Chapter 2
Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear
By the time Hermione takes her seat in the potions lab, the entire situation has not gotten much better. Harry isn't speaking with her, so she has to rely on Ron grunting messages back and forth between them. It reminds her a little of when Harry and Ron weren't talking to each other, at the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament.
"What are we supposed to start with?" Ron mutters, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She almost wants to confront him about his reading comprehension skills, but they've all been high strung lately, and it needn't get any worse. She helps him through the beginning, and pretends not to see how he passes on her instructions to Harry, who pretends he doesn't hear or need those. Whilst stirring slowly, and counting clockwise, she takes a few deep breaths. The damps of the Draught of Peace smell of flowers, and inhaling the aroma coats her tongue with something stickily sweet.
She is just about to lower her fire when the unmistakable black figure of Professor Snape appears next to them. "I see that the three of you are set on wasting my ingredients."
She snaps her head towards him, but holds her tongue. Professor Snape glares at her for a moment, as if daring her to speak. Underneath their desk, Ron gently squeezes her hand. Finally, their professor turns to Harry. "Nice shade of potion," he drawls, leaning over Harry's desk. "Or at least it would be, if this were a Draught of the Living Death."
To Hermione's great exasperation, Professor Snape does not leave it at that. More unnecessary comments on their potions are tossed around, much to the delight of certain Slytherin students.
"Hermione," Ron draws her attention. Realising that she has her hands clenched around her ladle, she forces herself to relax and sit back. He nods towards her potion. "It says it should simmer, not boil." Seeing her yellowish goo bubbling, she gasps and quickly turns down the fire.
It's the first time in a very long while she has messed up in potions, and she blames Professor Snape himself. As the latter makes his way from desk to desk, he stops once again behind them. "You can throw these away already. You're only wasting useful time and ingredients."
Hermione inhales sharply, barely managing to keep her voice straight, "Maybe if you'd help us, instead of-"
"Maybe, if you'd pay attention, instead of chattering, you wouldn't have detention. But alas, this evening at eight, you can practice silence in my office."
If there's one positive thing that came out of the whole ordeal, it's that she can finally face Harry again. She grabs his arm, turns to him, and takes a deep breath.
"You were right."
Harry blinks in surprise, but then grins. "It's almost scary to hear you say that."
The tension between them melts away, and she sighs with relief. They can't count on Snape, but they'll figure out their own way. For now, at least they don't have to stress over him anymore. "I understand that you'd be glad for those lessons to have ended."
Harry waves it off, always reluctant on the topic of his Occlumency lessons. Ron, however, has double the joy in seeing the two of them talking again, and eagerly adds to the conversation. As they enter the common room, Ginny and Parvati pick up their topic and join in as well. The latter eagerly contributes to the list of complaints. "Has someone ever introduced him to the concept of personal hygiene?"
Hermione is just about to say that he doesn't actually smell bad, when Ron comments on his greasy hair. Luckily so, she realises, because she was just about to insinuate that she sniffed her Professor and found him, not unpleasant? She opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates. She had always thought herself to be above these kind of conversations, that served no other purpose than to tear someone down. But then again, there was just so much about their professor that they couldn't stand. Ron notices her doubt, and pats her encouragingly on the shoulder. "Come on, Hermione, you're not still defending him, are you?"
"No," she defends herself, as though he read her mind. As if trying to prove that she isn't, she adds, "His teaching methods are awful."
"The entirety of Snape is awful," Ginny corrects her.
Ron nudges Hermione and laughs, "Teaching methods? You can do better than that."
Truthfully, there are far worse things she could say. And, actually, she would merely be saying the truth. Emboldened by her friends, she adds, "His mouth is a dentists' nightmare."
Harry snorts, although he seems oddly absent. "I've seen horses with prettier teeth than his."
Parvati snarls. "I don't understand why anyone would want to be so nasty. He's the worst teacher ever."
Now there's an exaggeration. Hermione remembers, among others, the deceitful and utterly useless Lockhart. And then there is of course the handful of teachers who straight up tried to murder Harry.
"And he was nagging that you didn't get it right, as if everyone else wasn't lost halfway through," Ron throws in as well.
Harry grins. "I wouldn't have gotten past step two if it weren't for Hermione."
Now that she can look at him again, she sees how dark the bags under his eyes have become, and how pale his face is. Her resolution to help him becomes even stronger, no matter what it will take.
"He just can't stand the thought of Gryffindors being good at anything," Ron says, rolling his eyes, "And then he gave Hermione detention because she dared to speak up."
Hermione, remembering her detention again, stands up at once. "Sorry guys, I completely forgot about the detention."
Parvati frowns and checks her wrist watch. "But it's only five? Doesn't he usually give detention around eight?"
"She's probably not done with next week's reading yet," Ron grins, earning himself a friendly smack on the back of his head.
"I would still like to do some research for our upcoming Herbology project." Ron makes a face that says I told you so, which Hermione gladly ignores. She sends a hopeful glance towards Harry, who is studying his hands. "Harry, I could help you with your assignments as well, if you'd like."
He raises his head, not having noticed her stare, and then smiles faintly. "Thanks." He gathers his stuff and follows her out of the common room.
They don't say anything as they make their way to the library, where she immediately occupies her usual spot in the back. Harry follows her, staring at the walls and almost bumping into students. She begins talking, just to fill in the quiet. "For the project, we'll have to work in pairs of two. You should ask Neville to work with you, he'll understand if you're tired-"
"I can handle it," Harry says, his voice lacking any strength to back it up.
"Okay, but, well," she sighs, and looks at him. He is stubbornly looking at the books between them, but finally meets her eye. She reaches out for him and takes his hand. "How have you been?"
"Nightmares," he breathes, and attempts a smile. "I know what you're thinking."
She straightens up defensively, but then slumps again. He's right. She's thinking about Occlumency, and how he should still try to force Voldemort out of his head. She knows he hasn't been trying to push him away, but instead has been paying attention to these peeks inside of Voldemort's mind. But, knowing how predictable she is, she forces herself to say something else. "What did you see?"
He runs his hand through his hair, which is already standing on end. "He's going to weird places. I think I saw him in Alba- a foreign country." He glances at her carefully, and she forces herself to keep her judgement to herself. What she wants to tell him is probably going to make him stop talking, so she keeps quiet instead. It works, miraculously, and he continues, "One time, I saw him in an old shack. He held a ring in his hand, though he didn't put it on. There was something peculiar about it, but I can't remember what and I've never seen it before. It must've been really important."
Hermione mentally goes through a list of magically enchanted rings, but neither of them has outstanding qualities. Rings and other jewellery are mostly used for enhancing magic, or for extra protection. "What did he do with it?"
"Hid it, in the shack. He seemed… relieved."
They are silent for a while, before they both pick up a book and begin working. Hermione mostly helps Harry catching up with assignments, correcting his charms paper and helping him with transfiguration. They work steadily until it's time for dinner.
"You know, about the Herbology project," Harry says, grinning lightly, "I think Ron won't mind working together with you. And not just because of your grades."
She blushes. Oh no. Was he saying that Ron wanted to team up with her because of her? It's been a while since she realised she liked him, perhaps as more than a friend. He rarely showed that kind of interest in her, however. When one of them did try to move things towards a more romantic direction, it had often ended up coming out completely wrong. Perhaps now they could try again?
"He's not as smart as you, but he's got a good heart," Harry says softly.
"I know," she says automatically, although she doesn't think about him as 'less smart than her'. "I mean, he's just smart in different ways. He knows a lot of other stuff that I don't."
"Luckily, love isn't anything logical." Harry smiles, and then looks away too quickly for her not to notice. The grin that spreads on her face makes him grow several shades redder. "Don't," he says, but it's already too late.
"Such wisdom, Harry. Pray tell, does it come from experience?"
Harry groans, and hides his face behind his hands, shaking his head. She grants him mercy, for now, but her curiosity, once peaked, rarely backs down from anything.
After a few hours, and quick dinner, Hermione bids her farewells and treads down to the dungeons. As her knuckles knock the door, the relief of the day dissipates, and tension returns. It's precisely eight when she enters his office. Professor Snape is standing in front of his desk, leaning against it. She had expected him to sit in his chair, as he usually does, and wonders whether they will be going elsewhere. With a fluent move of his wand, he closes the door behind her. The room is entirely quiet, until he gives a small flick of his wrist again, and the sound of the lock turning resonates over the stone walls. She stiffens.
"Sir?"
"What do you know about Occlumency?"
Albus stands at his window, peering over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, where the sun is rising. He runs his hand through his beard in a pensive gesture. It is much too early for Severus to attempt deeper thought, so he merely watches him over the rim of his teacup.
"Severus," he says softly. "I am disappointed in you."
He steps away from the window to face Severus, who turns his head away. He lowers his teacup, holding it in his lap. The hot porcelain burns the palms of his hands, and he clenches them around it. As always, his morning is awful. He doesn't know what he expected. Careful to keep his voice cool and low, he meets Albus' clear blue eyes before speaking. "Sorry to have been a disappointment once again."
Albus frowns, and they watch each other for a long moment. Severus can clearly imagine how Albus is going through a mental list of replies, deciding which one will have the desired effect. "You are not a disappointment, Severus. You are not your actions."
He leaves a pause, willing the words to sink in. Severus huffs. The day he will allow Albus the satisfaction of seeing his words matter to Severus, is the day he will be cold and dead in some bottomless pit. He takes another sip of tea, scorching his tongue in an effort to wake himself up. "Of course."
Dumbledore sighs heavily, and a part of Severus feels childishly victorious. There, he thinks, that's what you get for ruining my morning. "I'm merely trying to reprimand you. I asked you to teach Harry Occlumency and-"
"And somehow, I don't think you're telling him he's a dis- he has disappointed you." Severus puts his cup back down in the saucer.
Albus shakes his head slowly, and finally moves to sit down across from him. For a moment, neither speak. The weight Albus' stare is almost unbearable. Of course it is Severus who disappointed him. It's not as if Albus' golden boy can possibly do anything wrong. Just like his father, and the entire clique. And Severus never belonged, and will never belong, to that group of people whom Albus holds especially dear.
"Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Severus clenches his jaw. Albus sighs.
"If you will not tell me, that is your choice. However, I placed the responsibility of Harry learning Occlumency in your hands. It will cost us too much, if we grant Voldemort that connection to him."
At the sound of the Dark Lord's name, Severus flinches. He can feel the shiver of magic running through his body. The dark ink etched into his skin tingles with the sound of its master's name. He glares at the Headmaster, who looks calm and collected as ever. "Very well. I will assure no such connection will take place."
Albus inclines his head slightly, and Severus returns the gesture. He leaves the Headmaster's office without another word. And, once outside of the office, he has to face his new dilemma.
Granger or Potter.
Ironically, the one trick that has often helped Severus decide quickly, is one he learnt from Albus. While preparing his classroom for the next class, he plucks a knut out of his pocket, and throws it in the air. Heads for Granger, tails for Potter. He catches the knut, and pockets it without even looking at the outcome. In the split second it was in the air, he knew which side of the knut he wanted to see up.
And so, he watches Ms Granger file into the classroom together with her classmates, unaware of the detention he already has assigned to her.
"What do you know about Occlumency?"
Ms Granger's eyes are wide, like a deer caught in headlights. Considering the amount of thought he spent on this evening's planning, it's almost easy to forget she doesn't have a clue. Of course she wouldn't have a clue; the minds of Gryffindors are too literal and truth-bound. For a moment, the two of them just stare at each other. Waiting.
Then she licks her lips, and straightens up. He already knows what she's going to say, but holds his reply back, just enough to allow her to prove his expectations.
"Occlumency is the act of magically closing one's mind against-"
"Not the textbook definition," he interrupts her, dryly. "I already assumed you were capable of reading, and memorising, and thinking only in passages quoted word-for-word."
Is he surprised that she started quoting the textbook perfectly? Not in the least. Is he disappointed? By default. She raises her chin a little, looking quite like her typical know-it-all. "You asked me-"
"Listen, Ms Granger," he stops her. "I have neither the patience nor the energy to first teach you how to behave. If you want to learn anything, you need to be quiet, accept when you are wrong, and think before you speak."
She gives him a startled look, and inhales sharply. Her words die on her lips, however, albeit reluctantly. Finally, he thinks to himself. Perhaps she can learn something after all. The disastrous lessons with Mr Potter still fresh in his memory, he prays Merlin will help him come out of this attempt without any more accidents.
"So," he resumes, "What do you know about Occlumency?"
She frowns. Silly girl. He almost sends her out of his office right away. This answer decides, he thinks, if she answers this wrong, I will send her away. Truly, he does not wish to waste time trying to teach her how to understand basic principles of learning. He does not have that sort of time to waste. Mr Potter, certainly, could not understand anything. Ms Granger, maybe.
"I don't understand your question."
Ah, and there he had been hoping to send her away. But no, hoping never does him any good. Now he has to create more obstacles for her, so that maybe one of them will drive her off enough for this to be over with. The hardships of being a teacher.
"Stop thinking about books as the answer to everything. Do you know anything from personal experience? Second-hand experience? Questions, doubts or interpretations?"
She remains quiet again, studying the floor. He glances at the unoccupied chair in front of him, in which his guests usually sit. In the back of his office stands a box of potion samples. If only he had just told her to go through those. Instead, he's trying to teach her, and she's trying to learn. How dreadful. But there is at least one thing that he hopes to figure out in this so-called detention, whether it ends in an Occlumency lesson or not.
"Harry said it's all about clearing your mind," she begins tentatively. "Not showing emotion-"
"Not feeling emotion," he corrects her automatically, but then holds back from saying more. She is visibly uncomfortably under his unwavering stare, but not for the reason he fears she might. Apparently, Mr Potter did have the decency not to spread word of their little accident.
"I've always wondered, if you don't remember something, can someone who uses Legilimency still get to that memory?"
No, he concludes, she's already too comfortable to know any details about what happened between him and Mr Potter. The relief isn't grand however, as he now has an overachieving Gryffindor to deal with.
"Keep your wonderings to yourself," Snape brushes her off. If she succeeds in that, she might actually find out the answer for herself. He does not tell her this though. Her lips twitch, but before she can say more, she restrains herself. Maybe it's his intense look that gives away how much he wants her to blurt out nonsense again. If only she'd break the rules enough to give him a reason to send her away.
Ms Granger wants to say something, but yet again succeeds in keeping silent. And he knows what she wants to say. That he had just told her to share her thoughts, and then shut her down for doing exactly that. But if he was going to suffer through these lessons, so would she.
"Clear your mind."
"How?"
He glares at her. If she would have asked or said something stupid, he could have at least shut her down. But no, she had a valid question, and nothing bothers him as much as a valid question to which, for him, the answer is obvious.
And yet, explaining it is a lot less obvious.
"Stop thinking," he says coolly. "Stop feeling."
Just empty your mind, he thinks. She gives him a startled look. Not familiar with the concept, apparently. It's hardly surprising. He supposes her head is constantly swarming with thoughts.
"Give me your wand."
She perks up. "Excuse me?"
He narrows his eyes. And nods towards a shelf next to her. As long as she can't use it, he is at least a bit safer. "Your wand, Ms Granger. Put it aside."
She obeys, and he aims his at her, slowly. Her eyes are pinned on the point of his black wand, and he can see the panic fluttering across her face. "I'm not sure-"
"Look at me."
And she looks up. Her eyes are clear and brown, alight with determination.
"Legilimens."
The flur of thoughts and emotions overwhelms him. Legilimency never came as naturally to him as Occlumency. He catches flashes and sounds that don't add up, before everything distorts, as though he's hearing it from behind thick glass.
Ms Granger sways, and instinctively, he reaches for her. She leans onto him, blinking furiously. Her eyes dart around the room, seeing things he does not. He gently eases her into a chair and gives her a few more seconds to recover. Potter had been sitting in a chair the first time they had done this, he remembers. Ms Granger should have been sitting as well. He does not take his own forgetfulness lightly.
"What happened?" she breathes. Her hands run though her hair, and she rubs her temples briefly. There are headache-relieving potions in his drawer, as usual, but it's too soon still to pull those out.
"The body's natural response to such intrusion is to black out. Useful, sometimes, but highly dangerous when you need to stay conscious."
"Oh."
"Prepare yourself," he says, and slowly points his wand at her again. She nods, and faces him. At once, he can see the strength return to her, lighting up her eyes. "Legilimens."
He dives into the cluttered phrases and snippets of memories behind her eyes. They last longer this time. He is peering through her eyes into her mind. It's still too panicked and feeble for him to control, but soon he will be able to pick it apart. Her resistance is minimal. If only he could settle enough to latch onto a memory-
"Has someone ever introduced him to the concept of personal hygiene?"
Ms Patil's face floats in between them, followed by that of others. Through the memory of the common room, he can still see Ms Granger's eyes, widening. He catches her own voice.
"His teaching methods are awful."
The crackling of the fire in the common room resounds between them. The pale face of Potter. The youngest Weasley, rolling her eyes and smirking. "The entirety of Snape is awful."
The sharp red tones of the room falter for a moment, wavering back into the darkness of his own office. They gain power simultaneously, Severus in accessing her mind, and she in blocking it. Unfortunately for her, Severus has far more experience to back him up with. The warmth of the Gryffindor common room returns, along with the background hum of students, and again, familiar voices.
"His mouth is a dentists' nightmare."
"I've seen horses with prettier teeth than his."
"I don't understand why anyone would want to be so nasty. He's the worst teacher ever."
The dark room snaps back into place. Ms Granger is sitting in the chair, panting, and pressing herself back into it. Her face is pale, yet her cheeks are furiously red. In a very thin and breathless voice, she begins to speak, "I'm so sorry-"
"You will be."
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