A/N: After a short break in the previous chapter, Miss Lovegood is back! And such a long chapter deserves reviews - right? :)
Guest: Glad you're enjoying it and here's more for you to read :)
It only took a couple of days at Hogwarts for Snape to fully appreciate the positive effect of having Dumbledore around again. Though it was nowhere near the real version, he was willing to settle for anything that would help him keep his sanity, even if it meant burying the memory of Dumbledore's murder as deep down as he could and, to a certain extent, at least, convincing himself that the man had never really left. Not that he even had to try very hard: seeing and talking to Dumbledore's portrait every day did make it somewhat easier to forget the former Headmaster was actually dead, and his self-preservation mechanism took care of the rest. As a result, it did not take long before even his nightmares became less vivid and not as frequent, to the point where he no longer needed to take the Dreamless Sleep Potion, for which he was extremely grateful. He did not like the idea of feeling dependent, if only on a potion. It was bad enough he had allowed himself to become dependent on the time spent in the Room of Requirement last year, and though he did not regret a single moment, it made him miss the meetings all the more now that he knew what they entailed. Not to mention there was still the pain he was sure would come when he saw Miss Lovegood turn against him, just like the rest of the school. The welcome he had received from his colleagues upon his return to Hogwarts had left him in no doubt as to how he would be treated by everyone except perhaps the Slytherins. Though he had been prepared for it, it still hurt him when, instead of a greeting, Minerva had only hissed "How could you?" in a voice that held nothing but contempt, before turning on her heel and gliding majestically away. He did not fare any differently with the other teachers, who were only willing to stay in his company when he had instructions for them, but otherwise avoided him like the plague. Some, like Horace, even appeared afraid of him, as if certain they were to be his next victims. It made Snape feel dejected and lonely. He had never been a social person, quite the opposite, but he did like an occasional chat in the staffroom when he was in the mood, especially with Minerva, who was the perfect sparring partner for debates revolving around the winner of the school Quidditch Cup. He would not go as far as calling Minerva a friend, but they did share a similarly dry sense of humour, and provoking her had always brightened up his day. At present, however, the only person he could talk to was Dumbledore, which tended to get a bit monotonous, but at least it helped him fight the loneliness.
Still, the longer the summer holiday dragged on, the more restless he became. Having discovered the beauty of the world outside the castle, he found himself unable to enjoy even those activities that had previously provided him distraction. Books no longer held the same magic for him, walks in the school grounds yielded nothing new. Finally, on a day when he was feeling particularly bored and, as such, prone to wallowing in self-pity, he decided to venture into the Room of Requirement alone, hoping a visit to the Museum of Alchemists and Magicians of Old Prague would help to divert his thoughts elsewhere. Having been there once before with Miss Lovegood, he had found the exhibits deeply fascinating, but unfortunately on that occasion they had run out of time to see them all. However, it was soon clear to him that being at the museum alone and being there with Miss Lovegood was simply not the same. He missed her exclamations of amazement whenever she spotted something that impressed her, he missed not being able to comment on what he saw as there was nobody to share his comments with. He left the room in disgust. How easy it had been to rely on nobody's company but his own, and perhaps, occasionally, that of his colleagues! But now he had been spoilt, and it would take a long time before he again got used to the solitary life he had once led. He could not say he was looking forward to it.
Sick as he was of the uneventful days as Headmaster of a nearly empty school, broken only by a few summonses by the Dark Lord for whom he was, due to his improved mental state, once again able to play his part without any trouble, it was not surprising that when the first day of school finally arrived, it came as something of a relief for him. At last he would have the chance to exercise his authority to do what he had come to do at the cost of Dumbledore's life: to protect the students, to the best of his abilities but without raising suspicion, from the terror of the new regime. Unfortunately, this also involved some necessary changes which the Dark Lord had ordered him to implement and which it would be his unpleasant duty to announce in his welcome speech. Having never spoken in front of the entire school, he felt decidedly ill-at-ease as the time came to step up to the lectern that had, until last year, always been Dumbledore's territory. Painfully aware of the hundreds of faces all gazing up at him with mutiny in their eyes, he deliberately avoided as much as glancing at the Ravenclaw table as he called for silence and commenced his speech.
"As the new Headmaster, it is my pleasure to welcome you all to another school year at Hogwarts. Following the custom of the previous years, there are several start-of-term notices I would like to impart. I suggest you take them to heart to avoid any future ... misunderstandings. As the returning students should know, it is strictly prohibited to leave the school grounds. All secret passages leading in and out of the castle will be closely watched. The Forbidden Forest is also out-of-bounds, as are the kitchens. As a new safety precaution, there will only be three Hogsmeade weekends this year, one each term."
He waited for the booing, which was to be expected, to die down, then continued.
"Concerning other school rules, magic is still not allowed in corridors between classes, and there are a number of items which will result in severe punishment when discovered in your possession. You can find a full list of these items attached to Mr. Filch's door. Curfew has now been moved to 9 p.m., after which I expect all of you to return to your respective common rooms or dormitories. Anyone caught roaming the corridors will likewise be punished.
"Another change this year is that all student organisations, societies, teams, groups or clubs will be discontinued. The only exception is Quidditch, which will run as normal."
A fresh round of protests followed, only this time it was a full minute before he could go on.
"Finally, I would like to announce two additions to our staff. Following the resignation of the former Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage, in summer, her post will be taken over by Alecto Carrow."
He motioned towards a stocky little woman sitting behind him, who immediately stood up and gave a tiny mock bow. Unsurprisingly, the only applause she received was a few odd claps from the Slytherin table.
"Meanwhile, the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor will be filled by her brother, Amycus."
A lumpy-looking man rose from his seat at the words, sneering all around. The reaction he got was even less enthusiastic than that aimed at his sister.
"That said, I trust the school year will be a smooth one, without any unfortunate ... incidents. Enjoy the feast."
He clapped his hands and a moment later the tables were already laden with all the old-time favourites – roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, lamb chops, steak-and-kidney pie, you name it. Snape, however, found he had rather lost his appetite. Perhaps he was only imagining it, as he could not bring himself to check, but all throughout the meal he felt Miss Lovegood's eyes boring a hole into his head, which is why he left the Great Hall as soon as decorum allowed it. He had nothing to gain by meeting the girl face-to-face, only pain. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could even go all year without accidentally bumping into her. Not having to teach anymore, it was up to him when he chose to leave his office, so if he timed his comings and goings carefully, he could-
No! That was how a coward would think, and if he prided himself in anything, it was that he was most definitely not a coward. Hiding in his office like a little girl indeed! He would rather deal with the pain than do something so humiliating.
Still, whenever he ventured out into the castle in the following few days, he was overcome by a feeling of apprehension. He despised himself for letting it affect him so but found he simply could not help scanning the corridor up ahead every time he turned a corner, desperately hoping not to catch sight of a certain blonde. Then again, could anyone blame him for wanting to remember the girl smiling at him rather than regarding him with loathing?
A week passed, however, and he did not run into Miss Lovegood even once, for which he was eternally grateful. He was all the more shocked, therefore, when on Saturday morning Nilly the house-elf suddenly appeared in his office with a 'crack' and handed him an envelope, on which his name was shining in letters he would recognise anywhere. Accepting the envelope with a trembling hand, for a long time he just stared at it, his brain too paralysed to do anything else. What on earth could she want? To give him a piece of her mind at least in writing, when she had not been able to do so in person? Well, there was only one way to find out, though there was probably nothing he would rather do less. Unfortunately, the elf seemed to be waiting for an answer and so, with a deep calming breath, he ripped open the envelope and read the short note inside:
Shall we meet in the Room of Requirement at 7 o'clock? I'll have it turn into our favourite art gallery.
LL
Snape frowned. Contrary to his expectations, the message did not sound hostile at all. In fact, the way it was written implied that, despite last year's events, Miss Lovegood's relationship with him had not changed in the slightest. Had she somehow found it in her heart to forgive him? But no, that could not be, not after what he had done. Surely, not even she had it in her to find an excuse for murder?
Still, once the seed of hope had been planted, he could not quite get rid of it. He felt an irresistible temptation to simply take up Miss Lovegood on her offer, to rush to the Room of Requirement in the evening to follow that wild chance that he would find everything as it always was, and yet at the same time he was afraid to do so. What if Miss Lovegood only wrote the note nicely to lure him out to meet her so that she could tell him what she really thought of him? He knew he was being paranoid for suspecting her, of all people, of such scheming, but the other option just seemed too good to be true.
"Would master like Nilly to come back later? Maybe master needs more time?"
Snape emerged from his musings with a start; he had almost forgotten the elf was there.
"No, Nilly, I shall write the reply now," he said, taking a quill from his desk and scribbling a hasty "I will be there" under Miss Lovegood's message before he could change his mind. He might regret it later, but not more than he would regret not finding out what this was all about. Resignedly, he braced himself for a long day during which he could not count on doing anything productive. Anxious and restless, by the time evening arrived he had taken off more points than he had throughout the entire week and lashed out at anyone who had as much as opened their mouth to speak to him. It was therefore almost a relief to finally be standing in front of the long stretch of wall on the seventh floor, dreading the worst and yet hoping for the best. Wilfully ignoring the knot in his stomach, he forced his brain to think of nothing but the art gallery he and Miss Lovegood had met in the first time they used the Room of Requirement, and then climbed in through the opening the room had created.
He found his friend already seated at a small table set for two: there was tea and some treacle tart she must have taken at dinner. She jumped to her feet when he entered, however, her face lighting up at the sight of him.
"Hello, Professor!" she chirped. "Please come and sit down. Would you like some tea and cake?"
"Good evening, Miss Lovegood," greeted Snape, taking the offered chair. Despite his apprehensions, he felt like smiling himself; the positive energy she emanated was infectious. Perhaps everything really would be all right; surely she could not be acting? "Tea would be welcome, thank you."
He did not tell her he had not accepted the cake because the stress would not allow him to eat. He wished he could get straight to the point, to ask her why she did not avoid him like the rest of the school, why she was not reproaching him for what he had done, why she was still willing to spend time with him. But he did not want to spoil the illusion that everything had stayed the same between them, and so he remained silent, unsure of what to say, hoping the girl would save him and start up a conversation herself, as she so often did.
To his relief, she did not disappoint him.
"It's really nice to see you, Professor," she declared as she poured them both tea. "I was a little worried you might not come."
Snape tensed. It seemed the topic he had been hoping to avoid just a little longer would not wait, after all.
"What had led you to think that?" he inquired, stalling, wanting to know exactly where she was heading with this before engaging in the conversation more than absolutely necessary.
"Just little things. You used to glance at me during mealtimes sometimes, when you were sure nobody was watching. Now you just look at your plate. And you've started leaving before dessert. You never used to that, either."
Snape had to hand it to her; the girl was perceptive. It was almost a little frightening how well she knew his habits, and yet he found her attention secretly flattering.
"Perhaps I was just otherwise occupied. And with no appetite for dessert," he said noncommittally.
It disconcerted him that Miss Lovegood just smiled at that, as if she could see right through him.
"You don't have to hide from me, you know," she stated. "I've heard what people say about you these days. That you've betrayed the trust Professor Dumbledore's put in you, that you've been on the dark side all along. That you're a monster. But I don't believe any of that. Nothing's changed for me; you're still my friend."
Snape felt a lump forming in his throat at the words he had been convinced he would never hear again. All his life everyone had always been prepared to think the worst of him, never even considering the possibility that, in some cases, it might actually be him who was the victim. Even Lily, especially towards the end, had a tendency to believe the other party rather than him. It made him sad at first, as he would take her side under all circumstances, against anyone, even if they were in the right and Lily was not. But eventually he simply got used to it. After all, how ungrateful would he be to complain as long as Lily remained his friend, a creature as beautiful and pure as she was?
Now, however, this girl had come along, behaving exactly as he had once believed a friend should, before reality had stepped in and proved him wrong. He was moved beyond words. And yet here he was, about to say something that could ruin it all...
"It ... would be perfectly natural if you chose to break off all contact with me," he began slowly, once he had succeeded in temporarily pushing all emotions to the back of his mind. "It would be nothing I had not expected. How can you be so certain that I am not all that people make me out to be? You cannot close your eyes to the fact that I have killed the Headmaster. Are you not afraid of associating with a murderer?"
It had cost him an unbelievable amount of effort to get the words out, but he had to be absolutely sure Miss Lovegood got her facts straight. He did not want her to base their friendship on an erroneous assumption, even if it meant losing her as a result. After all, she had not been there on the Astronomy Tower, she had not seen him murder Dumbledore with her own eyes. Perhaps, refusing to believe ill of him, she had simply created her own wild explanation for what had happened? It would not be the first time she had convinced herself of utter nonsense, the existence of Nargles or the fact that Black was a nice man being just two examples of many.
The girl, however, looked completely unphased by his revelation.
"I know you killed Professor Dumbledore," she said matter-of-factly. "And I admit I was rather upset by it when Harry first told us, but when I thought about it later on, I realised I'd been looking at it all wrong. Everybody thought that just because you'd murdered someone, it automatically made you evil. But I knew you to be one of the nicest people I'd ever met." (Snape felt the lump in his throat grow even bigger). "You would never hurt Professor Dumbledore unless you had a really good motive to. And then I remembered the Professor's injured hand. I noticed only his fingers looked scorched at the beginning of the last school year, but by the end the blackness disappeared all the way into his sleeve. Maybe it was something that was slowly killing him? Maybe he asked you to end his life before that black thing did, much more painfully? But of course He Who Must Not Be Named didn't know that, thinking you'd done it on his orders, which is why you're Headmaster now, as a reward for killing his worst enemy, instead of Professor McGonagall, who, as a Deputy, would've been the obvious choice. It's clear, though, that you're really here to protect us. It's the Carrows we should be afraid of, not you. Amycus Carrow was teaching us the Cruciatus Curse in our first lesson. I really don't like him. He demonstrated the curse on Ginny because she'd refused to cooperate at first."
With this somewhat random conclusion, she fell silent. She did not even seem to expect an answer, Snape noticed with gratitude, yet he felt he owed it to her. If anyone deserved to know the truth, it was her, for believing in him, for not giving up on him. He wanted nothing more than to praise her cleverness for working out exactly what had happened, to confess to her just how much her continued friendship meant to him. But that would be foolish, which was the last thing he could afford to be if he hoped to stay alive. Finally, after careful consideration, he settled for a reply somewhere half-way.
"I cannot confirm or deny what you have just said, Miss Lovegood, I am sure you realise that," he said, hoping that, as a Ravenclaw, the girl would decipher why he had not simply refuted everything and been done with it.
"Of course, Professor," Miss Lovegood nodded gravely, and a knowing look passed between them. Snape needed nothing more.
"Speaking of the Carrows," he continued, "I do not think I need to stress that you would be wise not to trifle with them. As you have seen, they are not afraid to use physical punishment at the slightest hint of disobedience. In fact, I would not find it surprising if the shackles Mr. Filch has been going on about for years finally get put to use. The last I heard, the man has taken to sleeping with them so as to have them instantly at hand in case of need."
He did not really mean it as a joke, more as a statement of facts, but his words sent Miss Lovegood into an uncontrollable laughing fit. In these dark times, the sound was like an oasis in a desert; it enveloped him like a warm blanket, making him feel carefree, as if all his worries had been magically washed away. Before he knew it, he found himself sniggering too, inadvertently caught in the tornado of his friend's mirth. He could not remember the last time he had laughed like this, if ever. His life had always been too serious, too full of misery to inspire gaiety. However, Miss Lovegood had, at least for this moment, somehow managed to drag him into her own reality, one where his comment about Argus's shackles suddenly sounded funny, even to him. Whatever turn of fate had given him the girl back, he could not thank it enough. He had already lost count of the times he had been prepared to give her up, and yet that unknown entity had always prevented him from having to do so. It seemed he was stuck with her, whether he wanted to or not. Not that he was complaining. He could call it addiction, dependency or need, but he could also simply state that a life with Miss Lovegood in it was infinitely more pleasant than a life without her. It was as if she brought colour to an otherwise black and white world. Especially yellow.