She glanced around the potions room at the viles, some of the contents eyeing her back through pin-sized red eyes. "Aren't Spigons," Hermione took a nervous breath, "illegal?"
He eyed her humming body, "You're the one with all the answers, Miss Granger." He leaned in, "Are they?"
She took a step back to take his dark form in. "Yes, they are." She spoke confidently.
"And Trutgumper?" He gestured to a purplish plant, oozing with sheen. "How about Spiked Emlin?" Beneath his gaze was a rotten root, speckled with thorns. All were kept under lock and key.
Although she tried to suppress it, her intake of breath was sharp. "Most of these would cause a fate worse than death, rather than stop it!"
He stared at her vacantly for a second before breaking into a low laugh.
"One must understand the layout of the passage through hell, before taking the detour. These materials each have qualities replicating a different aspect of the philosopher's stone."
He held up a tightly sealed container. Observing the minuscule Spigons spinning their poisonous web, he recalled the day he began this journey.
Images of a young Lily on the swing set, the first day her neck was wrapped in a Gryffindor scarf, her hand on his back in acknowledgement of his correction of the previous potion's master, her rare glowing smile; only gracing her face with Potter. Somehow, he was suddenly cradling her lifeless body as the green flame in her eyes extinguished. That was the last day he felt tears on his face, the day that he first contemplated traveling on the river Styx to retrieve her soul. But how could she return as whole as she had been? Even the most skilled alchemists could only reanimate the body, but not the soul. That magic had long since been deemed an impossible taboo. He fell deeper and deeper into the dark arts hoping to find the key.
Each day his resolve grew, taking the place that had once held self respect. And then, there was Dumbeldore, preaching remembrance over reanimation. He could go alone with it. Truthfully, he was no longer loyal to either side. He had grown to be a master of puppetering in addition to potions. However, with his security as a Professor, he could continue his work, carrying the dark knowledge from the other side of the realm. That was, as long as Potter was provided for. Not the dead man; this was the one who had stolen Lily's emerald eyes.
Out of the darkness, he noted a pair of auburn eyes that held concern. He had been working so hard for so long, did he still wish for the same thing?
Hermione's hand was steady on his cheek. "…sor. Look at me, Professor." Her voice broke through the fog. He had been in a trance for several minutes. The potion he had taken was to numb the pain and susceptibility as he worked on the accursed project. It fueled itself on memories, eliciting any drive that was left in Severus Snape. It would keep him working even if he were running on empty. Come to think of it, the potion was much like Albus. It was meant to hone Snape's focus on his desired end goal, but this girl was messing with the cogs in the machinery.
"What on Earth?" Her voice trailed off.
Snape recalled her hands prying desperately, caringly, upon the Weasley boy only moments ago.
He swatted her away.
She became silent, retracting her hand and holding it firmly in the other. "Who are you trying to save? Because it most certainly is not you."
"Astute, as always." His voice was a steady vibrato. "According to Professor Dumbledore, it is meant for someone you hold rather dear."
"You don't mean Harry?" She squeaked. She earnestly examined his face. "There is no way that you would put yourself in such danger for someone whom you torment on a daily basis."
A heat was rising within him, "Do you claim to know me, child?" His robes flowed as he strode forward, crimson still falling from his grasp. "Are you attempting to empathize with each stroke of fate that has brought me to this point? Do not degrade me with your pity." He stood his ground. "In all of your seventeen years on this planet, have you reached ultimate wisdom?" His scathing increased, "Or perhaps you entered Hogwarts with your hand waving because you already had."
The feeling of the slap to his cheek was fleeting, leaving a tingling sensation.
"I claim nothing. For all the books I've read, I am never far enough up to speed in the workings of this world." She divulged, peering at him through half-lidded eyes.
He put a large, chapped hand to the stinging spot, as if to note that he were awake.
"That is specifically why you are my Professor." She continued, "Inform me, so that I can shed this ugly skin of juvenile ignorance that you seem so desperate to associate with me."
Both stared at one another, their breathing slightly heavy in the silent air, due to the battle of wills.
Snape turned back towards his parchment. "…I wish how you could see," he begun, unsure of the short walk off a steep cliff that he was taking, "that there was a world out there before Harry Potter ever existed."
She noted his voice trailing into that exotic place. Coming from the Muggle world, of course she had a notion of what it was like to live without a 'chosen one'. And yet, that was not the sentiment that Snape was trying to divulge. Her stomach felt like it was scooped out as she recalled the flower pressed between the pages of his book, permanently chaining what could have been a great man into the shoes of his former self.
She held onto her arms for assurance. "Are you still," she stalled, "chasing ghosts?"
He picked up a quill and busied himself with formulas. "Perhaps I am one."
There was a burning on his wrist that reinforced his line of thought. He fought the growing impatience, "I can't recall the last time that I had a life of my own." He stood up, preparing to address whatever folly Draco had gotten himself into.
"If you'll excuse me, Miss Granger, I have some pertinent business to attend to." With that, he was moving towards the chamber door.
"Wait-" She requested as she grabbed at his dark blue sleeve.
The resulting movement of fabric revealed marks like rug burns indented around his wrist. They were moving, tying tighter.
He made a motion to retrieve his clothing and cover the spot. Yet his effort was in vain.
"…the unbreakable vow…" Hermione uttered.