A/N: Guest reviewers, thank you so much for your support! Also, I've opened a Pinterest board which contains a small compilation of pictures I've used as references for some of the things that have been described in the story. I know that links aren't allowed here so just add /darkbluechild/the-hearts-of-many to Pinterest's web address if you're interested in checking it out!
The hallway in the centre of Snape's quarters used to have five doors.
The functions of those doors were as follows: the first door lead to the spacious storage room connected to the Potions classroom that served as an entrance into Snape's quarters; the second lead to his private laboratory; the third lead to the conjoined living room and bedroom area; the fourth lead to the bathroom, and the fifth was one of Hogwarts' unmapped secrets and lead to the outside of the castle.
Libby had always had a flare for decor and Snape most often indulged her (as it was obvious from the state of his rooms), so she would often change the arrangement of the potted plants in the hallway; sometimes they would have a cluster of smaller ones, sometimes they would keep individual bigger ones in the corners. One eventful spring, though, when he was being punished for Merlin knows what transgression (probably forgetting to take off his shoes one too many times, or not putting the books back onto their respective shelves), Libby dragged in an overgrown agave tree with which he had to wrestle for the rest of the season - whenever he overindulged in Firewhiskey, he always had scratches on him arms to show for it.
Over the years she'd been doing the same with the pictures on the walls, with the carpets, lamps and other accessories, and the number of doors present was the only damned consistency that hallway had.
It was why Snape now stood in his hallway and glared at the new, sixth door.
Now, along with the ever present danger of stubbing his toe after Libby rearranged the plants (and he hadn't had enough time to get used to it), there would also be the danger of stumbling into a teenage girl's bedroom in the middle of the night, instead of the bathroom.
Snape observed the door carefully, as if he was critically looking at a painting. It was the same shape, colour (dark mahogany) and size as the rest of them, but he stared at it as if objected its very existence; which was rather silly, since he was the one that put it there just that morning.
He took hold of the brass hook and opened the door, entering the small room.
He had only been inside once to make sure he had adjusted the walls to the correct dimensions, leaving the rest of the work for the very excited Libby. She was left in charge of furnishing it and he had instructed her not to overdo it, but the sight in front of him made the little vein above his eyebrow twitch again. He said no red, and was obeyed, but he obviously forgot to mention the gold.
Hogwarts' storage areas contained enough spare furniture to equip a medium-sized hotel, but where the elf found that canopy bed and the rest of it all, he hadn't the faintest idea. It was now too late to remember that, along with the generic furniture found in Hogwarts' dorm rooms, there was also leftover personal furniture from the retired professors. What Libby put into the room looked like a set from the 18th century, when overdoing it was still in fashion, and he cringed at the sight. The bed's vast drapes had gold-trimmed ruffles and the entire fabric was frilled, the sight nearly physically hurting his eyes. Between the desk, the chair, the dresser, mirror and wardrobe, there wasn't a straight edge in sight; everything was either curved or ended with a swirl. Beige and off-white dominated everything in sight, with gold covering all the smaller details.
The chandelier was very small, but still made of yellowed crystal, and the room even smelled like scented talcum powder ladies used on their faces in the old days.
If he was being punished again by having something like this in his quarters, he hadn't had a single clue as to what it was for.
He left the room and closed the door behind him, annoyed as hell.
One of the lovely features that Hogwarts castle had was that those who had the keys to its wards could rearrange the layout of certain areas however they saw fit. That did not mean that the space ran infinite, though, as Snape found out after he added to his quarters the room meant for Miss Granger. He wanted to add an extra bathroom as well, so as to avoid sharing his with her, but the problem he encountered was that there was not enough space left to expand. If he had unused space somewhere in the existing rooms, he could have taken it away to accommodate the bathroom, but unless he wanted to sleep on his couch or brew his potions with not enough elbow-room to keep the procedures safe, he had no choice but to share.
Which is a nightmare, he thought as he walked back to the couch and sunk himself into it. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and put his slippered feet on the coffee-table, unabashed. He was a childless single man who hadn't shared his living space with anyone since he graduated from Hogwarts. After the one woman on Earth with whom he thought he could share his life with married another, then consequently died, he made peace with the fact that solitude was his fate and gradually got used to the peace and certain luxuries such a life brought on.
No sharing a bathroom, for one.
It wasn't that he questioned Miss Granger's hygiene (and even if he did, the bathroom was self cleaning and charmed not to allow odours to linger, compliments of Libby), it was just the principle of the thing. He liked his baths to last for over an hour, and now he'd have to wonder if a teenager was holding it in and jumping from one foot to the other while he swam with the figurative rubber-ducklings, which would take away from the relaxing effect.
And what if he needed to go in and she was having the lengthy bath?
The very thought made him groan.
After telling himself that he was probably over-thinking it (and not even indulging the thought that the shared bathroom would probably be the last on his list of worries), in an effort to save his nerves he decided not to stress himself out even more as he called for dinner. Once the meal arrived he ate it in silence and after allowing himself to rest with a book for a suitable period of time, he got up and headed for his laboratory to try his last personal attempt at brewing Dumbledore's potential cure.
It's not like he hadn't heard what she told him yesterday, but he'd be damned if he took her words lying down. What's another failed attempt anyway? Just a thirteenth imaginary scratch on the wall.
And then there was that small little hope in the back of his mind, that he just might be right this time, and kill two birds with one stone.
Save Albus, and get her out of his life before she even properly entered it, her and the inevitable female hygiene products in the cupboards of his bathroom.
The chances of success were once again minimal, and it was a dangerous potion to attempt to brew since it involved working with substances that he was still not sure would not react too violently with each other, but just like Miss Granger, he knew when something was worth the shot.
When Hermione arrived in professor Snape's quarters later that evening (eight sharp, punctual as ever), only Libby was there to greet her.
She felt very nervous about coming back to his home and seeing him again after he's had time to chew through the events of last night, afraid that he might have changed his mind or found some miraculous way to wiggle out the agreement. She still had a feeling that he went from repulsion to acceptance in a window of time far too short to seem plausible; her theory that the magic somehow nudged him was still only guesswork, and she had no tangible proof that she was actually correct in the assumption. She walked out of the fireplace cautiously and looked around the room after she greeted the elderly elf; the professor seemed nowhere in sight.
The room was pleasantly warm and the big window above the couch was wide open, letting in all sensations that the summer provided. A gentle breeze was both warming the room (for an old stone castle required heating even during the warmest of days) and letting in the smell of the magical roses that bloomed under the window. The birds sang melodiously, and the insects were doing their best to compete with them and spoil their pleasant effect; the cicadas screeched, the humming of far too many Flitterbys could be heard in the distance, and one particularly determined Blowfly was trying to figure out how to get into the room, its efforts futile since there was a protective shield put around the window to deter just such attempts.
Hermione's large (and over-packed) school trunk came out of the fireplace in tow with her. She made sure to be dressed casually, but respectfully, and was wearing some of her usual Hogwarts attire - jeans and a burgundy coloured sweater with white polka dots on it. What she really wanted to do was to play it completely safe and wear her school uniform; however, in the end she decided not to because she had an itching feeling she would be ridiculed for it, since there were no classes for her to attend, even though she was technically at school. Though, she still felt immensely more comfortable in the clothes and the sneakers she was wearing today than she did last night in her heels and the dress and all the rest of the stuff that made her feel like a fool in front of him.
She looked down at Libby to ask her where professor Snape was and when she would see him, but the elf could already tell from the girl's quizzical expression what was it that she wanted to know.
"Master is brewing a special potion and will not be able to greet you tonight, so I am to show you to your new room in his stead," Libby said, beaming, excited to show off the work her Master was so peevish about.
Hermione thanked the elf with a smile, only then remembering that she forgot to properly introduce herself. "I'm Hermione," she added as she crouched down to get to the elf's eye level. She extended a hand and Libby shook it happily, telling Hermione her name as a reply.
Hermione followed the jubilant elf to the hallway with many plants, and was told where each door in it lead to, after which Libby opened for her the door of the room from the dreams she never even knew she had. Suddenly she felt very guilty for imagining that the professor was going to make her sleep in a dusty and mouldy broom cupboard.
She gasped involuntarily when she saw the decor, and smiled a smile that matched Libby's own in delight when she saw that the view from her new window was the same breathtakingly beautiful one as the one from Snape's living room. True, it all looked like she entered an exhibit-room at a Muggle historic castle, but she was always very fond of such sights, and thus very happy that that was what her guestroom looked like. The effort that was clearly put into making it all look so beautiful comforted her; the fact that professor Snape went to such pains to make her feel welcome was very touching, especially since what she feared the most before arriving was that he was going to go for the exact opposite effect.
But surely, it wasn't Snape that did all this for her, she thought after pondering at it for a moment. He must have been the one to arrange it to be done, but wasn't the one responsible for the execution.
"Libby, did you do all this?" Hermione asked, gesticulating with a wave of her hand at the room in general.
"I did, Miss," Libby answered delightfully, proud to see that her skills were being appreciated, "I trust that the Miss likes what she sees?" she asked, going for some bonus praise, never being the humble one.
"Oh, it's wonderful, thank you so much," she answered, "also, please, call me Hermione," she added with a conspiratory grin, and it warmed the old elf's heart to see that her Master would play host to a creature so kind, joyful and full of life.
Libby was well aware that Hermione must have had questions other than just who designed the room, so she dived into explaining to her how things were.
"Master told me he won't be out of his laboratory until at least midnight," Libby said as she snapped her fingers. The motion made Hermione's trunk open itself, and another snap made the clothes and items fly in the directions of the furniture in which each piece was meant to be stored in; her pyjamas even flying to the bed and laying themselves out neatly at the foot of it. Much to Hermione's horror, the bags containing her bathroom necessities flew out of the room and presumably into the bathroom itself, and she paled white after imagining them smashing into professor Snape as they flew and spilled all their contents on the unsuspecting man.
Luckily for her, no infuriated grunt was heard from the hallway, since all of them were being made from behind the closed door of the private laboratory in which the Potions Master was going through hell itself as he was trying his hardest not to get his face molten off by the substance in his cauldron, that he would later be certain was the furthest thing away from being the cure for anything, but quite possibly a newly discovered high explosive liquid.
"If the Miss is hungry, she needs only say and Libby will bring her dinner," the elf said (it seemed that Hermione's request about being called by her name would go unheard) and surprised Hermione by taking her hand into her own small one, leading her out of the room and back into the living room. Hermione supposed that was alright, since she was already unpacked, and they were still a couple of hours away from bedtime. She might as well spend the rest of the evening in an area meant for lounging, even if the sight of Snape's bed would be making her a tad bit uncomfortable to be around.
"I've had dinner before I've arrived, but thank you," she said in reply as she sat down in the armchair to which Libby led her to. She supposed that was her spot from now on, judging from the fact that, twice now, she'd been manoeuvred to it.
"Perhaps a book then, or does the Miss have something else she would like to do?" the elf asked gently.
"Well," Hermione started, thinking about it for a bit, "since it seems that I won't see professor Snape until tomorrow, I think I'd like to read my Arithmancy textbook," she said and, after she settled on the idea, was just about to get up again an go and get the book from one of the shelves in her bedroom on which she saw it fly and settle itself, but Libby beat her to it with another snap of the fingers and brought the book flying right on top of the coffee-table in front of them. Hermione was really impressed by how astonishingly well the elf controlled the magic and how precise she was in its execution (she was not even using a wand, for Merlin's sake!). If Ron or Neville Accioed the book from that big a distance, the book would probably come flying straight at their faces. Even Hermione probably wouldn't have been able to settle it down so gracefully.
"If the Miss needs anything, she needs only to call Libby's name," Libby said as she smiled gently, and they said their goodbyes for the evening, the elf Apparating away.
Hermione's evening surprisingly ended up being nowhere near as uncomfortable as she imagined it would be. She felt very self-conscious, making herself at home in the home of the Potions Master, but if not for the nagging feeling of expectation that the man would barge into the room and startle the living life out of her, she would even have called the evening pleasant.
She was distracted by his books that surrounded her on their bookshelves for a lot of the time, being too afraid to grab one to read it despite really wanting to, but she managed to lose herself in the Arithmancy textbook for long enough, until she noticed that it was ten o'clock already and that she should take her shower and go to bed.
As she entered the hallway once again and walked by the door of the laboratory, she stopped for a moment to look at it. He was in there, that much she knew, but what she really wished to know was what he was doing. She imagined that privacy spells were cast on the door from both sides, and that he had no way of knowing that she was right there in that moment, but it was still a very strange sensation, knowing that she was so close to him.
Snape left his laboratory just in time to hear the old grandfather-clock strike half past midnight.
The potion was yet another failure, though this time not because Albus tried it and it proved to be ineffective on the inhibited curse, but because he was unable to brew it. Or rather, the potion he created on paper was not even possible to brew. Two of the more important ingredients that went into it were too volatile, even on their own, and mixing them together ended up being a disaster. For the first time in many, many years, Snape had molten his own cauldron.
He cleaned up the laboratory with a Vanishing spell (because that's how bad the state of all the instruments used was) and walked over to his bed, dragging his heels, and started undressing. He piled all the clothes at his feet (they needed to go to the wash anyway, thought the shirt was probably unsalvageable) and climbed into the bed. Sleep started talking his consciousness away as soon as his head hit the pillow; he lacked the will to even get himself beneath the covers.
The knowledge that Miss Granger was in his quarters at that very moment was hidden in one of the furthest corners of his mind, and nothing but the faint scent of the jasmine oil that was in her shampoo that still lingered in the air was there to remind him of the fact.
By the time he caught it, he was already half asleep.
With an uncomfortable jolt of adrenaline that the memory that she was actually here brought on, he became aware of his state and surroundings – in his birthday suit, with the door open wide.
Cursing the day he was born, Merlin, and even adding in some of the saints he remembered his father preaching about from his early childhood, he dragged his body to the edge of the bed. Wearily he reached down to the floor where his trousers lay and picked them up, pawing at them as he searched for his wand. As it turned out, it must have fallen out when he was taking them off and rolled under the bed a bit, and he picked it up off the floor with yet another muffled curse.
Once the wand was finally in his hand, he waved it half-heartedly. He made sure that the door closed itself soundlessly, after which he contemplated whether or not he should lock it as well, but after only a moment decided that he shouldn't bother himself with it, deciding that Miss Granger certainly wasn't the type that barged into somebody's rooms without knocking first and waiting for permission to enter.
With that done, he dragged himself back up the bed and buried his head in the pillow, asleep without another thought having the time to pass through his mind.
Hermione woke up to the sound of birds chirping in the distance, and to much cleaner air than she was used to in the Italian cities.
Last night she left the window open in order to allow the air to circulate, but she had forgotten to draw the curtains, so the sunlight that lit up her room finally arrived at her pillow and woke her up, rousing her consciousness and making it impossible for her to go back to sleep. The bed was the softest, fluffiest, nicest bed she had ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, and the room was a very lovely sight to wake up to, but she really wished there was a clock in it somewhere. It could have been seven or it could have been ten in the morning, she had no way of knowing without one.
She got out of the bed, stretching as she put her feet into slippers, and walked over to the wardrobe in search of something suitable to wear. She wasn't really sure how to dress, so she started an elimination process. Sweatpants, t-shirts or anything that was too comfortable was probably not a good idea for the very first morning of living with the Potions Master. She seriously doubted she would find him in his bathrobe, so she had to make sure she looked respectful as well. She pondered at the stacks of clothes (something she never usually did, never being one to put too much effort into her appearance, unless the occasion specifically demanded it) and in the end decided to choose the shirt that was part of the school uniform and a pair of plain black trousers. The choice satisfied her, even though it was slightly formal and more serious than what she had arrived in yesterday.
She put on the selected items, and once she made certain in the mirror that she looked passable, she left the comfort of her room. Once in the hallway, she realised that the door that lead to the living area (and his bed) was closed, and she guessed correctly that he had not left it open yet so that she could access the bathroom and do her morning routine before bumping into him first. It was considerate of him, but also as much for his own benefit as it was for hers; he had no wish to speak to someone who hadn't yet had the chance to brush their teeth.
Once finished and freshened for the day, Hermione knocked on the professor's door hesitantly (afraid of the slight possibility that the man might actually still be asleep), but she heard his voice in reply immediately telling her to come in, and she sighed in relief. She opened the door and entered the room very timidly, feeling more like a trespasser than as a guest. She found professor Snape sitting in the same spot she had left him two days ago, sipping on a cup of tea and with The Daily Prophet opened across his lap. On the coffee-table in front of him was a tray containing empty plates, indicating that he had already finished his breakfast, though it must not have been long ago, or else it would have been taken away already.
So she hadn't overslept then, she thought, relieved.
A day just as beautiful as yesterday shone outside, and the window behind the professor's back was wide open again. The sky had another storm scheduled for the late afternoon, but right now Hermione deemed it as a most perfect day for a walk, and she found herself wishing that Ron and Harry were there with her so that she could spend the day lounging with them by the lake, her with a book in her lap and them playing Wizard's Chess by her side. Does professor Snape ever go for walks by the bank? she found herself wondering, but somehow couldn't imagine him doing that; he was more of a type one would imagine to be found brooding on steep cliffs above angry seas, instead of enjoying a peaceful lake.
"Good morning," she said in greeting as she slowly walked into to the room and toward the armchair on which she sat, or to put it more precisely, in which she sunk in. She snuck a peak at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and saw that it was almost half-past eight. That wasn't so bad, she thought, all things considered. She was not one of the sloppier teenagers that didn't get out of bed until before the clocks struck noon during the holidays (like a certain Weasley she knew), and she had actually overslept, at least according to her own standards. She was usually up and running by seven o'clock, so she'd really need to conjure an alarm clock from somewhere.
"Good morning," he replied in return, but didn't even bother with lifting his gaze off the papers. Rude, she thought as she watched him turn the pages, completely ignoring her. He was dressed the same as he was the day before yesterday when she'd last seen him, and she imagined that he was probably the type of man that had large numbers of the same clothing items and rarely ever changed his look. Still, it was strange to see him without that menacing cloak of his, and looking at least semi-normal.
"Libby," he called, surprisingly softly, and the elf popped up by the armchair to Hermione's right. "I believe that Miss Granger is in need of breakfast," he said languidly, but smirked as the elf Apparated away before Hermione got to put a word in about what it was that she actually wanted to eat or drink, leaving her gaping open-mouthed like a fish. He was entertained by the sight, having finally looked up, now that he got to see it happening to someone other than him. This morning he'd been given oatmeal for breakfast that he didn't know he actually wanted, and he suspected that Miss Granger would be stuck with the same.
Does she do that to him as well? Hermione wondered, blissfully ignorant of the fact that the answer to that question was a very shocking yes. The girl finding out about just how much he was micromanaged by that elf was near the very top of the list of the things he dreaded would happen during her stay. As he expected, Libby turned up with chocolate oatmeal with banana slices on top, but a glass of orange juice was alongside it instead of the tea that he got. He put effort into not frowning at the sight, because upon seeing it, he suddenly found himself craving for the orange nectar, all the while wondering why he didn't receive it as well.
If Libby was going to play favourites, he was supposed to be the favourite one, not the girl, for Merlin's sake!
Hermione was pleasantly surprised by the meal she received and ate it in a relatively comfortable silence as the professor continued reading his newspaper without looking up at her anymore. The only thing that was bothering her was that she felt very self-conscious about the sound of her own chewing in the silence of the room that was only interrupted by the occasional turn of a page, and was glad to be finished with the meal, despite it being very tasty, and put the bowl back down on the tray.
"Now," Snape started, folding the newspaper and tossing it to the side as soon as Hermione drew herself back up, "regarding the McGreen merging," he said. His legs were crossed at the knees and he was leaning into the couch while holding one arm outstretched across the top of the backrest and the other bent at the elbow, supporting his head. Though it was not so much noticeable from his body language as it was from his burning gaze, he was radiating impatience and keenness, but not for the acquisition of knowledge and information – instead, only for the wish that they get the damnable business over with as soon as it was possible.
She always knew there was no mincing words with the man sitting across from her, and that he liked getting straight to the point, but she really wished he wasn't so unpleasantly obvious in his behaviour – not giving it even seconds after she had finished her breakfast and going straight to the main task at hand. Some pleasantries were in order; he could have at least asked her if she'd slept well, or apologised for not coming out to greet her last night. After all, with him not showing up at all, there was no need for her to come yesterday instead of today, unless he thought she needed time to acclimatise herself to her new surroundings. It's not like she particularly minded; she knew what he was like, but putting in effort from the start would help both of them. She knew she wasn't there because they actually wanted to be in each other's company; she knew there was a purpose to this and that the whole ordeal was her idea in the first place, but that said purpose required them to feel comfortable in each other's company, and him being pushy in order to get it all over with quickly was not going to help. In fact, if that was going to be his attitude, the whole thing might last even longer than it should.
"Since the last successful merging was recorded over eighty years ago," he started in the same lecturing voice he usually uses in his classroom, "and all of the details on the execution of the technique were banned from the public after it had become an illegal medical practice, but, with you being the one to have actually successfully experienced it..." he said, pausing a bit as he leaned his elbow down onto the armrest, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, "why don't you tell me how we are supposed to do this."
She could tell that it did not come easy for him, asking her for instruction. Despite being one of the best Legilimenses out there, he was walking in the dark whereas this mental technique was concerned, and she knew that he would have to completely rely on her guidance. He was a proud man, a very knowledged one, and she did not find it strange that a situation such as this irked him. It was not often that Severus Snape found the tables turned on him. She knew that she was still on slippery ground and had to tread carefully; just because he was cornered by the magic and had no choice but to do as he is asked didn't mean that he wouldn't put up a fight as they went into further details about what the endeavour was going to entail.
"Well," she started, braving confidence, glad to finally present to him the findings she thought she would have been able to lay out on the table two days ago, "what Harry and I were doing is best described as simplifying Legilimency."
Snape raised his eyebrow at that statement in response. Hermione understood what his mockingly quizzical facial expression meant, because she had already learned from painful experience that there was no simplifying Legilimency.
What actually happened was that there were two teenagers playing at doing just that, but all the while doing something else entirely, and figuring that bit out when it was already too late to go back, as a result destroying the foundation of their own friendship by seeing the depths of each other that they never would have seen in normal circumstances, and then having to start building all over again, while all the while presenting a lie to the world that nothing had ever changed.
But she'd be thrice-damned if she'd put it like that.
"At least, we thought that that is what we were doing," she corrected herself, drawing up courage from that hidden emergency well inside of her, "but I can tell from the look you are giving me right now that you already know that there is no such thing," she said rather pointedly (angry that he was practically making faces at her) and received a smirk as the only reply. She knew that she had to show her teeth to him from the start; she felt that if she did otherwise and cowered, she would find herself manoeuvred into territories he found comfortable, and that probably mean them telling each other their goodbyes for good.
Brave, snarky little Gryffindor, he thought, not appreciating the cheek, but still biting down his need to answer her and rub her own stupidity into her face. He knew full well that with such behaviour he would only derail her from her tracks and make her obvious discomfort increase tenfold, which would only end in prolonging this dreadful process.
"We decided that instead of attacking each other's minds, as we knew was the usual practice, we would gently invite each other in. We thought that would be the exact same thing, just a less invasive version. Easier. We were quite astonished when we found that it actually worked. We really thought we were doing it. Legilimency, that is," she said, lowering her eyes as she said it, and he was glad to see that she at least had the common decency to blush after making such a statement.
Inviting each other in... The idiocy of it, he thought. There was no such thing out there as non-invasive Legilimency. The mind of the reader must be like a sharp knife, piercing the protective layers of the mind it invades, moving quickly and with determination, so as not to get stuck or lost in the mind he was reading. What the children have been doing with their mellow approach was dragging their own minds into the mind of the other, leaving their own residual waste of memories as they subconsciously cherry-picked which memories to take away with them. It was a miracle that they got themselves out of that mess without the need for outside assistance.
For that is what the McGreen merging was, he thought with frustration. A gradual loss of self to another, if not done in a controlled environment. And even then it fails with most people. It was a very bitter pill for him to swallow, the fact that he was going to have to embark on an endeavour like that with a girl whom he didn't trust to be able to keep up with his own mind, while all the while having to rely only on her questionable guidance.
"And how long exactly did it take for you to realise that you were scrambling each other's minds by choosing such a method?" he asked, barely managing to keep his tongue in check. He wanted to growl and roar the way he usually does; he wanted her to know just how stupid he thought her to be for doing with Potter what she's done, and he was barely containing himself not to. He had asked her a similar question about the duration of the experience the day before yesterday, but only found out that it was for a short while; now it was time for the details.
"Only a couple of sessions to realise that something was...odd," she said, taking her lip between her teeth, "but we still continued for over a full month before we started taking memories away from each other and decided that it was time to stop," she added, quietly and hesitantly.
"A month," he stated, as if to taste the word on his tongue, and found himself floored by it. If it took her and Potter that long (who were a match made in heaven for the merging), Merlin only knows how long it will take them, he though with despair. He leaned his body forward and put his face into his hands, supporting his elbows on his knees. Why did I even ask? he wondered, and decided that it was because he was actually as dunderheaded as he found her to be. Reason itself should have told him that the answer couldn't have been 'six days in total', but he was only human, and thus prone to hoping to hear good news when in reality, only bad ones should even be expected.
"But I really don't think-" she tried to speak, but he cut her off.
"Oh, don't you?" he asked her, sarcasm dripping from his voice, even though it was only two words that he'd said. If she was going to say that she didn't think it would take them as long as it took her and Potter - well, it would, he thought, and possibly even longer. For all they knew Albus could be dead and buried by the time their minds finally got in sync. Even if a compatibility issue doesn't occur, their minds were as foreign to each other as Muggle and Wizarding Britain. There were three more weeks until the school year begins, and unless a miracle happens, they would be well into the first term by the time they succeeded with the transfer of those crucial memories of hers.
"Just tell me the details of the process," he commanded with frustration in a muffled voice as he spoke through his hands, as she mussed how to respond to his previous snarky comment. She was glad to be released from that reply with his instruction (because she really didn't know how to respond without making herself equally as rude as he was being) and instead enabled to delve into the technicalities.
She started again, drawing in a big breath.
"When you practice Legilimency, you are always in search for something in another's mind, right?" she asked, and he only nodded in reply reluctantly (proud of himself for being able to reign in the need for pointing out that she was asking questions with obvious answers again), finally leaning back into the backrest and establishing eye-contact once again.
"When Legilimency is practiced, there is a specific purpose for it; for instance, when a Legilimens wants proof that someone is lying, and is in search for the accompanying truth," she said.
Still being obvious, he thought, growing even more frustrated.
"Well, what Harry and I did..." she said, pausing, searching for the right words as she pulled a strand of hair behind her ear, "there was no actual purpose for it, other than just to learn how to do it."
Ah.
So that is where she was going with it, he thought.
It did make sense, and now that she had stated it like that, he found himself wondering how it was that more people didn't stray down that path when trying to learn Legilimency and Occlumency. Though he himself was taught by Dumbledore in the same way he had tried to teach Potter last year, by way of attack and defence, it never actually occurred to him that there might be possible different approaches to the practice. He knew that even Bella was hacking away at Draco's mind when she was giving him Occlumency lessons, and she loves the boy (though in her twisted way), and would never hurt him otherwise.
"We did try to focus our minds on uneventful memories, just to keep our thoughts in one place instead of wondering all over, but still, all we really did was gently hung out in each other's minds, so to speak. After a while we started being more specific about the memories..." she said, stopping at that point in order to search for the right words again as she furrowed her brow. She didn't think it would be hard for her to put into words how the McGreen merging worked, but it was. It was a shadowy procedure, as much based on chance as on exact planning, and therefore very hard to explain in precise detail.
"What happened from then on was some form of nonverbal communication. We started selecting memories to show to each other, and with constant repetition of that process, it is how we communicated in the last days of the experiment. Only one day, Harry delved into my mind a bit too deep and had actually taken a memory for the first time. That is when we realised that something was seriously wrong. That day we asked the Room of Requirement to provide us with copies of book for the library that describe mental magic, and we've found out about the McGreen merging and all its consequences. Over the next few days we returned to each other what was taken – the one complete memory Harry had taken from me and all of the residual impressions that came from experiencing the rest of them. And that was it, basically," she finished with a sheepish expression on her face, prepared for the tormenting comments that were sure to come.
It didn't sound all that complicated, but he could only imagine (until he soon experienced it) how taxing a process it must be for two people to share that which nature never intended to be shared in the way she had just described.
"So, what you are telling me," he started in a condescending drawl, "is to enter your mind while all my Occlumency shields are dropped, and simultaneously accept you into my own mind as I hover inside of yours, while all the while we pretend like there are no places where we don't want each other to stray into?"
The slow, placid way in which he said it, along with the venom that dripped from his rich, deep voice, frightened her a bit.
"It – it does require a certain amount of trust-" she said, stammering, and was cut off again.
"It requires an absolute level of trust, Miss Granger," he said, now seething. How in Merlin's name did the girl think something like this was even worth the shot for the two of them? he found himself wondering for the umpteenth time, "and trust in each other is not something we have in abundance in the first place. It won't work, and we will only hurt one another in the process of confirming that. You should think this through one more time, for both our sakes," he said angrily, hoping against hope that his words didn't fall on deaf ears.
She took another deep breath, fighting for calm and courage against his stubbornness. She was one nasty comment away from telling him he was being uncharacteristically stubborn like a Gryffindor.
"I think it's erroneous to come to such a conclusion without even trying it once with our minds focusedon something we don't mind each other to see," she said, her pride now hurting a little by all the doubts he had in her, and by the statement that there was no (or at least, not much) trust between them. Her trust in him wasn't only abundant – it was absolute. And one would think that she would have earned his over the years.
Well, apparently his words did fall on deaf ears.
Gryffindors, he fumed silently, unaware that she thought him equally as stubborn in that moment.
Even that one attempt could prove to be their ticket for the Janus Thickey ward, he thought. Just how and why didn't the girl seem to mind that? Though saving Albus' life was a possible end result (as well as a highly unlikely one), them putting their own minds in the line will most likely end up doing more harm than good.
"And if such an attempt proves successful," she continued stubbornly, "after a couple of tries we will prove to each other that there will be no unwanted snooping. And then the required trust that you mentioned will be established," she said pointedly, as if she was addressing Ron when he was being particularly difficult with something.
The look she was giving him right now was bordering a glare. She was determined, and would keep on being persistent, he knew, but there were still a few things he could try before he finally started waving the white flag.
It was time to steer the conversation his way.
"Are you comfortable right now, Miss Granger? Is your mind at ease?" he asked her, fixing a forced smirk on his face as he saw the confusion and panic caused by his words gradually starting to rise within her, "because it doesn't take Legilimency for me to know the answers to those two questions. Become aware of your own body for me for a moment," he said languidly, gesticulating with his hand from her feet to her head, while simultaneously starting to move as if he was going to stand up, but only repositioned himself on the couch; his movements adding to her fright.
She found herself scandalised by his words for a moment. There wasn't anything actually inappropriate within them, but she was very self-conscious and unused to speech that could contain potentially sensual double-meaning from a professor. What on earth did he mean? She was no fool not to know that whatever he was doing now was a ploy to make her change her mind, and she knew she had to stand her ground no matter what, even as another blush started setting on her cheeks.
"Become aware of the way you are sitting, Miss Granger," he instructed, knowing full well that her mind had taken a momentary detour into the gutter, but also a little disappointed that it only took so much to ruffle her feathers.
Oh, that, she thought.
She realised what the point was without having to think about it - she was sitting on the edge of the seat from the beginning of the conversation, back straight, knees tightly together, arms in front and hands on knees. It was certainly not the body language of a person that was comfortable around their companion. It was the body language of someone whose nerves were on edge. Lead by that train of thought, she also became aware once again of the clothes she was wearing. She cursed inwardly, now realising that the message she was sending with them wasn't just that she was being respectful by wearing them – it was that she mentally still saw herself only as a student, despite this special situation that she had put them in. When she had come out of her room that morning, by her own doing she had let him know that she didn't consider herself as his equal. No wonder he was still so sure that he had the upper hand.
He could see the cogs turning behind her brown, doe eyes, and he continued, certain that he was on the right track.
"Do you honestly think that you could ever be relaxed enough in my presence in order for us to do what you are suggesting?" he asked, sounding sceptical and unconvinced.
He had her there, she agreed. When she was doing it with Harry, they were most often lying about on a floor of giant pillows, and once even in a giant fort made out of fluffy blankets. Up until things took a wrong turn and they realised they were in too deep, they were always relaxed and happy to be spending their time together studying 'Occlumency'. If something bad had happened during a particular day, they simply wouldn't go into the Room; instead they waited for a better time, not wanting to share and amplify the bad experiences, only the good.
He really did have a good point, she realised, and was suddenly glad that he had pointed out her state of mind. It really would be no good if she was all nervous and scatterbrained from stress when they started their first session.
All right, then, she decided. Since he was still being stubborn about it, she would be stubborn as well. Since there would be no backing down from her side, and now that it finally came into her head that she was still being afraid of offending him for no good reason (no possible detention, no loss of house points, no need to care what she looked like in his eyes since he was clearly not putting in any effort not to be a git in hers), she decided to put an end to her fear and got up from the armchair, storming out of the room without a word and going into her own.
That was too easy, he thought, frowning, not yet allowing himself to be relieved by her walk-out. Her eyes were burning with determination before she got up, so whatever she went out to do there couldn't have possibly been to pack her trunk, though he sincerely hoped that it was just that. She came back out of her room not two minutes later, mustering all her courage as she made a beeline toward the couch and sat herself right next to him, picking up her feet on the seat so that they were almost touched his legs, angling her entire body to face him.
There, she thought.
Relaxed.
The truth was, it was more that she was now even more maddeningly determined than relaxed, but it amounted to the same thing; though she could only hope that with this dispay of bullheadedness she hadn't put him too much on edge now.
As a reaction to her reappearance and violation of personal space, his elbow was back in the armrest and his fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose again, eyes closed as well.
Clearly, his skills of crushing the confidence of young girls and making them cry have rusted quite a bit. Instead of discouraging her, he seemed to have somehow riled up her competitive spirit.
He saw when she was entering the room again that she now wore an oversized blue sweater (which he was certain she had nicked from another member of the Golden Trio) and grey pants that looked like they might be pyjama bottoms, but it had been a long time since he was acquainted with Muggle clothing; for all he knew they could have been proper street-ware. It seemed that the conclusion she had reached while he was trying to dishearten her was deciding to cross the bridge of no longer coming to him in the function of a student but in that of an adult Order member. That was within her rights (though highly inconvenient for him), but he still thought that it shouldn't have given her enough gall to suddenly turn up in front of him dressed like a street hooligan.
Or at least, what he imagined street hooligans looked like nowadays.
He was seriously fighting the need to growl. If he had an Animagus form, it would have certainly been that of a bear.
"Please, professor," she asked, almost in a whisper, "let us give it a try," she added, and the inner left corner of her bottom lip was back between her teeth as soon as she finished the plea.
He was staring straight ahead of himself from the moment she sat by his side; he hadn't turned to look at her once. So many questions were rushing through his head as fury and resentment rushed through his veins. Where was that weakling of a girl that always buckled under the weight of his glare and mockery in the Potions classroom? Where was that foolish girl that he made cry at least once during class for every school-year she had attended at Hogwarts? And just who was this virago which didn't seem to know when to withdraw and was getting more and more annoying by the minute?
Fine, he finally decided (though, if he could admit it to himself, there was nothing to decide, since he really didn't have a choice), forcing his rage from a boiling point into a simmer.
Since she was begging for it, so be it.
And whatever happened to them, however twisted and mangled they become, it was on her.
He slowly turned to face her, coal-black eyes meeting her innocent, trusting ones.
And suddenly he was there with her – inside of her, being as big of a brute as she had feared he would be.
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