Chapter Fifteen: Lift its head to the blows of the rain

Hermione stretched and rubbed her eyes. She had been making her way through a German text on Horcruxes. Not only was her German barely up to the challenge, but the book was old and the typeface, Fraktur, so it was giving her quite a headache to try to read. She knew a charm that she could cast on each page that would convert the font from Fraktur into ordinary Roman type to make it easier to read, but it was a very old book, and she didn't want to cast any charms on it without the Headmistress's permission.

She had spent the entire day in the Headmistress's library. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday in early April, and she was in a windowless library reading an esoteric text in a language that required her to keep a dictionary at her elbow—which was hardly useful, either, since it didn't contain most of the more obscure magical terms. Nonetheless, and despite the reason she was shut up in the library reading what she was, Hermione felt content.

She had felt as though, on some level, she had betrayed Harry when she hadn't left the castle with him at the end of September, and she had also felt that she had driven Ron to Luna just when the two of them had begun to become closer. She had daydreamed of marrying Ron, having children with him, raising them together in some perfect, sunlit home. But now, she couldn't imagine what had appealed to her about those dreams, except for the fact that they were filled with peace, tranquillity, and safety. But there was peace, tranquillity, and safety within the library, in performing satisfying work for a good cause, with people whom one respected and trusted. She had sat with Robert Crouch the evening before and discussed the nature of the soul, and what the fact that Horcruxes could be created said about it. They hadn't discussed Light or Dark magic, though it was clear that Crouch found Horcruxes themselves an abomination; they had discussed magic and epistemology, and Hermione found herself wishing there were wizarding universities where she could go and study further, explore ideas, have long discussions over black coffee—well, not black coffee, she didn't like black coffee. But she had seen Muggle university students and felt a twinge of envy for them. She would never want to give up magic, but she also didn't want to stop learning and exploring ideas. Hermione knew that once she left Hogwarts, if she survived the war, she would have to carry on her education on her own, perhaps having an apprenticeship, but she had no idea how she would have managed that if she had followed her daydreams into marriage with Ron.

She thought that she loved Ron, but she wondered whether she would have continued to love him if she felt hemmed in by their marriage. It was fine for a couple to have disparate interests, Hermione thought, but having seen how her parents related so well, both of them dentists and both with a strong interest in modern art, she couldn't imagine what dinnertime conversations would be like in a Granger-Weasley household. She could just see Ron talking excitedly about the Chudley Cannons, boring her, and then her discussing the most recent article in Arithmancy Today and putting him to sleep. She enjoyed cheering on the Gryffindor Quidditch team because it was her House, but she had no interest at all in the professional teams where the players were all strangers to her. Her parents even listened to a lot of the same music, groups that they had both grown up listening to. She and Ron didn't even have that much in common.

Hermione had no idea what had drawn Ron and Luna together, other than propinquity, but that wasn't any of her concern. Now that she was over the initial shock and disappointment of seeing the two together, she was relieved. She would prefer to wait and find someone with whom she had more in common, and for whom she felt some passion. Her love of Ron had always been warm, and her teenage hormones had been pleased to respond to Ron's romantic overtures, but she didn't think she would ever feel true passion for him. Not that passion was everything, of course, but it was a nice way to start a relationship. Passion might fade with time, or change with familiarity, but it would be nice if it could progress from hot passion to warm desire, and not from tepid desire to cool lack of interest. At the thought of passion, she thrust a vision of dark eyes and fathomless pupils from her mind and turned back to her book.

She had made it through three more sentences—almost a half page of text, they were so long and convoluted—when there was a light rap on the door and it opened. She knew immediately that it was Professor Snape, even though he had never knocked before, and she raised her eyes to see his dark silhouette outlined by the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows of the Headmistress's Office.

"Professor Crouch suggested that you might require my assistance." Severus swallowed and closed the door behind him. "I noticed you were not at lunch, so I brought you something." He could feel the heat rise in his face, and he did not want to examine the reason for it.

"You brought me something?"

"Yes. Just a snack," Severus said, pulling a wrapped packet from his pocket. He placed it on the table.

"I had best put the book somewhere else while I eat, then." Instead of moving the book, though, she moved herself down to the end of the table near the door.

"It's chicken. You ate chicken before," Severus explained.

"Thank you. I'm sure it will be good—is there anything to drink? No, don't worry, I don't need anything to drink."

"Of course you do. I am sorry. Thoughtless of me. I will be right back." He left the room quickly.

Hermione smiled at her sandwich. It was slightly smushed from being in Snape's pocket, but that just made her smile more. She waited to take a bite until Snape returned a few minutes later, carrying a glass.

"Apple juice," he said tersely as he put it in front of her. "It's cold."

Hermione smiled brightly at him. "Thank you. It's perfect." She couldn't imagine Severus Snape bringing any other student a sandwich and a glass of cold apple juice. Or any other snack. Though perhaps if one of his Slytherins was ill, he might. But he would probably call a house-elf. It was perfect.

Hermione took a bite of her sandwich, and Severus walked down to the other end of the table and looked at the book she had been reading.

"German? I didn't know you spoke German."

"I don't. Not really. I can read it. Or I thought I could until this afternoon," Hermione replied with a rueful grin. "I took a summer language course a couple years ago. My French is much better, but I think it's more suited to discussions of meals, skiing, tennis, and the beauties of nature than it is anything wizarding."

Snape smiled. "And my French is best suited to discussions of Potions and the Dark Arts. Together, we might be able to hold an entire conversation in French with someone on any subject."

"But not with each other," Hermione said with a laugh. "Do you read German?"

"I learned it for my apprenticeship. Many of the seminal texts in Potions are written in German. Most have been translated, but it is traditional to require the apprentice to read them in the original language." He shook his head as he looked at the open book before him. "This, though, is something quite different."

"It has given me a headache," Hermione admitted.

Severus frowned. "You should have told me. I would have brought you a potion with your juice."

"I think part of it was forgetting lunch. I'm feeling better already," Hermione reassured him.

Snape nodded and pulled out the chair opposite her.

"I'm glad Professor Crouch sent you," Hermione said. "I needed to see a friendly face. Reading that was quite depressing."

"Is it one that the Headmistress left for you?"

Hermione shook her head and swallowed a bite of her sandwich. "No. It's something that Professor Crouch gave me last night."

"You saw him last night?"

"Yes. He came in while I was here and we talked. He thought this book would be helpful, and I think it is, it's just taking me time to get through it." Hermione took a sip of apple juice. "I think it was one of Professor Dumbledore's books. There were some parchments in the back of it with notes in his handwriting. Lists of things. They were useful, too. He reminds me of him."

"What? Who? Who reminds you of whom?" Severus asked, completely ignoring the mention of the lists in Dumbledore's hand.

"Professor Crouch. He reminds me of Dumbledore. A lot," Hermione said.

"He's nothing like him," Snape said coolly.

Hermione shrugged, tilting her head as she thought. "You knew Professor Dumbledore better than I did, of course, and I don't really know Professor Crouch, but there's still something. The way he almost smiles sometimes when he says something just to . . . to provoke you to think. And the way he feels in the room. I can't put my finger on it, but he does remind me of him."

Severus snorted a quick laugh, but didn't respond.

"Anyway, I like him, and it was good to talk with him last night."

"You talked to him about Potter and your Horcrux-and-wand theory?" Severus asked, ignoring his jealousy, which said that Hermione was supposed to be discussing her theory with him, not with Crouch.

"Only a little. He did say that my comparison of Harry and Vol– er, the Dark Lord with brother wands was quite apt. Mostly, we discussed philosophy, I guess you could call it."

"All about Good and Evil, I presume," Snape said sarcastically.

"No, actually. It was mentioned, but mainly we discussed the nature of the soul," Hermione said mildly.

Severus smirked. "Just the thing an apothecary from Amsterdam would know about, I'm sure."

Hermione fixed him with a glare. "More than a seventh-year Hogwarts student," she said. "I enjoyed it. You would have, too, I think."

"Hmmph."

"You just don't like him."

"I have little reason to like him."

"Why do you dislike him? Because he reminds you of Professor Dumbledore, too? Or because he's close to Professor McGonagall?"

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"There must be a reason you dislike him," Hermione persisted.

"He does not remind me of the Headmaster, except that he was present at his death."

"And the Headmistress?"

"They are old friends."

"Good." Hermione smiled. "I would have enjoyed your perspective."

"Hmmph. I do not waste thought about such things."

"You should. Even if there's no practical result, it can be fun. And sometimes, it's nice to talk about something that has little to do with the reality of the war and Dark Magic. It's like a holiday for the brain," Hermione said brightly.

Severus actually chuckled at that. "I can imagine no one but you, Hermione, describing a philosophical discussion of the soul as a 'holiday for the brain,'" he said.

Hermione blushed. She probably sounded like such a child to him.

"Rather an interesting way of thinking of it," Severus continued, his eyes warming as he gazed at her. "Our Hogwarts matron has been encouraging me to find . . . diversion, I believe she called it. That variety of diversion appeals to me more than most."

Hermione smiled at him. "You could tell her that you are taking brain holidays—she might think you had lost a few brain cells if you said that, but she would certainly believe that you were doing something recreational!" She laughed.

"Recreational potions, probably," Snape said with a crooked smile. "She'd probably give me a lecture on the perils that Potions masters face when they start brewing and sampling some of the more unusual potions."

Hermione laughed again, imagining Madam Pomfrey lecturing Professor Snape about the dangers of illicit potions, which seemed oddly amusing, particularly considering the irony of the other dangers he faced daily. Somehow, the entire scene she conjured in her head seemed hysterically funny, and she laughed until tears came to her eyes.

Gulping with laughter, she said, "She would probably recommend going to a self-help group . . . where you'd have to stand up . . . where you'd have to stand up and say, 'hello, my name is Severus, and I take brain holidays!'"

She wiped her eyes as Severus began to chuckle despite himself. He liked the way his name sounded coming from Hermione's lips. Not reproving or sarcastic, not avuncular or patronising, just . . . natural.

"No one calls me Severus," he said, deliberately excluding Death Eaters in his mind. "Almost no one. The Headmistress does sometimes, and Lupin." He grimaced. "He tries to call me 'Sev' when he's had too much to drink."

"I'm sorry, it's just that in those groups—" Hermione began, thinking she had insulted him.

Severus quirked another smile. "I know. I grew up with Muggles. I am familiar with those programmes. Just don't ever call me 'Sev' unless you want to be hexed."

Hermione nodded, suppressing a smile. "I will remember that." She paused, then asked, "Does Remus really get drunk?"

"Sometimes." Severus shrugged. He really shouldn't be discussing such things with a student. "It's better, I think, since he and Tonks—" He hesitated.

"I know they're together," Hermione said.

"They are married, actually. No one is supposed to know. Her parents were the only witnesses. It was in a Muggle registry office, just as Weasley's was." Severus sighed. "I am not supposed to know, officially. The Dark Lord was very angry when I was unaware that the Weasley wedding was just a sham. He lost several Death Eaters that day. I only found out afterward that they had actually been married days before. I had thought it folly to have such a large affair, making a perfect target for the Dark Lord, but no one told me that it was faked until after it was over. It was at about the same time that Potter was taken from the Dursleys early, too, and so the Dark Lord was very displeased with me."

"But you couldn't have told him, anyway," Hermione said.

"Sometimes I must tell him things I would rather not, Hermione, though I do try to choose what I tell him very carefully. There are some things that, much as it may cause me difficulties, it may be best that I not know. I was unprepared for his wrath, however, since I was unaware that there was anything that I was not telling him."

"I am sorry," Hermione said softly, remembering how Severus had appeared after he'd been cursed with the Cruciatus, and she could only imagine what Voldemort did to him when two high-profile targets in a row turned out to be a trap in one instance, and a completely abandoned Muggle house, in the other.

"It is to be expected," Severus replied. "And there are times when he simply becomes angry without reason, only because he is frustrated by the pace of his progress. He is mad, and a sadist, and he seems to receive some bizarre comfort from causing others pain."

"Why did people ever follow him?" Hermione asked, foregoing mention of some of Snape's own petty meanness, which was on an entirely different order from the kind of pain that Voldemort enjoyed inflicting, though still not healthy.

"People want power. He is a powerful wizard. He spent years learning all he could of the Dark Arts, which some see as the most powerful of all magic. To follow him, some believed, was to share in that power. And I understand that in the beginning, he was quite charismatic and honey-tongued. The more followers he had, though, the freer he felt to express his darkest sides. Of course, many saw this as simply a sign of his power and wished even more to obtain his favour." Severus shrugged. "Others joined him, particularly later, simply because they felt that it was safer to join him than not to, or because they felt disaffected in some way from mainstream wizarding society. He appealed to different people for different reasons."

"I could never understand why Pettigrew became a Death Eater."

"Because he's a Gryffindor?" Severus asked with a sneer.

"No," Hermione replied patiently. "Because he was friends with people he betrayed. People whom he very specifically betrayed. I don't understand how he could do that. Why he would. Had he always hated them?"

"I don't know. I never understood the dynamic of that group." Severus took a breath. He knew that he could not entirely divorce his feelings from his descriptions of the Gryffindors who had plagued his youth, but he could try to be somewhat objective. "Pettigrew was a hanger-on and an imitator of his betters; always a bit of a fool. Potter was . . . Potter was a self-absorbed show-off, very talented, and well aware of that. He would make fun of Pettigrew and the rat's attempts to be clever. Black was just an adolescent rebelling against his parents, with a long, deep mean streak, like most Blacks, though he could be quite magnanimous with his friends. Lupin was more like Pettigrew, but brighter. He was so worried about losing his precious friends, he never did the right thing—even when it was clear to him what that was—if it might alienate them."

"And Lily?"

"Lily . . . Lily was even brighter than Potter, but kind, principled, and with more backbone than any of the boys—or all of them put together," Severus said softly.

"You were friends with her."

Severus shrugged. "We had a few things in common. And I . . ." Severus took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It was complicated."

Hermione nodded, sensing that he had said all he would on that topic. "Well, I suppose I should get back to work on that book."

"It is almost dinnertime. Don't miss dinner."

"I won't . . . you know, I've been working up here most evenings. If you ever want to . . . to stop by and help me. Or just talk. About anything."

"I will remember that."

"And I keep confidences, you know."

"I am aware of that, Hermione," Severus said. He quirked a grin. "After all, no one has said anything to me about my being taken unawares by a nonverbal Cheering Charm—or about its dubious efficacy."

"Dubious efficacy!" Hermione exclaimed, pretending to be put out. "I will have you know that if that is true, it is solely the fault of the Defence instructor who only taught us nonverbal jinxes and blocks. He never covered nonverbal Cheering Charms."

"He probably had no notion that they could be used in an ambush. I am certain he has been reeducated on that point."

Hermione laughed. Severus warmed to hear her. It was good to elicit something other than fear . . . or screams. He sobered, remembering the last attack that the Dark Lord had insisted he lead. He had silenced the screams.

Hermione felt his change in mood. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I am fine."

"I see. If you do want to talk—"

"It would be inappropriate even if I wished to," he replied.

"No, I don't think so. It's different here, now. If you want to talk, even if it's about something difficult or painful, you can talk to me here. I am your student in the rest of Hogwarts," Hermione said boldly. "Here, I am not."

Severus was silent for a moment, then he said, "Even if I were to agree with that statement, it does not change that I am what I am, and you are very young and . . . you are good. And I do not want to give you nightmares."

"I think you can leave me to deal with whether or not what you tell me gives me nightmares," Hermione said patiently. "And you were my age when you joined Volde– when you took the Dark Mark. I have been wounded in battle. I am not so very young."

"I do not wish you to look at me and see . . . and see me and what I do," he admitted softly.

"Do you still kill people?"

"Sometimes."

"And they aren't Death Eaters."

"Never Death Eaters."

"Do you have any choice when you do it, any choice that wouldn't leave you dead yourself?"

He did not answer. Choice hardly entered into anything he did, it seemed.

"I could not do what you do," Hermione said quietly. "I cannot imagine how hard it must be to be so torn, to want to serve the Order and do the right thing, but in order to do that, you still have to do all the things that you wished to escape when you changed sides. I know that I couldn't do it, and I can't do it for you or do anything so that you won't have to do it anymore, but I can listen to you if you want to talk."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then you don't have to. But you don't have to avoid it, either," Hermione replied, successfully fighting the urge to reach across the table and touch him.

"I do enjoy talking about other things." His mouth twitched a brief smile as he remembered Hermione's earlier laughter. "Hello, my name is Severus, and I am a recovering Death Eater."

Hermione smiled. "Hello, Severus."

"I am not certain what I am supposed to say after that, but I know that I would prefer to talk about . . . philosophy, Cheering Charms, and brain holidays."

"Then that is what we will talk about," Hermione said warmly.

"But not today. Time for dinner, Miss Granger!"

"I will be back this evening, and most evenings this week."

"I will remember. Make notes of anything you have questions about. Leave them with whatever book you are reading. If you are not here when I am, I can look at them and answer your questions, if I am able to. I can at least think about them until the next time we see each other."

"All right, I'll do that, then." Hermione stood and picked up her book bag. "I will see you at dinner, Professor."

He nodded, filled with a tangle of confused emotions, and watched as she left, lithe and confident, that same confidence with which she had led Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest. Hermione would be a cat like her former Head of House, if she were to become an Animagus, Snape thought. A magnificent cat, wily and clever, something strong and beautiful . . . if he were moved to poetry, he would, like Byron, say she walked in beauty like the night, with smiles that win and a heart whose love is innocent. But Snape despised romantic poetry . . . . Still, he might find that old book that had belonged to his father and see whether he had remembered the lines correctly.

He rose from his chair and left the library, reminding himself that he would be dead before Hermione became an Animagus. He put all thoughts of poetry out of his mind as he made his way down to dinner in the Great Hall, which he knew would already be depressingly filled with dunderheads talking noisily about nothing as they stuffed their vacant faces. He suppressed a sigh. Perhaps later that evening he could take a brain holiday. This time, Severus suppressed a smile.

NEXT: Chapter Sixteen, Twisting on racks
Severus arrives back at Hogwarts after a bad night, requiring assistance. Minerva is angered by a member of the Order. (17 – 18 April 1998.)
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Severus Snape.

A/N: I enjoy hearing from people about the chapters after they've read them.

The rating is going up to "M" when I post the next chapter. It's probably still acceptable for most teens, but with the increasingly mature themes, I thought it safest to raise the rating.