I'm sorry for the massive delay. Life got in the way again.
Someone stupid must have disturbed space-time somehow, because there was no other explanation for time to be running so slowly; Snape insisted to himself. He was quite in the wrong, even though it was quite possible for powerful magic to disturb space-time; it was far more likely that it was his internal clock that was disturbed and not the flow of time on Earth.
He was usually a very patient man. His profession demanded it, after all. He had no problem with spending hour upon hour doing nothing but observing a potion, making sure its hue was changing just right, that it wasn't bubbling over or evaporating too quickly. An impatient man wouldn't survive the career of a Potions master, that was for sure, but waiting for Miss Granger's arrival seemed to be a challenge of an entirely different sort.
The girl wasn't late; that wasn't what the problem was. In fact, he was fairly certain that she would appear in his fireplace the very moment the clock struck eight o'clock. The problem was that three to four extra hours seemed to have crammed themselves in between noon (the time he started glancing at the clock more often than was good for him) and ten to eight – the time the grandfather clock in the corner of Snape's living room was showing now. Due to that (since always being prone to frustration) the Potions master was now a bundle of nerves. He had no doubt that the last ten minutes would make an extra effort to stretch themselves into a small eternity.
Watching pots, indeed.
He didn't bother with making a show of appearing busy for her this time. He couldn't care less that once she arrived she would catch him pacing like a caged panther and would most likely feel like she had been locked in the cage as well. And so he paced and paced until finally the first strike of the clock was heard and the fireplace lit up green. He breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, it was going to be over, he thought as he watched the girl step into his private quarters.
Upon arrival Hermione found herself overwhelmed by the room in which she had walked in. Her eyes weren't quite sure which sight to feast on first because professor Snape seemed to have books everywhere, making it a sight from any bookworm's wildest dreams.
The room was not very large, and it was split in two parts; on the left was the bedroom area and on the right was the sitting room area, with the grand fireplace through which she had arrived serving as a border between the two. Opposite to the fireplace was a door that was left slightly ajar, through which Hermione could see what seemed to be a corridor.
The area to her left was the significantly smaller of the two, and it was occupied entirely by the largest bed Hermione had seen in her life. It was framed from three sides by bookshelves as high as the ceiling, making the lower end the only side one could actually climb into it. The mattress's height was at the level of Hermione's thighs and the mattress itself was covered with charcoal grey bedding, along with more decorative pillows than she thought sensible; the sight of them implying that there must be a house-elf in the castle that loved playing at being an interior decorator.
And if that wasn't enough to impress Hermione, then there were the books themselves.
The back of the shelves could barely be seen from the sheer amount of them. Already Hermione noticed among them what she was certain to be a first edition of a historically very significant grimoire, and that conclusion came from just a glance. What other marvels must be hidden in plain sight, she thought, allowing herself to wonder for a moment. She had no doubt that she was standing in front of what was most likely the most fascinating personal library she would ever see in her life. Unless, of course, one day she built her own. Though, not all areas of the shelves were filled with books; by clever use of interior design some of the narrower shelves were conveniently left without them and were used instead for night-lamps or as nightstands, completing the whole picture rather splendidly. Two of them even contained potted plants.
Another quick glance at the right side of the room revealed to her a surprisingly pretty sitting room (considering whom it belonged to), also with books on display wherever they could be fitted in, but she was out of time for gawking, at least if she didn't want the grim-looking man in front of her to think her ill-mannered.
"Good evening, professor," she said timidly.
To his credit, his plan was to greet her politely as well. He found the whole ordeal repugnant, but he was fairly certain that the girl was well aware he felt that way about it, so there was no reason to go the extra mile and rub it into her face by starting the evening with being discourteous. He was determined to make at least the beginning of tonight's interaction as cordial as possible, even though he was sure it would not end on the same note. If she was planning to ask for something that she did not anticipate would infuriate him, she would not have made the precaution of asking him to allow her to invade the privacy of his home in order to avoid a scene in public. And since he knew from that information that he was probably in for an evening of shouting and arguing, he prepared himself to be on his best behaviour so that later, once Miss Granger and her tear-stained face leave Hogwarts through Albus' fireplace, he could tell the man that he at least triedto be civil.
The only problem now was that he seemed to have hit a little snag, since he found himself to be momentarily tongue-tied, and for good reason. Even 'hello' seemed to have floated away from his mind since, at least at first glance, he found himself quite uncertain whether it was actually Miss Granger that entered the room. The girl looked to him as if she might have been Miss Granger's slightly older, but much prettier sister. She stood in front of the Potions master perfectly dolled-up for theatre, feeling ridiculous because of it, and with the self-conscious urge to explain why she was dressed so peculiarly for this occasion.
When she noticed the slightly confused and irritated look on the professor's face, she knewthat she should have risked being late and ran back to the hotel to change into a more plain outfit and rub out the make-up; instead she got flustered and nervous, so she chose to get a taxi unnecessarily early and arrived at the Italian branch of the Ministry with a little less than half an hour to spare before the scheduled fireplace connection was made. Once there and with no time to go back she could only hope that the professor wouldn't look at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads, but hope proved false.
For starters, there was the make-up that had taken him aback. Not only was he not used to seeing it on her (the only colour usually noticeable on Hermione was the purple from the circles under her eyes), but the face of the girl who he knew to be a seventeen year old now looked as if it belonged to a young woman not a day under twenty-one, though not in a bad way.
Then there was her hair; the usually wild mane that served as her trademark in the halls of Hogwarts was clipped back loosely except for a few locks that were left out deliberately to frame her face.
Even though it was made for summer, the champagne-coloured dress she was wearing left a lot for the imagination. It covered her up to her neck, ended right at her knees and covered her arms right to her elbows; but it cinched in the middle quite breathtakingly, showing off a tiny waist and flowing around her lightly as she moved to show a nigh-perfect hourglass figure. Her outfit was completed by a clutch that she was gripping nervously in her hands and on her feet were heels so high that they looked like a perfect invitation for a broken ankle.
"Umm," Hermione started as elegantly as Ron might have, "I've just come from the theatre," she said awkwardly.
He ignored her comment, having no desire to lead her to believe that her appearance somehow affected him, even though he had already failed to respond to her greeting. Whereas a typical teenage boy who usually never noticed her in the crowd might have now howled at the sight of her, professor Snape, on the other hand, was a grown man and was only slightly taken aback by the change; it was certainly enough to be startled, but no more than that.
"Sit," he said to her in the same tome of voice in which he usually orders the students to begin with their brewing. "Please," he added after a beat, remembering that the plan was not to forget his manners, and begrudgingly gestured at the sofa and the armchair.
Even though he was well aware of the fact that she had not come to him in the function of a student, but in that of an almost Order member, it seemed that it would take him some time to adjust to that fact. But, oh, how he wished that courtesy was not required and that he could just order her about.
"Thank you," she said, but remained standing for a moment, unsure which piece of furniture to choose. Seemingly with a very low supply of patience today, he made the choice for her and moved past her to sit on the two-seater beneath the window. Naturally she had no intention of joining him there, so she made a beeline for his floral-patterned armchair and sat herself on its very edge instead of sinking into it, despite how very inviting it looked.
Much to Hermione's surprise, the armchair offered a perfect view of the Black lake and if the curtains hadn't been drawn slightly, she felt sure she would have been able to see the edge of the Forbidden forest. At the bottom of the window she could see large red rose-bushes. None of this would have been peculiar if she didn't remember that when one stands on the bank of the lake, the view of Hogwarts offers no windows to be seen until at least the second story, certainly not on the ground floor where Snape's rooms were located. She was unsure, though, whether she remembered any rose bushes being there, so she made a mental note to bully the boys into a stroll once term begins in order to investigate.
"That window is charmed, isn't it? I can see the walking lane of the lake and I remember this side of the castle looking bare," she said conversationally, trying to avoid an uncomfortable silence that was sure to begin setting if she left the matters to him.
"Obviously," he drawled in the usual condescending manner reserved for any non-Slytherin student, and Hermione dropped her gaze to her lap. She knew him to be a hard man to be around, and stepping out of line is something one did no matter how hard they tried not to displease him. If he was any other man she would have found him infuriating, but the air of authority around him had such an effect on her that she silently agreed with him that, in retrospect, she had asked a stupid question. Obviously, indeed. She shuffled on the chair, unsure what to say or do next and with the desperate need not to make eye contact with the man just yet, so she reached for the clutch resting on the coffee table in order to take out her notes.
Her discomfort was not hard to read for him, especially after her cheeks flushed. He realised that he had embarrassed her without actually intending to, for a change. He cursed inwardly. She was far too easy to embarrass. The answer he gave her was carried with the inertia of his usual nastiness, and though he deemed such behaviour acceptable in a classroom, he knew that in his private rooms and in this very special situation he ought to act more like a gentleman and less like a smug ruffian. If they really were at a lecture or in a similar setting he would not have minded one bit that he made the know-it-all feel bad, but he knew full well that this situation now had to be rectified or else she would turn into a bundle of nerves and he would not be able to get anything out of her until the Hogwarts bells struck midnight.
"A simple permanent Disillusionment charm, not even a strong one at that," he expanded his previous answer while making sure his voice had a more pleasant tone than before, though he still sounded a bit gruff, "no one ever walks near this side of the castle to be able to see through it," he added to his explanation, and Hermione knew him well enough to realise that she was actually being thrown a bone.
It wasn't much, but it was encouraging enough for her to look up from the notes in her lap and look the man in the eye.
She nodded and gave him a very hesitant smile, but still refrained from asking about the technicalities of the spell (even though she really wanted to know what its range was), in fear of speaking out of turn 'again'.
The uncomfortable silence Hermione dreaded settled itself in the room very comfortably.
Snape wanted to bark at the girl to just get on with it, but he refrained from such behaviour because he knew her well enough to know it would be counterproductive. He sighed and leaned his elbow on the armrest, pinching his nose. An ice-breaker was in order, he knew that much.
"Libby," he called out to the empty space between them. He startled Hermione and she frantically started turning her head to look around the room in order to see if there was someone hiding behind the edge of her peripheral vision about to pounce upon her. She was startled even more, and some of her notes almost slipped out of the folder in her lap, when next to her Apparated an elderly female house-elf.
Libby was wearing a small maroon dress which was probably intended for a human child when it was being sown and on her neck was a small yellow shawl. She positively beamed at the sight of Hermione. She was privy to most of the Potions master's secret and knew the reason behind the girl's visit (and how much grief it was causing her master), but she didn't care about it one bit. Libby thought her Severus was being far too fussy about paying someone back for saving his life, and could use the experience to learn some gratitude. Besides, she learned from the kitchens that Miss Granger was a delightful human being (Dobby put out a very good word for her), and she always wished for her master to entertain someone other than the Headmaster from time to time.
And this beautiful young girl, even though the old elf knew her to be a student, was a good start. Life-debt payments and unnecessary fussiness be damned.
"I would like some tea and I am guessing that Miss Granger would not mind the same," he said and Libby turned her bright, big eyes to the young Miss to seek confirmation.
"Tea would be lovely, thank you" Hermione answered somewhat reluctantly. She was still not too happy to be served by house-elves, even though she was slowly getting used to if after getting on good terms with Kreacher. It as a hard lesson for Hermione to learn, that, even if they are indeed free like Dobby is, it really is best to just let them do what they want and stop trying to bully them into a career change. It took one very distressed Kreacher crying in the corner about the 'young Miss being cruel to poor old Kreacher who has always been a good elf and doesn't deserve the sock' to realise what she was doing actually could be considered as cruelty. Everyone at Grimmauld place (especially Harry, Ron and Sirius) let out a sigh of relief after she told them the news that she was done with S.P.E.W. and would from now on allow Kreacher to wait on her without complaint.
Though, there was something strange about the elf in front of her, Hermione mussed. There was something more behind Libby's big, blue eyes than just the usual great urge to please usually found in house-elves. Not that she considered other house-elves stupid, but Hermione could see and feel even from a glance that there was an intelligence about Libby that is not found in the other house-elves. She felt herself being scrutinised, even though the elf seemed delighted to see her. Hermione realised that she felt as if she was in the presence of an overprotective, but very loving grandmother.
"And biscuits," Snape added and received a toothy grin and a nod from Libby as an answer, after which she popped back to the kitchens.
Snape relaxed himself into the sofa a bit more, crossed one leg over the knee of the other and looked at the girl in front of him. Though the body language of her lowered head, hunched shoulders and tightly squeezed legs still gave off the signs of an animal trying to shrink itself in size in order to appear less threatening to the other, obviously stronger animal of the same species; her face and eyes now looked perplexed (Libby had obviously intrigued her) instead of having the deer in headlights look they had previously, which he found to be a significant improvement.
There, he thought, pleased with himself.
Ice broken.
Now he just needed to get the conversation going.
"From the size of that," he gestured at the red folder that Hermione was now clutching at her chest, "I am guessing that this won't be a short affair," he said. He hadn't added any extra warmth into his voice or taken out the ever-present edge of sarcasm, but she could tell from his mannerisms that what he wanted was for her to relax in his presence.
"Well," she started, trying not just to sound brave, but trying to be brave as well as she drew a big, nervous breath. Remember, even in a snake's pit, a lion is still a lion, she told herself as encouragement and said to him "that really all depends on you."
"You are expecting me to put up a fight then," he said as his small, ironic smile tugged itself to life in one corner of his mouth. Oh, they both knew at this point that he was going to put up a fight. Now that he actually had her here after months of nerve-wrecking waiting he knew he would snap and bark at her no matter what she asked for, even if just for the sake of keeping appearance that was an ox-headed git. She could ask as payment that he allow her to polish all his shoes and he would still throw a ceremonious fit. One cannot get into Slytherin without being at least a bit of a diva.
"Well, yes." she answered bluntly, calling up to the surface all the courage the Sorting hat saw in her when it put her in Gryffindor. She was minutes away from finally revealing her grand plan and she could feel the sweat starting to break on her back from how anxious the situation was making her.
"Because, you see, in order to finally address the elephant in the room, I am certain that you will find what I will ask of you horrifying," she said with an appropriately apologetic expression on her face. She wanted him to know that she felt as bad for him as she felt for herself. Though, nothing about his body language told her that he was even a little bit apprehensive, and she found herself a bit frustrated with how lightly he was taking the gravity of the occasion.
She couldn't know that, as he watched her watching him, for the umpteenth time he found himself wondering just how bad could it possibly be? What was she planning to do? Force him into making Albus' antidote out of his own testicles? He fought off the impulse to chuckle at that thought as it crossed his mind, so as not to upset her with his private entertainment.
"But on the other hand, I think that if we manage to come to turns with the conditions of the deal I will propose, I strongly believe we have at least a ninety percent certainty of saving professor Dumbledore's life," she said apprehensively, knowing full well that she's dropped a bomb on him.
She watched him intently, hungry to see his reaction to her statement, but was disappointed to see that there was none. True, a little vein definitely started to twitch on his forehead, but his facial expression was the same as before, as if she had just commented on the weather. The only true change was the fact that if someone had taken a knife out, they would have been able to use it to cut the newfound tension in the air between them.
With the staring contest that had just begun, armchair versus couch (something bordering hate from his side and sheer determination from hers), one could not guess why they have even bothered with the pleasantries and trying to be nice to each other for full three minutes. They finally found themselves in the deadlock in which they knew they would wound up from the start.
Anger and derision erupted in his mind like very violent volcanoes, though he still sat silent and motionless as he stared into the girl's eyes, presumably trying to burn a hole through her head; at least that is how it felt to Hermione. What did the girl think he was doing for the past year? The question rang in his mind angrily. Brewing Dumbledore a series of calming droughts? He knew better than anyone (according to himself) what the list of cures one could try on Dumbledore looked like and he had tried just about every one of them and as of yet nothing has worked. And what remained on the list was also unlikely to be effective. Nowadays his main focus was slowly becoming trying to make the headmaster's end as painless as possible, though even that would prove to be a difficult feat; he felt certain of it.
That's why it made his blood boil to hear her say that she had found a miracle cure. To hear her, a mere student, boast that she figured out what he hadn't been able after all these months made him want to get up and break all the furniture in the room. Fuck the missing information! his mind screamed. He was supposed to be good enough to be able to figure it all out on his own. But apparently he wasn't, or at least that is what he thought. The fact that there was Horcrux magic involved had not reached even the edge of his wildest dreams. He did not have the knowledge that a young Tom Riddle had made a blunder and left Horace Slughorn alive to prance around with the crucial information about the one weakness that could prove to be his downfall. He could not know that even Dumbledore himself hearing about it was a series of happy accidents. All he had at the moment was self-loathing and the need to catapult Miss Granger out of his sight.
Hermione felt the strangest sort of relief now that she finally had him his usual angry state that she was used to. She found it paradoxical that it suddenly became easier for her to breathe. As entertaining the memory of professor Snape trying to play the role of the pleasant host will be later on (if she survives this encounter and is given a chance to reminisce) she was finally standing on familiar ground and that gave her enough gall to meet his fury and irritation like a true Gryffindor would - head on.
"You lack information," she stated firmly as she looked him straight in the eye with a pointed look, as if daring him to challenge her statement.
It was the wrong thing to say (though she wasn't sure that the rightthing to say to him at the moment even existed), because he now looked like an enraged bull who had a red fabric dangled in front of him.
For starters, there wasn't anything in the statement to challenge, because it was the truth. The rational part of him knew she didn't mean it that way, but it still felt like she was only saying it in order to rub it in. He was well aware of the fact that helacked information, but there was a legitimate reason behind it and they both knew it. If he was told anything vital, then the Dark Lord might possibly find out that the Order had information about him which he thought to be a dead secret. There was nothing that could be done to change that fact. Nothing could fortify his Occlumency shields to withstand the Dark Lord's strongest attack on his mind should it ever happen. It was a moot point to even discuss this and for the life of him he couldn't figure out where she was going with it.
Patience was supposed to be his strong suit, but now that he was confronted with a problem so irrational, he seemed to be running out of it. He had half a mind to just forcefully expel her from his rooms and have the whole affair be done with, but he dismissed that desire in its very inception. He knew what he would have to deal with later on if he did that and the temporary pleasure he would receive would not be worth it in the aftermath of the events. He was her professor. He was an Order member. He'd have too many people trying to blow his head off it they found out that the Princess of Gryffindor had been mistreated by the evil git. He'd have a cavalry charge straight at him.
And then there was the magic of the life-debt pulsing in his very temples, suggesting that even it might have a hand at blowing his head off it her tried denying the girl what she wanted. What was rightfully hers.
Whatever the hell that even was.
"Well then, Miss Granger," he grit through his teeth as venom dripped from his voice, "enlighten me."
And so she began.
"Most importantly," she started with an even voice, trying not to give away just how nervous she was to present her findings, "I would like you to know what the basis for my theory on why you have as of yet been unable to heal professor Dumbledore is."
He raised a derisive eyebrow at that, but she refused to bulge and continued.
"Based on the information about the potions you have made so far, I realised that you are..." she paused, searching for the words from which he would not be able to deduce anything significant and also at the same time wouldn't infuriate him even further, "beyond any doubt, completely on the wrong track." It was, once more, the wrong thing to say, but she found that there was no other way to say it, so she squeaked out her last words as her survival instinct started to wave a frantic hand at the back of her mind, trying to signal to her that now might be a good time to look out for him drawing his wand with the intention of cursing her into oblivion.
Much to her relief, his only reaction was an involuntary twitch of an eye and his mouth sourly becoming even more thin-lipped, giving him the look of a person who had just been forced to bite into a lemon. He hadn't expected to be told upfront that just from a list of potions and their ingredients she could determine that he was treating Dumbledore for the wrong type of curse. A normal Potions master's curiosity would have been woken somewhere around this point, as well as a belief that there just might be something in it, judging from Hermione's ill-concealed fervour, but Snape was refusing to bulge and his mind instead preoccupied itself with thinking about how embarrassingly wrong her theory would probably prove to be, if he even gets to hear it.
"I still cannot go into further details," she said as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "but I came here to tell you that I have found a way we could bypass the fact that the information about the curse cannot be inside your head in case your Occlumency shields somehow fail you and You Know Who finds out that you know about it."
Instead of curiosity, quiet alarm bells started ringing in Snape's mind, growing louder as he digested every word Hermione had said. Just now? Still not supposed to know? Bypassing all that? What in the devil's name has the girl's mind conjured up and in just what way would it prove to be his ruin?
Just as he was about to menacingly growl at her to explain herself, Libby popped back into the room with the tea-tray; her timing impeccable as always.
Hermione was right in her suspicion that Libby was a wise old elf. It didn't take Libby more than a few seconds to grasp the awkwardness of the room (as well as the state her master was in) and after she set the tea-trey on the table, she immediately picked up the plate containing the Potion's master's favourite biscuits. She held it in front of him with a mildly threatening expression on her face, all the while angling her body so that Hermione couldn't see it, until she bullied him into shoving two cookies at once into his mouth; she did so in order to prevent him from spitting curses at Hermione like a cat dunked into water, which was exactly what he would have done had she not come just in time to save the day. He glared at her as a response. Displeasing her master was not something she strived to do, but it had to be done in order to avoid any rudeness towards young Miss Granger.
And her special coconut biscuits always had their way of deterring his anger, she thought with grandmotherly pride as she watched him start chewing.
Snape begrudgingly nodded his thanks to Libby and the beaming elf left them to the awkwardness of the room once more.
Hermione thought for a moment about pouring the tea, but decided against it and continued while there was still a wave of adrenaline present in her blood for her to ride it, even though it dissipated a bit after she saw the anticlimactic scene of professor Snape being bullied to fill his cheeks full of biscuits like a hamster by a house-elf.
Snape grabbed the tea-kettle and started pouring for them, glad that there was something there for him to do to provide even a small distraction, even if it was just being mother.
"I have a rough draft of what I think the potion that would work should look like", she said and Snape showed another biscuit into his mouth while the vein on his forehead worked itself into a state of nigh-bursting. Oh, really? he thought with venom as she continued, "but I know full well that only a very skilled Potions master would be able to truly create it, let alone brew it," she said as her voice grew quieter and he picked up a small tremor in it. His gaze involuntarily fell to her lap where her surprisingly manicured hands rested and he noticed that they were shaking, as well as the fact that she was trying to hide it by gripping the folder.
There was much more there for him to notice than just that.
Her small earrings dazzled in the light of the sunset as she moved her head. Her dress caught all the shades of gold of the incoming light of the sunset, enhancing the colour of champagne and giving the dress a luminous effect. With her head hanging low, as if she was ashamed to show him her painted face, as well as to avoid looking him in the eyes as she told him all the things he did not have the slightest wish to hear, she looked as radiant and angelic as does the Madonna on the renaissance paintings. He could admit to himself that she indeed made a pretty sight, one that he might have even enjoyed, if she had not been in front of him in the function of both the judge and the jury, passing down her verdict for what exactly he deserved for allowing himself to be saved from the hungry mouth of a werewolf.
"There would be no point in me trying to brew it. Or in anyone else from the circle of the people that could be trusted. You are the only man with the necessary skill, so it has to be you, Professor, no matter what it takes," she said as her pleading doe eyes pierced into him. She was begging, demanding and commanding, all at the same time.
"But first we need deal with shielding all this from You Know Who and go through the loophole I have found," she added quietly.
"Yes, but will you finally tell me how?" he burst out angrily and his annoyance with her forced even more colour into Hermione's already blazing cheeks. She was beginning to look like a Weasley on a bad summer day.
Has the girl really thought of something Dumbledore hadn't thought of? he thought, momentarily allowing for the possibility. Or was it just something the man would be of too sound a mind to ask, but the girl-child wouldn't? he wondered, afraid that he already knew the answer to that question.
"Well, then," he ground out as he gesticulated with his hand in the general direction of the folders she found herself clutching at her chest after his outburst, in that way indicating that she still had his attention and should continue. He watched as she bit her lip and fidgeted in the chair, reluctant to start again until she noticed his eyebrow rise questioningly, hinting at her that it's about time for her to get on with it.
"Well, you see, it isn't a simple request," she said.
"I never expected it would be," he lied blatantly. And to think he thought he could get away from a situation like this by offering to brew the Felix Felicis. He said the words as gently as he was able. He wanted her lulled into the belief that she is safe in his presence, that they were in this together, so that he could finally get to the bottom of the secret she was dangling in front of him and was still refusing to reveal.
"It will take quite some time to explain," she said, taking her lower lip between her teeth again and releasing it, "but I think the best way to start is to tell you about the events that made me get the idea."
It took just about all he had to fight off the instinct to roll his eyes at that. Even more talking, he despaired.
"I expect I will be calling for dinner later, then," he said, deadpanned.
Hermione chose not to acknowledge the snarky comment and continued, but silently agreed with the statement that this meeting just might drag itself out that long if he proved to be more difficult than she expected.
"You see, at the beginning of the last school year, when professor Dumbledore told Harry that he would take over Harry's private lessons from you, which would not include Occlumency," she said, trying to go over that subject as casually as it was possible, knowing that whatever happened between Harry and him was an embarrassing sore spot. She noticed that the professor tightened his grip on the armrest of the sofa, but refrained from commenting so she continued; "Ron and I got the idea that, with Harry's rudimentary experience and knowledge of Occlumency, and with what information I could get from the books, we should try and practice it ourselves when we could steal enough time for it. We thought it to be very important for Harry to continue. We thought it was quite a good idea...at the time," she explained, volunteering every word more and more reluctantly than the previous one.
Hermione paused there in order to gather her thoughts, with her gaze once more stuck somewhere on her knees and refusing to meet his. She had not given him enough information about where she was headed with the subject, but from this point on it was more than enough information for him to start guessing relatively easily in which direction she was headed. If a figurative map of this conversation existed, she had finally entered the 'here be dragons' territory.
Snape's hand froze midair as he was reaching for his teacup on the table; his gaze remained glued to the swirling tea-leaf inside the cup. As a reaction to her words, there was no room inside him left for any feelings other than disbelief and shock. Even fury would have to wait for him to process what he had just heard, and he wished that he had time and space to do it on his own. He wished that she would disappear into thin air for a while so that he could calm himself enough not to pounce at the girl's throat like a hyena once she finally verbalizes what she wants from him, which he was now almost certain he knew what it was (even though she still thought him blissfully clueless).
"Do I guess correctly that it took you a very short while to realise what an incredibly stupid idea that was?" he asked softly and quietly, his voice not showing even a hint of the fury that was beginning to rush through him, seeking her eyes with his own as he waited for her to lift her head.
"Yes, Sir," she answered as her cheeks coloured themselves beet-red.
He hadn't gone wild with rage as soon as she started talking about Occlumency, so she thought that, so far, it was going well. When she was making up mental scenarios of this conversation during the last couple of days, she decided that if he didn't expel her from his quarters at the very mention of Occlumency he just might prove to have an open mind, but she unfortunately misread his calm demeanour. He did have a certain pattern of behaviour that one could learn after observing him for years; she was used to him losing his temper the very instant he became irritated and since he still hadn't shown a reaction, it lulled her into thinking that he was still nowhere near guessing the direction her request would take, or, if he did, that it wasn't something that made his blood boil.
"We soon realised that Ron had absolutely no aptitude for it, so it was basically just me and Harry doing it alone every couple of days. In the Room of Requirement", she added, guessing from the irritable, yet questioning look that he was giving her that that might be the question he was asking with his eyes.
"We felt that we got the hang of it, but after a while some...slight complications have arisen," she added reluctantly.
"I think that calling the fact that your minds started merging a slight complication is downplaying it significantly," he said, no longer concealing the venom in his voice. The brightest witch of her age, they called her, much to his scorn and disapproval. The golden trio, they called them collectively. More like The Residential Idiots of Hogwarts, he thought spitefully.
What they could have done to their minds if the equivalent of what Splinching does to the body, and Potter could have ended up in a state in which one day only a part of him would have had to face the Dark Lord in a body that had breasts, he thought bitterly.
Hermione shut her eyes tightly in despair for a moment, scraping the bottom of her small barrel of courage, realising that any minute now she would be running only on fumes.
"Miss Granger, what is this an overture for? Because I am starting to feel as if I should be afraid for my sanity with the direction you've taken the conversation in," he asked with a note of warning in his voice, as if he was giving her a chance to back out of the foolishness she had concocted. She would have done so, if not for the fact that she kept reminding herself that he owed her a life debt and had no actual way of refusing her once she makes her request, no matter how big of a fuss he makes prior to it; so she soldiered on, because of Harry and Ron and herself and all the rest whose lives she thought depended on this moment, albeit not very confidently.
"Harry and I managed to," she paused again, searching for the right words, "untangle ourselves, and I haven't thought about our failure at Occlumency ever since; that is, until the morning after the Battle on the Astronomy tower. After the events of that night I knew that I had to find a way to tell you about the nature of professor Dumbledore's curse and then I remembered what Harry and I experienced. I remembered how we seemed to have lost certain memories to each other, only to retrieve them afterwards. And it got me thinking."
She shuffled in the chair, suddenly excited about the prospect of presenting to him the fascinating research and discoveries she had made on the subject, hoping to intrigue him and show him that what she would suggest was not actually a bad idea, but he beat her to it.
"And it got you thinking about the McGreen merging," he stated in the tone of voice one might use to comment on the weather, but there was such a finality to his words that when she looked up into his eyes she saw that they were burning with anger and loathing. She quickly turned away, feeling that she might crumble under the weight of the gaze.
So he knows about it, she thought, suddenly miserable. No dumbing it down for him then; no concealing from him some of the nastier consequences the practice might have.
The McGreen Merging was in the same branch of psychological magic as Legilimency, but it was different from it in only one way.
Whereas a Legilimens reads the mind of the person as if one is reading the page of a book, one who uses the McGreen merging takes a memory or a thought from the other person and experiences all the feelings that come along with it, as if it was their own. The return of the memory is possible and until that is done, the original owner is left only with residual impressions; as if one had read the memory from another person by use of Legilimency long ago and could now barely remember it.
Scott McGreen discovered the technique in the late nineteenth century, after his wife Sarah suffered severe head trauma and lost all memory of him, their marriage and their three children. Since both he and his wife had been very proficient at Legilimency and Occlumency (and she remained proficient even after the injury), through mutual effort they have found a way to share his memories between each other and continued their happy marriage; the result of which got named after them. Though their story was written down in the pages of history with a happy ending, once Healers got their hands on the research and started using the merging for patients suffering from amnesia (even though the initial results proved to be a success) almost every merging ended up as a disaster and had to be terminated.
"Ancient experimental magic," Snape spat out resentfully, now thinking her to be an even bigger idiot than that time when she thought it would be a good idea to jump out of hiding on the Astronomy platform, "that has been forbidden by law because of how many people lost their minds practicing it!" he shouted at her as he got up from the couch, no longer able to sit still now that she finally let the demonic cat out of its bag. Hermione opened her mouth in order to put a word in about the fact that one would not actually lose their mind in the beginning of the process if they aborted the practice once an incompatibility issue occurred, but he continued without letting her make a sound. He moved to the centre of the room and was now pacing in the area in front of the fireplace, his slippered feet (Hermione was actually a tad bit shocked to see the most intimidating professor in the world wearing his slippers) making rustling sounds on the rich fabric of the carpet.
There was no mincing words with the man, apparently. He went straight to the main point and started talking about exactly what she wanted to avoid, making her cringe inside. She had hoped he'd be clueless about the merging so that she could break it all down to him gradually; she did not count on having all the nasty bits about it thrown in her face in an exaggerated manner.
"Has it come across in your research just how strong a mental link it takes between two people to successfully borrow memories, as well as just what it takes to achieve a link strong enough so that people don't lose their minds in the process of it?" Hermione tried again to get a word in, but was only allowed to impersonate a guppy opening and closing its mouth as he continued. "Do you realise that you want us parading around with the very memories and information that define our identities?" he asked as his pacing came to a stop. He put one hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other in an effort to calm himself down.
He tried to focus on the sound of birds chirping in the trees in the distance. He tried to focus on the soft crackling sounds the wood made while it was burning in his fireplace. Then he tried to focus on the sound of his own heart beating and on his breath, but it was all to no avail; there was nothing in or around Hogwarts that could bring him even an ounce of peace (other than Miss Granger suddenly changing her mind) and that could take away the wrenching anxiety he felt.
He did his best to call up all the knowledge he had on the McGreen merging in order to find some argument that would make her forgo her intent, even though he knew from experience that no amount of reasonable arguments was going to be enough. He admitted that she did have more sense than an average Gryffindor, but that did not mean she had a lot of it.
After all, this was the girl who once, while time-travelling, howled to attract a werewolf's attention while deciding that running away from it and seeing how it went was the plan. And that was just one example of her famous death-inviting escapades.
The grand master-plan now was that she wanted them to slowly start connecting their minds with the intention of implanting into his own whatever memory she had that she thought would be vital in curing Albus' curse. Knowing her to be a thorough researcher (since it was not uncommon for her to hand in a paper three times longer than was demanded), he knew that she had to be aware of the required embarrassing process of exchanging heaps of random and insignificant, but personal memories in order to get their minds in tune for the proper borrowing of the 'big one' (because it could even kill him if they tried to do it without the acclimatisation process); as well as of the later dependency on each other that would probably develop as days went on. That would mean that soon after they began with the process, they would have to be constantly in each other's proximity in order to feel safe (because, as he already shouted at her, bundles of information on their own identities would be in the other person and they would develop an obsessive need to keep an eye on each other); like small children with the teddies that they cannon fall asleep without.
And then there is that slight snag that if they stepped a toe out of line, their minds would get tangled painfully and they would have to be sent to the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's in order to get them untangled. Not the mention the legal consequences that would ensue if the Ministry found out what they were trying to do.
A teacher and a student.
"Have you been Confunded!?" he shouted at her again the very moment she opened her mouth to answer his previous question. He felt desperately defeated. He was stretched so thin between the Dark Lord and Albus as it is that he was sometimes too weary to get out of bed in the morning, and now this damned girl had to show up and kick him where it hurts.
He could practically hear the figurative leash and chain jingling.
Hermione guessed that she would just have to wait until he gathered his thoughts and became a bit calmer in order to be allowed to speak again.
She knew that he had a good point. A very good point, actually. There were so many problems documented about the technique that she was far from certain that it was even achievable for a professor and a student; she knew full well that they both might just end up with a mind-splitting headache and a dead end just from their first session, but she thought it was more than worth the shot.
If only he thought that as well, despite all the stuff in small-writing.
The Healers working on the McGreen merging, at the time when it was still a legal practice, found that the chance for success was less than four percent. The reason behind such a disheartening number was the fact that not just any pair of people could try to share their memories. Every time two closely related family members (such as parents with their children, or even siblings) tried to merge in order for the healthy person to give their memories to the one with lost memories, their minds would reject each other. It happened because, on the example of parents and their children, the parent already had such strong impressions of their child weaved into their memory of them, making it impossible for the child to untangle those feelings from the memory, and since a healthy mind cannot go along with the prospect of loving itself as if it was its own child, the memory ended up rejected.
Successful mergings were only possible between very few pairs of people, who all had to have a very select set of circumstances. That is why it was possible for Hermione and Harry to successfully merge and afterwards untangle without any consequences. They were best friends fighting a war together. Their circumstances were, in fact, perfect for it. Hermione, naturally, knew all this, as did (unfortunately for her) professor Snape; but where she saw an opportunity for the successful transfer of the memory of her finding out about the Horcruxes, he saw only lunacy.
"I refuse," he said, calmly; his decision sounding firm and final.
Immediately after the words came out of his mouth he experienced a sensation not known to many men before him. It was unlike anything he had felt in his entire life. It felt as if a hand made out of air clutched at his throat. It felt as if poison was suddenly running through his veins. It felt like he was drowning, burning alive, bathing in acid and being ran over by the Hogwarts Express; all at the same time.
But there was no actual pain, or any actual discomfort of the physical kind.
It was just a psychological warning that there was going to be pain unless he stopped being difficult. The sensations went away before he even had the time to process them. That was the way of the magic of the life-debt telling him that he had no right to refuse her, unless it's death that he wished for. According to the law of equal exchange, he had to pay back what he was due.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked him uncertainly, hesitantly leaning over towards him to try and get his eyes to focus back onto her after he stared into nothing for a bit longer that was polite or comfortable.
She knew from extensive reading that if someone refuses to pay back a life-debt, the magic intervenes and puts in front of them the final choice of forfeiting their life or changing their minds. From the way his face was beginning to turn into a white sheet, she thought that that might be what was happening now. Of course, the mind of a teenage girl lead her to imagine that he was having a conversation with a ghost-like figure and was being gently nudged to change his mind, when in fact he was finding out what it feels like to be inside one of his cauldrons while the fire is lit under it.
"Don't touch me!" he managed to sneer at her just before she touched his arm with the intention of gently tugging on it. He withdrew it from her quickly, but she did not find herself offended by his disgusted tone because she could tell how distressed he suddenly became.
She wished she could ask him what he felt; if maybe he'd seen something, or perhaps heard a voice. But she knew better from the death-glare that was suddenly pointed her way. If looks could kill, she thought, and was glad that they couldn't.
She guessed that he thought she was being unfair to him; that life was being unfair to him by sticking her to him in this way, and she was right in her assumption.
He had a brand on his forearm to prove that he belonged to one Master since he was younger than she was now. He had made a vow that made him a slave to a Cause, making Dumbledore at least his handler, if not an actual second Master. And now a third player, a very much uninvited one, had decided that she wanted to join the table.
He walked over to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a large Firewhiskey; the last resort of the completely beaten down.
With a swing of the arm the contents of the tumbler were already poured down his throat, burning it pleasantly, and he slammed down the glass on the metal tray. Hermione flinched at the violent sound and comforted herself that she wasn't offered one because she was a student and a minor; not because he completely reverted back to being a rude bastard and the thought of offering it to her hadn't even cross his mind. He thought about pouring himself another one, though; then he thought about throwing the bottle at Hermione's head, but he did neither and with whatever dignity he had left he walked back to the couch and sat himself down again.
"How are you suggesting that this should work?" he asked in a voice that indicated that all life's energy and joy had been sucked out of him.
Oh, he's changed his mind so quickly, she thought, but then remembered the previous look on his face. It didn't take much to put two and two together. So there was magical interference that made him change his mind, she thought, still surprised at how sudden the change of mind was, but knew better than to comment on it.
"Well," she started, clearing her throat anxiously as she started shuffling through the notes she brought to find the right one to show him, "I've worked out a way for us to be in the close proximity that is necessary for the merging without raising any eyebrows from the other professors or the students once the school year stars," she said as Snape raised a mocking eyebrow, wondering at how she still managed to sound so engaged and lively.
"I was thinking that we could announce that you've taken me on as your apprentice. That way I could live down here with you for a while," she said and went back to trying to make herself look small and unthreatening, hoping that she wasn't going to get mauled because of what she said.
"Oh, bloody hell," he exclaimed accusingly, "don't you think that I have enough on my plate as it is!?"
His facial expression went back to looking resentful, as well as a little astounded by the selfishness of the request. Hermione winced at the statement, finding herself offended that he thought she meant that literally and actually wanted to add an extra weight onto his shoulders, so she went on to set the record straight.
"I only meant that we could use it an excuse, not to add you extra work," she said defensively, sounding prim as she fought her cheeks from starting to burn from embarrassment again.
As if she did not know that she was going to be a big enough of a nuisance as it is. To think that he thought that she was trying to squeeze Potions apprenticing into the programme in order to extract extra benefit from the situation was absurd. She thought he knew her better than that after so many years of keeping a close eye on her (as he looked for the signs of the next troublesome situation the idiotic trio was going to throw themselves in) and it hurt to think that he didn't automatically realise it would be a ruse and that she would never try to inconvenience him more than what was strictly necessary.
She thought about saying all that to his face, but found that her supply of courage had finally drained out, so there was nothing left for her to do but to keep quiet and clench her fists in frustration.
While Hermione was trying to resolve her personal struggle on what to say and how to approach him next without getting her face hacked off, Snape had reached a decision.
He was a grown man, a fairly reasonable one, and even though it pained him, he came to turns with the fact that if he tried to struggle against her request, he would die; there was just no changing that fact. He was still far from thinking the entire plot was not lunacy, but even if the chance of success was marginal and the process would probably turn out to be hell on earth, at least he would pay his debt and would have her off his back. Since he was left without a choice (other than just dropping dead), his mind sought comfort by occupying itself with sorting out the technicalities.
The excuse of taking her on as an apprentice (now that she cleared up the fact that it actually would be just an excuse) was a clever idea, he admitted. There hadn't been an apprenticeship in Hogwarts in quite a few years, but it would definitely work, he thought as he went through the details of it in his mind. Albus would not need any convincing since he was well acquainted with the situation, and the rest of the faculty would not be a bit surprised that it was Miss Granger that chose to become a Hogwarts apprentice; though it might be a bit confusing why she chose Potions of all of the subjects.
At least he would get something to lord over Minerva and Septima, he thought with smugness as he imagined the dirty, jealous looks the elderly witches would probably throw his way, and cheered him up a bit.
"Go back to your parents and tell them you will finish your summer break earlier this year and come back tomorrow with your things. I'll have a room ready for you by then. At the same time as today," he said and felt a rush of relief because of it; not because he was glad with the idea, but because he knew that with those words the conversation of this evening had finally come to its end. He was the one holding the short straw in this situation (though Hermione would argue that they both were, being in the same soup), but at least this chapter of his life was finally over.
Hermione mustered up all the self-restraint and grace she had within her and got up for the armchair without throwing herself at his chest in gratitude. She thanked him in a rush of words and picked up her things, knowing he would appreciate it if she didn't linger. The other reason she had for wanting to leave immediately was that she was afraid that tears might start welling up in her eyes, and she didn't want him to see her like that.
There would be plenty of time for crying later.
She walked over to the fireplace and he watched her go.
Her fingers were still trembling, he noticed. Begrudgingly he acknowledged how much courage it had to take her to come before him and demand of him what she had demanded. He couldn't imagine any other girl (or, to put it better, young woman, with how she looked tonight) doing as she did. If he was any other man he would admire her for it, but since he was Severus Snape, he still only thought her a courageous little idiot. A lion cub walking into a snake's den and walking out alive is sheer luck, not an actual accomplishment to be proud of.
"Until tomorrow, then," she said, repressing the urge to give him a full bow of gratitude and instead bobbed her head awkwardly as she shot towards the fireplace, shouting out the instruction for the headmaster's office through which she could go back to Rome.
The sun hadn't yet finished setting, but Snape, now that he was finally alone, felt as if the girl had stayed in his rooms for a larger portion of an eternity. It has been a long time since he felt as weary as he felt now, and that was saying something, when one looked at the year he's had.
The moment she felt her master's wards shift and indicate that Hermione had left for professor Dumbledore's office, Libby apparated next to Snape's side. She looked at his tired eyes and didn't bother to comment on his state; she just snapped her fingers and made a flowing motion, making the tumbler on the counter refill itself with Firewhiskey and float in front of the broken-spirited man in front of her.
She picked up the tray of half-drunk tea and took it back to the kitchens after whispering a soft goodnight.
She knew better than to try to cheer him up. And she didn't concern herself with what the bad news he had received were. She would find out eventually, if not even tomorrow, and then they would soldier through it just like they soldiered on through all the rest of it.
After all, a request from a little girl couldn't possibly be that bad. It couldn't be anything worse than what he had been requested to do from the Dark Lord.
It was the smallest comfort Libby could find, that surely, he'd made greater sacrifices.
A/N: Thank you for reading. I don't know if it's like this for other writers, but I'm having a really hard time being objective about my work. The range of emotions I have about this story is nightmarishly broad; sometimes I love it, sometimes I feel like it's terrible and I don't know why I even bother writing it; the same goes for my writing. Now that the story finally reached the point where the reader can know what the story is going to be focusing on, please let me know what you think about it, even if you didn't like something about it (or even all of it). I'm open to criticism. Writing this chapter has been a long and tough journey and posting it really makes me nervous, so I would very much like to hear your opinions!