Seal your mind behind the door. Today, I will be leading you through your first attempt."
He rose to retrieve their customary meditative cushions and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.
It sounded so simple. Was that really all there was to forming a shield? The book had said she would need to use great willpower. Perhaps it was harder to direct the magic than she was imagining. In any case, she understood much more than she had before.
She rose to her feet and joined him as he stood by a single cushion. At her questioning look he said, "I will not be joining you in meditation today, Miss Granger. I will be instructing. And once you've successfully locked your mind, I will be testing the strength of your door."
Something about the way he looked as he said that last line gave her shivers. She carefully sank into a meditative pose on the cushion, and he began slowly pacing around the room, circling her. She followed his instructions as he talked her through the meditative process, clearing her mind of all unwanted thought, breathing in and out with rhythmic precision and listening to the world around her- his sturdy footsteps, the soft rustle of his cloak as he turned, the soothing words he spoke to her in a low, soft voice.
"Are you ready to move on to the next step?" he asked, pausing behind her.
"Yes," she answered quietly, keeping her eyes closed. She heard him resume his pacing.
"Imagine yourself entering a corridor. Looking down to its end, you see a large, wooden door. It has a well-defined keyhole, and you just so happen to have a key that fits it. Walk down the corridor."
In her mind she walked, a large, plain skeleton key clasped in her hand at her side.
"As you walk, think about what you're going to lock out with that key."
Doubt, she thought with assurance. Fear. The expectations that hold me back. The enemy.
Her.
"The torchlights flicker as you approach, the flames shining bright on the door handle. Focus on it."
She could see it, clear as day. The dark metal of the hooked handle reflected the reds and oranges of the torches, the crackling of their flames singing in her ear. She stood in front of it now, her blurry form marring its surface.
"Take it in your hand, and open the door."
Placing her hand on the handle, she forced the latch and pushed. The door swung open slowly, its hinges creaking, the sound echoing in the long stone corridor, the room beyond a mystery.
"Walk through the door, and close it behind you. Turn to face it and hold up the key."
She stepped over the threshold and turned quickly, pushing against the weight of the door. It began to swing shut. With the sound of it latching back into its frame, she held the key out in front of her. The same torchlight from the corridor danced across its simplistic form.
"The key you are holding is your protection. Everything you seek to keep from your mind, that key has the power to hold it at bay. Focus on that. Take in what that truly means to you."
The key was cool in her hands, but heavy and sturdy. Was it strong enough to protect her? She wanted to keep her doubts, fears, expectations and enemies out of her mind. This key needed to represent their opposites- assuredness, bravery, possibilities, and friendships. In its current state, she had no faith in it. It would have to change.
In her hand the key began reforming, and she watched her goals materialize within the metal. The bow of the key transformed into the sillhouette of a lioness, reared up in an attack, paw raised as if to strike- Assured Bravery. The bottom foot melded seamlessly into a thick key shaft, delicate infinity loops coiling around the length of it- Endless Possibilities. She watched as a symbol etched itself into the bit in a glowing golden line; it looked like a rune. Holding it up to her eyes, she saw that it was the rune of Friendship, still glowing with a bright, undying light. She smiled; yes, this would do nicely.
"Put all the expectation you have for that key into the forefront of your mind as you insert it into the lock. Turn it with the force of those expectations. Your confidence will trigger your magical response, and when you feel your magic rise, push it into the lock as well."
Gripping the key by the lioness, she shoved the end in the lock and, once again thinking over everything she wished to hold at bay, she gave the key a swift turn. She heard a thunk as it locked into place, and just as he'd said, she felt a warm pressure building up from her navel- her magic was responding. She took a deep breath, pulling it up and through her, and directed it into the key with a force of casting a strong, precise spell.
The door disappeared.
"Open your eyes."
She did so, feeling a disorientation as she left her mindspace and focused once again on the very real room around her. Snape was knelt in front of her, his eyes meeting and holding her own, looking for... she wasn't sure what he was looking for. A sign it had worked, maybe? "How do you feel?" he asked, paying close attention to how she responded.
Hermione thought about that for a minute. It hadn't been an obvious change at first, but she realized she did feel a difference in herself; she felt... "I feel detached," she told him, "as if my feelings and emotions were locked away and all that is left is reason."
His eyes grew fractionally larger at that. He pulled out his wand, hesitated, and said, "In order to assess your success, I have to examine it myself. I need to use legilimency on you. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Studying her neutral expression a moment more, he raised his wand. "Legilimens."
The first time he had used this spell on her, it was sudden, chaotic, and bright. Images flashed before her mind in rapid succession and she had panicked in the whirlwind of it all. This time, however, the only thing she could see was a door. Her door. And as she stood where she had been moments before, locked behind it in safety, she placed her hands on the cool wood and breathed a sigh of relief.
Until she heard- and felt- something very large and very strong throwing itself at the other side.
It was a relentless force of power that repeatedly struck with a loud, shuddering boom each time it hit. The door shook. The room shook. Hermione spun around, looking for protection. The room was small, dim, and empty- three steps and she would be at the far wall.
Boom.
She took one step back.
Boom.
Another.
Boom.
She was against the back wall, eyes wide, waiting to see if the door would hold, or if it would shatter.
BOOM.
The door exploded inwards, sending splinters and chunks of wood to rain down on her, and she threw up her arms to protect her face-
She was back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Snape knelt down in front of her, and she shuddered as he pulled his wand away from her.
Whereas before she felt nothing, suddenly she felt what may have been every emotion at once. She gasped for breath and clutched her chest, her heart racing as she stared wide-eyed at the man in front of her. Did he experience this every time?
"Can you stand?" he asked her, putting his wand away. He wasn't concerned by her sudden physical reactions so she could only assume he knew it would happen. Trying to calm her body's shaking, she nodded.
He held a hand down to her when he stood, helping her off her cushion and back over to the chairs. They sat, and he watched her quietly as she tried to reign in all that she was feeling. Tears were starting to prickle at the corners of her eyes and she squeezed them shut, leaning her head against the backrest. "What is happening?" she whispered, fear and frustration clinging to her sensibilities, even as a strangled laugh escaped her throat unprompted.
"What's happened, Miss Granger," he said as he watched her with interest, "is that I have greatly underestimated you." He leaned forward, pausing until she opened her eyes again and looked at him. "Breathe with me," he told her, and inhaled and exhaled in a slow, calming rhythm. She mimicked his breaths, and slowly, steadily, her rampant emotional response settled, and she could think clearly again.
She put her head in her hands and leaned her elbows against her knees, thoroughly drained. "What happened?" she asked again. "What was that?"
She heard him sit back in his chair. "That was the culmination of your emotions returning to you all at once," he said. "Did you intend to lock them behind the door?"
"No, I..." she lifted her head. "Well, some." He raised his eyebrow and she continued, "I locked away my fear and doubts."
He continued to watch her carefully as he explained, "Separating one or two emotions from the rest can be tricky. I'd hazard a guess that when you turned the key, your intent was... overcompensated."
"So... what do I do about that?"
"It's a simple matter of me walking you through the process of separating them before locking them away." He adjusted in his seat, sitting straighter as he placed his elbows on the armrests, his fingers joining over his stomach. "What I would like to discuss now, however, is what else happened this evening. Are you aware that creating a proper shield on your first attempt with the ability to withstand any attack whatsoever is incredibly rare?"
Her eyes, struggling to fight the effort to focus, shot to his. "Is that what I did?"
She was surprised when he laughed, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head in disbelief. "For the first time in your life, Miss Granger, you have genuinely impressed me." At her shocked expression, he chuckled again, but gave her a distinct look when he said, "Before you let it get to your head, I would like to point out why I'm impressed."
He leaned forward then, and he tapped his temple with a long finger. "The mind is of a complexity entirely its own, and mastery of it takes a certain skillset many find too difficult. You, however, seem to have a natural proclivity towards the interworkings of yours, a gift you have been benefitting from for a long while, I imagine, without even realizing it."
"How have I been benefitting from it?" She yawned, trying to focus on his words. She was fascinated, but so very tired.
He sensed her fatigue it seemed, as when he spoke, it wasn't to answer her question. "I think it would be wise," he said, "if we continued this discussion on our way out." He stood, sending the cushion back to its cabinet with a flick of his wand. "Shall we?"
She rose from her chair slowly, and followed him as he exited the room. Out in the halls of the dungeons, Hermione's head began to clear as she walked by his side. "So, sir," she asked again, "how have I been benefitting from it all?"
He glanced her way and continued his lecture. "You spent the entirety of your Hogwarts years studying incessantly, retaining facts that no one asked you to remember; you wasted time adding too many addendums and additions to your assignments that again, no one asked for, without falling behind any of your classwork; you carried your friends through their classes as if their dead weight did nothing to you; all while you also put forth countless efforts to save the wizarding world, undermine authority, and maintain whatever level of normality your life dared offer you. Did you even feel the pressure of all of that, or were you, as an eleven year old child, perfectly capable of balancing all of that flawlessly, without feeling at all out of your element?"
"I was actually twelve for the majority of my first year." It was not a good reply. It was the only one she could think of. She was very tired.
"Eleven, twelve, the number doesn't matter. But you know that." The look he gave her was one of annoyance tinged with concern for her out of character obliviousness. "You also know the truth in what I'm telling you. You have a natural gift for compartmentalizing, and that will prove to be invaluable in your training." He paused then, studying her carefully as she yawned once more. "It would be better to send you through the floo network than trust your apparition, I think. Let us bother Minerva."
She wasn't sure what was harder for her to focus on- the fact that she had so many unanswered questions about tonight, or the fact that he had given her another genuine compliment. "When will we meet again?" she asked. "I have questions. A lot of them."
"I'm unsurprised." He rubbed his lip in thought as he considered this. "Collect your questions over the next two days. I will see you at the usual time on Saturday evening, if that works for you."
She had no plans that didn't revolve around training or the task force. She would be there. She nodded, trying to force the mental note to stick in her head. The second she was around a bit of spare parchment, she would jot the information down; she had no faith in her memory at the moment.
They had reached the gargoyle in silence, and as he gestured the guardian away and they stepped onto the staircase, Hermione briefly wondered what Snape sealed his mind with. Would he tell her? Would she be brave enough to ask?
A/N 2: I would love to hear your opinions on the shield training! What do you think your shield would be?
